Thursday

Mind Fucking (493 words)



Mike switches the lights off and knocks the car into neutral, coasting into the car pack. It is far busier than he dared hope, and there are at least a dozen cars dotted around the otherwise deserted car park. Some of the cars are partially obscured as people crowd around them trying to get in on the acts of depravity inside.

Gliding into a free spot he switches the car off and steadies his nerves, does he really want to do this? Has he really sank this low? 

He closes his eyes and a low guttural moan involuntarily escapes from him, he has come this far. He is as guilty as everyone else here, he may as well get his kicks now.

With a trembling hand he flashes his headlights showing one and all he is ready and willing to play.

His first flash gets a few curious glances but most of them are too engrossed in their sordid acts to drag themselves away and risk disappointment on the new arrival.


After a few minutes Mike tries his luck again, this time opting for a quick double flash. He knows he probably seems desperate, but he is, he isn't getting any at home. His wife has really lost interest of late, bitch just lies there and lets him get on with it.



There is a taker this time, one of the crowd surrounding a battered old Nissan Micra shuffles towards him, lecherously adjusting himself as he approaches. 



Remembering what he had read online, Mike locks the doors before his pursuer reaches him and winds down his window.



His heart is pounding as his paramour leans against the car, his crotch at eye level, a greasy stain spreading across the grey jogging bottoms. "you're new, what are you looking for pretty boy?" The stranger asks breathlessly.



This is it, this is the moment that has kept him awake at night. 



"I-I-I-I ..." Mike stammers.



"Get on with it sunshine I haven't got all night, the wife thinks I'm at darts."



"I don't think the moon landings really happened." He blurts out, the ecstasy of the release is immense, stars dance across  Mikes vision, he tries to savour the moment but the joy is fleeting.



"You dirty bastard," replies the stranger fast approaching his own climax, "I think 9/11 was an inside job." he moans, eyes rolled into the back of his head.



"You disgust me." Mike shouts, shuddering with revulsion. Tears are forming at the corners of his eyes as he struggles to wind the window back up. The moment has gone and now he just feels dirty. Giving up on the window he starts the car and guns the engine. 



The stranger shouts over the racket, "You'll soon be back! Your sort can't keep away!"



Pulling off in a cloud of dust, peppering his spurned partner with gravel Mike knows he is right, he will be back. 


This is who he is now.

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