| BOOK SIX | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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⚠️ Possible triggers. ⚠️ Reader discretion is advised.
My friend and neighbour, Blatherskite Brian, lost his virginity to Annmarie Speight—a cute brown-haired chick with bright-pink spectacles and dental braces—on a bed of hay flanked by straw brooms, metal rakes, pitchforks, wheelbarrows and feed buckets inside an old, agricultural building of pregnant ewes, new-born lambs and errant chickens.
Pursuing Annmarie was the best night of Brian's life, or so the story of underage sex with a bottle of Tequila goes. He voiced achievements indefatigably every minute of every day, the pussy bragger, because, apparently, I had to know everything there is to know about the girl's cherry-patterned knickers and tropical-flavoured lips.
Have a day off. I would rather watch paint dry or grass grow or objects that virtually had no movement: anything but the life and times of Braggart and Speight.
If I had to listen to how Annmarie The Great branded Brian's breakable neck with hickeys one more time, I might die young, commit hari-kari and throw myself off a bridge. Adulthood looked overhyped anyway.
I mean, what does Brian want from me? Homage? A high-five? A round of applause? A slap on the back for a job well done? He had sex for the first time. Big deal. People do it all of the time. It is not uncommon.
Intimacy is an overrated, unpleasurable experience. I don't know why people enjoy it so much. And it caused some pretty uncomfortable situations, for example, redness, irritation and the occasional bleeding.
Genital soreness is painful and not to be ignored. Just last week, I had to steal medicated cream from Yolanda's drawer to reduce irritation. My dick, I am sure, had broken and lost blood circulation. Or malfunctioned. Or something. Whatever the reason, I could not wash my most sensitive area without crying like a little girl. It hurt that much.
I tried to ignore the pain for three whole days before I built up the courage to ask Yolanda for help.
After a trip to the doctor's office, I walked out of the medical centre with a diagnosis of Balanitis, a course of antibiotics and a tube of steroid cream.
Thank the Lord above that I did not require surgery. That's all I need, to be post-op and completely bed-bound, with Yolanda pretending to be a nurse.
Jesus, if you exist, I will obey God's Law for all of eternity if you promise to spare my dick. I mean, the poor bugger is still in development. Give it a chance to grow before you smite it.
Yesterday, when I asked Brian if we could talk about anything other than copulation for one day, as it's been the topic of conversation for nearly a month, he got defensive and accused me of being jealous.
Yeah, in most cases, I did feel resentment, bitterness and hostility toward others, even if I did not show it, because I desperately craved normalcy. A functional family, love and boundaries. A good Mum with the qualities of a patron saint. But, hand on my heart, I did not give a rat's arse about Brian and Annmarie. They can bump uglies until the cows come home, for all I care. I am that disinterested.
