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The Girl With the Come in Her Hair

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Waking with a less than joyous hangover I looked across the bed and saw a mass of tangled black hair and some impossible to discern form tangled up in my sheets. I was too pained by the dehydration of body and mind to even consider what half decayed whore from the pits of Hell I'd dragged home. Better not to think about it until I could figure out what my name was.

 

As time went on I started to piece things together. This was definitely my apartment. Okay. That was certain. I wandered around in small circles for a while and then wandered to my battered and, probably toxic gas emitting, fridge to take out a bottle of M150 which after a minor struggle with the lid I poured down my neck being very careful not to let the sickly sweetness cloy to my tongue. Even that faint hangover taste of distilled horse manure was preferable to that diabetes in a bottle tang which belonged to the only pick me up that actually picked me up.

 

As time crawled by my blood starting to circulate through my body and I even noted a minor influx of oxygen making it's way to my brain. Despite M150 containing enough caffeine to kill a small child I decided to brew up a coffee. I thought maybe the smell would bring me round and help me gain some kind of identity.

 

It was then that I heard a strange gutteral noise. "Aaah. Daahling. Where you go ?"

 

"Oh fuck." I might have thought it. I might have said it out loud. The truth of the previous evening started unfurling like some terrible horror movie in my mind. I'd taken Apple home. Apple was one of the mamasans from - well I won't say where from - but being polite she wasn't the kind of woman I'd go with unless my genitals were being threatened with a planishing hammer. She had the complexion of a fresh pineapple which was matched by the gentle nature of an SS officer in a prisoner of war movie.

 

But, then again, and this was where I could see my drunken humanism coming through, she wasn't an evil person. She was a woman with all the same needs as any woman. She deserved love and, after a couple of bottles of Saeng Som, I had decided to show her some. I had held her meteor scarred moon face in my hands and given her a kiss which, for some odd reason, led to other kisses and fondling and all manner of unholy terrors.

 

Leaving the bar was like some psychadelic funk with a few brightly coloured lights, a street like a moving walkway that constantly changed direction and a few blurry faces that all seemed to be staring at me and my new girlfriend. Somehow we'd got to the apartment by both of us sitting on the back of the same motorcycle taxi. I think I may have fallen off once but I wasn't sure.

 

"Daahling." She said again.

 

"Just making a coffee. You want a coffee ?"

 

"Come back to bed."

 

"I'm just having a coffee first. Feeling a bit rough."

 

I stood and drank my coffee as she smoked a couple of cigarettes.

 

Now, I realise that this is a slightly perverse thing but, well, looking at her moving around on the bed I had this sudden and terrible case of the horn. Don't get me wrong. She was truly and genuinely touched by the God of all things hideous and yet there was a certain appeal in this. There is something very erotic about the idea of having sex with a woman who you know, a few seconds after ejaculation, would have you reaching for a bucket. So, despite my hangover I found myself advancing back to the bed with this incredible sense of inevitability. I pulled the sheet over me like it was a cloak and Apple laughed a little laugh and pulled me on top of her. Her body was no lovelier than her face but she could move. It was like becoming a meal for some erotic shark and she was thrashing this way and that all the time holding on to me as if I might be in danger of falling to my death.

 

As sex goes it was fantastic. And when I came it was like an explosion. It felt like a geezer going off in my groin. I thought I would have been dehydrated but I ejaculated so voluminously that the stuff seemed to get everywhere. And of course she hadn't quite finished so she was thrashing about in it and I remained just about hard enough for her to bring herself to this shuddering climax that seemed to start from her groin and emerge like some steam whistle out the top of her head. And then we lay there in enough spunk to fill a tank and provide IVF treatment for the whole Isle of Lesbos.

 

For a while I felt so elated that I didn't care about lying with the ugliest woman in Bangkok in a sheets wet with rapidly cooling bodily fluids. But post coital elation lasts a minute or two at most giving way, in the wrong circumstances to a terrible kind of post coital nausea which multiplied by Saeng Som hangover is a very bitter cocktail.

 

Not that she seemed bothered at all. She was lying there hanging on to me like I was her special boyfriend and possible husband. There is no pleasant outcome to a situation like this. You just try to find some kind of damage limitation. As it happened the God of damage limitation allowed me one phone call. We'd been lying there but a few minutes when the phone rang. I quickly stood up to take it.

 

"Hi Turk. It's Bob. Thought I better give you a little reminder that you have a class in a couple of hours. Thought you might need it after last night."

 

Thinking at the speed of light I said "Yes. Of course I'm alone. Why wouldn't I be alone."

 

"What are you talking about." Said Bob.

 

"What ? You're in the taxi now ? Whereabouts are you ?"

 

"You got someone there ?" Said Bob.

 

"Okay. I'll see you in about ten minutes. Yeah. Can't wait to see you either. Bye darling. Bye." I hung up.

 

Apple looked at me with just a hint of frightened rabbit around the eyes. "Who was that ?"

 

"We've got about ten minutes. If my wife finds you here I'm a dead man. You're a dead woman. We're all fucking dead."

 

It took a couple of seconds to register but I didn't have to say anything else. She started trawling about the floor picking up her clothes and putting them on as quickly as was possible. I suppose I should have talked her into taking a shower but I was too busy dramatically ripping the sheets off the bed as if to quickly launder the evidence.

 

I gave her money but I gave it to her more as an apology for my appalling behaviour than to make out this whole thing was just a trick. I held her head in my hand and kissed her very briefly as she left and as she walked out into the corridor of my apartment building I felt a momentary urge to go after her, do something nice for a change, but I didn't. I guess I'm just not that nice a guy. Not even nice enough to have told her that she had something in her hair.

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