Flat Scrumpy.

‘What, just like that?’, Shan quizzed suspiciously, swigging another lengthy mouthful of the tepid flat scrumpy, before handing it back to the marsupially slender outstretched palm of Ginny. They had been playing this pass-the-parcel of scarily cheap cider cans for nearly an hour now, with Shan doing his best not to wince each time he swallowed, the acrid nuances of fermented apples wasted on his innocent mouth as he grew more tipsy. Ginny reclaimed the can, swirling its dented casing before draining it of its dregs. Drying the pierced opening of her mouth with a tattooed wrist, she removed a layer of cherry red lipstick, revealling a virginal layer of pinky-brown beneath it. ‘Just-like-that’, she replied in a recently adopted matter-of-fact way, studying Shan’s shocked face in secret pleasure. His bushy eyebrows raised like sparring caterpillars as she cracked open a fresh can. Fizzing foam rushed to the breach like over-boiled pasta froth, which she sucked on, crushing the multitude of bubbles with her tongue playfully. A familiar barrier of silence fell between them. Shan gazing at his grassy shoes in a conscious avoidance of eye-contact and retreating to her phone, Ginny sat scrolling in a silent transfixation and fascination at the stream of information before her.
Shan sighed aloud to himself. He was always hearing about her exploits via rumours and overheard boasting from more popular boys than he, and fearing them to be true, never quizzed her directly about them. Whilst her virginity (and that of the vast majority of his friends at college) was long gone, his still hovered over him like a stubborn spectre, shackled to him by his lack of— well, everything desirable to a young girl in Merthyr. He followed the footie alright, but could just about keep up with the newest bands to be accepted in his clique of misfits, merely nodding and agreeing when quizzed about the likes of Mastodon or Sikth. But most importantly, he lacked a car and anyone, who was smart enough from Merthyr, born with a dick and knew that the sky was up, knew that to get laid, you needed a car. No matter how horny the girl was; how dirty she was rumoured to be, or how much you wondered what her pussy tasted like, she was never going to fuck on a push-bike.
Without conscious command, his head raised slowly, eyes scanning her mousy pentagonal face, her bulging eyelids fixated on the screen below it. Her body, as impossible as its rises, bumps and curves seemed, was perfection. Having known her for some six years now, Shan grew more and more glad that he had the chance to see her naked before becoming this sexual entity. It was only for the best of ten seconds, and yet, the older he got, the more he became convinced that it was a deliberate encounter. I mean, who calls out from a bathroom for a towel, claims they are decent and upon opening the door is braznely sat on the side of the bath, legs ajar and grinning? The sight of her crotch however, remained etched within his memory from that weird afternoon onwards, almost palpable as he ritually wanked himself to climax with it in mind every night while his house slept soundly none the wiser. His mouth spoke more words, suprising even himself. ‘So how much… do they pay you then?’. Ginny pocketed her phone, took a long blink and fluttered her eyelashes almost too obviously to be taken seriously by anyone older than he. An single finger prodded her chin contemplatively, as if having been asked the one true meaning of life. ‘Well… a hundred mostly; sometimes more; usually if they want more’. She leaned in towards him, quitening to a whisper. ‘Some even pay me more; when it’s my time of the month. Vampires: they love it, the freaks’. Shan’s face wrinkled, as he tried to ignore the army of goosebumps that dotted his arms, imagining the bloody scene. From nowhere, sprung a nagging desire to cry. Or shout. Or to smash something to into a thousand pieces. Below, an rebellious erection stirred as the bathroom scene replayed in his mind. ‘And you just… let 'em?’, he asked, now really beginning to wonder if his vocal cords were being externally controlled by some cunning entity, scolding himself mentally for the unedited innocence in his voice. Ginny chuckled to herself, resting her lips on the bronze rim of the can with an air of stock seduction that could only been taken seriously within an 80′s straight-to-DVD teen film. As her laughter subsided, she took another hearty swig. ‘Of course I let 'em. They love it. Like, really love it. And, the pay’s good. One guy, right, used to pay me one twenty an hour to sit on his face right after I was done at gymnastics. No word of a lie’. She brushed a nagging strand of hair back. ‘I do miss him sometimes…’, she trailed off, a hint of genuine remorse in her voice. Rising without warning, she un-pocketed her ringing phone, answering with a slight squeal as she paced over to the grassy bank of the river, slow enough to let the tightly encased flesh of her buttocks sway alternately with each step. Their conversation had now submitted to a new, clearly more exciting one. Something sharp and familiar, twisted deep within Shan’s gut as he tried not to eavesdrop. In the amber glow of the afternoon, the thick air dotted with armies of midges and mayflies, he ran his eyes up and down her sculpted body, homing in on the conspicuous purple whale-tail of her thong as it rode the curve of her lower back. As if feeling his eyes creep across her buttocks, Ginny pulled the hem of her top down, shielding it from his direct view, and in the most unbecoming way possible, attempted to remove the fabric wedged between her mountainous cheeks, as she laughed hysterically in the evening light.