Paul Tristram

by Horror Sleaze Trash on April 16, 2012

Paul Tristram is a Welsh Writer who now lives on the South coast of Britain, has over 300 poems, short stories and sketches published in 9 different countries. He used to run the UK print magazine ‘In Between Hangovers’. He recently quit drinking because his pancreas was about to blow up. He makes a mean roast dinner, likes long walks on the beach at night when there’s no other fucker about, and likes punching random things in the throat.

There’s Enough On My Plate!

I closed the door of my 1 bedroom cottage then locked the bottom lock with the big silver key, my wife only had a key for the top lock, so this would stop her from getting in while I was out.

We’d had another one of our barneys, she was staying up at her mum and dads with our 5 month old daughter, she was quite vicious when she kicked off and we’d had a few nasty run-ins the last couple of days, so I didn’t want her getting in, she might do something she’d regret?

I was off into Falmouth, which is about a mile walk from where I live, I don’t drive because I can’t drive and I’ve never learnt because I’m not safe on my feet never mind behind the wheel of a car.

There are a couple of ways into Falmouth and I decided to take the scenic route,  along the water front, turn left at the roundabout by McDonalds and keep going left all the way round to the Greenbank Hotel and then on into Falmouth.

It’s quite a pretty walk, I had started walking a lot in the last week, up Collage Walk to the first reservoir and then on to Argal reservoir and back again, must be an 8 or 9 mile round trip?

So I was feeling quite good about my walk, I kept looking to my left as I walked, over at Flushing on the other side of the water.

I was going into Falmouth to buy a book, while I was enjoying my first cup of coffee that very morning Falmouth Booksellers had phoned me up to tell me that a book I had ordered had just come in, it was Charles Bukowski’s Night Torn Mad With Footsteps.

I had recognized her voice on the phone, it was Anna, Anna often took my orders for books, and she seemed really pleased when she phoned to say that one of them had come in.

She was very pretty, classy, lady like and I always imagined her looking beautiful as she sucked on my cock, of course I couldn’t be sure of this but my imagination was pretty good, I trusted it.

I’d wanked over her 3 or 4 times now, imagining all kinds of scenarios, ripping the underneath of her tights away with frantic fingers, bending her over the counter and barrelling her mercilessly, shooting my dirty muck right up into her clean lady like cunt.

I really am a sick man, a sick man indeed and will be found out one day, there is no doubt about it, ‘Off with his head’ will be the cry.

I had given up smoking and drinking 9 days before which really didn’t help matters much, I had so much energy now and I was wired up like a caffeine addict, even though I only drank 2 cups a day.

I would imagine that this would explain the walks I was now participating in, the 300 sit-ups a day and the constant masturbating, Christ I was doing it with such a fury, 4 or 5 times a day that I would have invented fire by now if it wasn’t already invented.

I got to Falmouth and went straight to the bookshop, Anna wasn’t there, she must be on her tea-break, Bastard!

I was served by a new girl with long blonde hair, very pretty, I’ll fuck her later when I get home I thought to myself as she put Bukowski into a bag, she can tell me all about her lesbian girlfriend, the one with long curly, dark hair and how they lick and frig each other senseless of an evening, God I love my imagination.

As she passed me my change I noticed that her middle finger nail on her right hand was cut very short, while the rest were quite long, ha ah! I thought, she enjoys a spot of DIY does she MmMm, I smiled and left the shop with half a trunk on.

Now because I don’t drink or smoke I was unsure what to do?

Normally I would go for a pint somewhere and peruse the book, I decided upon a café instead.

I found a small café and walked in, I felt a bit like a traitor, I felt like it should have been a pub but I ignored the feeling and sat myself down.

A waitress came over, I ordered a cup of tea, she walked away with my order, I watched her but not for long, she certainly wouldn’t be joining Anna and the other girls on my wonderful wanking list.

There were 2 people sitting opposite me, a man in his mid 30’s and a woman in her 50’s, I guessed them to be mother and son.

She looked very tired and very frail but it was him I couldn’t take my eyes off, he was fucking enormous.

No, you didn’t hear me right, He Was Fucking Enormous!

It was disgusting, this fucker must have been 25 stone but it wasn’t the size that was disgusting, no, it was the way in which he ate, that was disgusting.

He had an oval steak plate in front of him, with half a roast chicken dinner on it, in front of that was another oval steak plate with nothing but bones on it, probably the other half of the roast chicken?

It wasn’t his mother’s empty plate, if she’d eaten half of that she’d have split open she was so thin, this greedy fucker was having 2 dinners while his mother sat there with a cup of tea or coffee or whatever the fuck she was drinking.

He was shovelling this dinner down, he stopped, swallowed, mouth still half-full, reached over to his right and picked up a large fuck off slice of chocolate cake with his fat fingers.

The cake was in a bowl full of cream, he dipped it back into the bowl – like you would a biscuit into a cup of tea- and then bit into it with a growl, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, I thought oh my God, I’m going to puke, I fucking hated him.

Then the waitress came over with my tea, I smiled without meaning to, said “Thank you!” added sugar and milk and stirred the fucker up, ah milk always makes me think of female cum.

I was suddenly pulled out of my pleasant thoughts by a large explosion, the fat fucker had sneezed, he had half a roast chicken in one hand and what was left of the cake in his other hand.

There was snot and food and shit and stuff and – oh fuck, it was disgusting – slime all over his face, down his t-shirt and all over his side of the table.

But instead of putting his weapons down and cleaning himself up like a good boy, the fat twat just sat there looking at his mum.

Look I don’t care if it’s right or wrong but I am going to have my say about this, so here goes.

‘The Fat Fucker Should Be Put Down Like The Fucking Sick Animal He Has Become, Even If It’s Only For His Mothers Sake, Jesus Christ, She Probably Wipes His Arse For Him And I Bet He Can’t Half Shit!”

Anyway his mother stood up, pulled a tissue from out of her sleeve, walked around the table to her son and started to mop up the mess his volcano of a nose had made.

As she was about her work she started talking, they hadn’t said fuck all before, the large one was too busy noshing.

“I do wish you would be more careful dear, you could have choked and died, I do wish you’d eat one thing at a time!”

“Sorry mum!” he replied with a sleepy drawl.

“You do worry me, after your fathers heart attack, I do worry about you eating quite so much!” she added.

“Aw, leave it out mum, I’ve got enough on my plate as it is!” he said.

Fuck me, there was another explosion, it was me, I laughed and choked all at the same time, spitting tea in a straight line all over my table and onto the floor.

I couldn’t believe what he had said, I was hysterical, the two of them looked at me like I was mad, I am but that doesn’t matter.

I stood up, put a pound coin down on the table for the tea and walked out, my insides shaking with laughter, that was the funniest thing I had witnessed in ages.

It was strange being sober but strange was good today, I might try another café next time I come into town, I thought to myself as I took the road out of Falmouth towards home.

© Paul Tristram 2007

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