Ships that pass in the night – a conversation overheard.

By

Angharad.

“Where were you last night?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking, dumbo. Why the stupid smile?”

“I got lucky.”

“You won the lottery?”

“Nah, I got lucky.”

“You got lucky? What sort of luck?”

“I pulled, didn’t I.”

“You pulled what—a cart, a trolley—what? Jeez, Shelley, sometimes you talk in riddles, the rest of the time it’s just another language.”

“No, I pulled a bloke.”

“How?”

“Well I was coming to the group, an’ it just happened.”

“Just happened—how can something like that just happen?”

“Well alright, I was standing at the bus stop an’ he chatted me up—said I had a nice smile.”

“When you keep your teeth in.”

“Hoy, these are all originals, you know.”

“Yeah, from a dental lab in Norwich.”

“Very funny—anyway, Pete didn’t seem to mind kissing me.”

“You let some bloke at a bus stop chat you up, using the worst line I’ve heard in ages, then you let him kiss you—anything else you haven’t told me?”

“There might be...”

“There’s that bloody smile again, you look like the Mona Lisa...”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, Moaning Lisa from Teddington.”

“You’re only jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“You were in a room full of trannies while I was being treated like a lady.”

“A lady—do me a favour...”

“Yeah, a lady. He bought my drinks...”

“And you went down on him—cheap blow job by the sound of it.”

“I only did it to warm him up.”

“Cold in the pub, was it?”

“No, but he stroked my tit and you know I can’t resist it when they do that.”

“What’s the point of having surgery if you already drop your knickers for anyone in trousers who offers you a drink.”

“You are jealous.”

“No I am not—I just wanna do it properly the first time, not have someone play with me piles.”

“I haven’t got piles.”

“Just as well.”

“You are jealous.”

“I’m not, I said I’d wait—so I will.”

“Yeah, well I’m taking advantage of looking sexier than you do, Miss Judy Prudy.”

“What if you catch some nasty disease?”

“What and end up like you?”

“I don’t have any nasty diseases.”

“Nah, just a face like a fiddle.”

“You’re like an alley cat, anywhere with anyone.”

“No I’m not.”

“Just scratch my itch—well Missy one day it’ll be bloody herpes, and that will bloody itch.”

“How d’you know? Had it have you?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“So how d’you know it’ll itch?”

“I read it somewhere.”

“Yeah, sure you did.”

“I’ve gotta go, some of us have to work for a living.”

“Lucky you—think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Lazy tart.”

“That’s me, girl—see you next week?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Unless I get lucky again...”

“Lucky—name of his dog was it? I’m off, tarra.”

“See ya, Jude.”