The book - bit by bit

[lukas989]

Joint building - if available - was always 100% of the time, the outlet through which to escape potential awkwardness.  It always caused nervous mirth when thinking of a time in the future where it wasn't available to him, like, at all....a time where he'd finally let go; replaced the habit with something he took more positivity from.  Not from the viewpoint he saw marijuana consumption as a negative - he'd happily involved himself with preaching about the multiple benefits of its use...but for him personally, he knew without a shadow of a doubt it was detrimentally detracting from the next phase of growth he needed to undertake to progress beyond the life he was living.  The fact he was almost making do in a way, coexisting with the people in the room with him (granted, some far more the par example of this assessment than others), was a silent scream in his ear to stop fucking about and get his arse in gear.  It was this sort of crossroads, where there was a sort of understanding about the choice a person makes with regards to consuming the taboo drugs; the meths, the cracks, the heroins....the more socially acceptable drugs such as marijuana, just weren't cutting it anymore, and it was either delve deeper or bail.  Even aside from witnessing what he had witnessed this evening, delving deeper was never ever an option...there was always the grand plan to remove himself from it eventually.  In a way, evenings such as these were almost pre-determined in how they played out...the nervous energy to begin with of the anticipation and lack of control with how things would go, through the realisation of it was rare and lucky ultimate experiences are, then ending with maybe things without this isn't so bad after all.  Maybe the pleasures gained through common blueprint lifestyles, are in fact enough after all.  Of course the grey areas - but theres easily enough people out there who offer enough aside from potentially trouble laden paths...paths more obviously trouble laden anyway.  The realisation that people are never perfect; the people used as figureheads are never ever what they appear to be, and only exist made up of several people.  His weaknesses are substituted for alternate weaknesses, and together they cancel each other out.  The headstongedness would always begin from moments like these, the urge for change and improvement...go forward and never apologise for who you are, and let other people do the worrying - create the opportunity for choice rather than taking what you can get.  But seeing as he was here now, might as well choke down this last joint.  Oh and burn his way through the ounce back at the bedsit, that was bought and paid for.

[lukas989]

His trance was broken by the suddenly apparent lack of music in the air - his glance round to investigate answered by the image of Dave stretching and simultaneously traipsing tiredly over to the available spot on the couch next to him.  The encroaching daylight created a warmer glow through the fabric blind.  'Twenty to six,' Dave announced without being asked.  'Anyone fancy making tea?' Dave continued.  He timed the grab for papers perfectly - in between the two sentences - and was already joining two together by the time the request came.  Sam scoffed, lifting himself in acknowledgment.  'On the condition I'm next on that.'  He glanced up, with a sideways smile, nodding in response.  Sam wandered off through to the kitchen.  'Hey nice one,' Dave said, picking up an abandoned joint in the ashtray...playfully jabbing him on the arm, in recognition of the now obvious ruse that had just played out.  Something to work on for next time, he thought, chuckling.  He knew he was overly prepared in general, and regardless of the premise, always felt slight disappointment at leaving behind damning evidence.  Of course the sliding scale applied as it did to anything, and this was one where the experience could be logged as a learning experience for a potentially more dangerous slash important moment.  Timeframes such as had just played out, left very little room for error, and as such pressed home the importance for general acknowledgement for any eventuality.  The vibe was friendly here, but there was potential for flare up...components that offered volatility; one can never be too careful.  The click of the kettle sounded in the distance, coinciding with his tongue running carefully along the length of the gummed edge of his carefully crafted joint.  The click acted as a catalyst for the rousing of Wayne, who shifted sleepily in his fetal position, face becoming visible as he craned to look over his shoulder at the room behind him.  The lesson learned from the previous altercation, immediately became apparent...the joint was now potentially going to be claimed by the awaking Wayne, and he rose quickly, gliding through to the kitchen, waiting until he was out of obvious earshot before sparking up the lighter.  Best defusing the possibility of denying Sam his rightful honour in the first place he thought...not to mention he felt morally obligated, regardless of whether Sam had said it or not. 

[lukas989]

Sam chuckled through a ' Nice one mate,' upon hearing he'd skipped away from the gaze of Wayne before claims could be laid, turning back to strain the extra flavour from each of the steeped bags.  He appreciated the system Sam had going, hue a perfect dark tone, complimented by the solid beige taint evident upon milk addition....weak tea was for pricks.  And his gran.  The kitchen window was unprotected by a blind or curtain; offering the first opportunity to gaze upon the outdoors since stepping through the door.  Being winter, it was clear even to one who hadn't been here for the recent past, that it was a cold uninviting atmosphere outside.  It was however different to what he was used to; the north was often tainted by the most evil of evil conditions - cold, wet and windy - here, it was more just still and light, but fucking cold.  The view became a glimpse out to how far away from familiarity he was, for the moments in between Sam jarring him for the seconds.  He was fucking miles and miles away.  Terrible shit could happen, and it would take a long long time to filter back to lover ones.  Found beaten and unconscious somewhere, id free, rushed to hospital, out cold for several days, months or whatever...coming to, confused, being probed for information....vague memories arriving at random moments...finally a strange realisation coming across his frazzled brain...the arrival of kin, the images of shocked faces, frantic huggings, vows to take him away from this place: back home to repair and prepare for the mend.  In other words, what good was this doing him?  What positivity was happening right now that gave his cause for confidence that this was all worth it?  Even the nicer amongst him, weren't exactly what he'd label gateways to achievement.  He spun round all to quickly to hand Sam the joint, crossing back across the kitchen to retrieve the cup he was being motioned towards.  He tasted it, nodding affirmatively towards Sam, who then instructed him to bring the remaining cups.  A strange desire washed through him to trip Sam, slowly pacing with three cups in his hand, the potential calamity suddenly striking him as a hilarious scene to observe.  The evil side of him was seemingly trying to convince him that people would thank him in abundance for creating this mirth - an image of the room collapsing in side-splitting laughter, as Sam lay shocked, badly scalded with hot tea, throbbed in his brain, in encouragement.  By way of precaution he waited a moment, allowing Sam time to gain a lead.  In any other circumstance he'd laugh it off - but he was in appreciation of what his body was full of.  He'd heard the stories of bizarre Tourettes-like compulsions afflicting people from nowhere.  He would remain vigilant in his efforts to fend it off.

[lukas989]

As predicted, the claims on the joint came thick and fast from Wayne, laden-heavy with references to the fact he had been out cold, and therefore was due big time.  Regardless, it was a conversation he was glad he wasn't a part of.  Sam held a healthy disregard for Wayne; embracing the opportunity to engage with him on these types of scenarios whenever it arose.  'Hardly my fault you can't hack the pace mate,' a punctuated toke in between every word, prompting Wayne to leap to his feet and make a grab.  Sam playfully tilted his head away holding the joint at arms length.  Comically, Wayne took the bait, one step away from having a palm placed on his forehead whilst he swung wildly at a just-too-far midriff.  'Sam.'  He looked round at Dave, his gaze instructing the hand off.  'Alright mate, chill,'  Sam said begrudgingly handing it towards Wayne before taking it back for one more spiteful toke.  He laughed at this, predictable but ballsy final fuck you.  It was expertly done...Wayne was reduced to a wound up infant in the space of five minutes.  To his credit, his face changed completely to one of satisfaction upon receipt, accepting he had the final moment coming to him with his antics.  Sam nodded towards him as he retook his seat...address the lack of smoking going on.  He sipped at his tea and began the process once more.  Ian now was out cold himself - slipping away completely unnoticed.  He felt a slight vibration in his pocket; the recurring eight am alarm on his phone.  So rare these days was the conscious witnessing of the hours outside the regular professional persons...it was almost a confirmation he was missing out on these precious days of youth.  Missing out based on what though?  The evening he had just experienced?  He was happy to endure such experiences, if for nothing other than having the memories placed into his head for evermore - but nothing about it clawed at him to pen it into his diary to do anytime again soon.  Quite the opposite in fact; he was already forming potential outs for himself, allowing him to seamlessly peel away from the group unnoticed...not just now but slowly but surely for ever, controversy-free.  Nothing more than a random musing each of them might have in the future.  None of them possessed anything that he saw a deep rooted friendship forming from.  A night like this was more than suffice to gain enough knowledge of such things he thought.  So definite were the people in this room, and the lifes they lead, that if anything, they'd be a hindrance in finding those that were better qualified to meet this criteria.

[lukas989]

This was night too intense and noteworthy to begin the process however - it would give too much away refusing the inevitable invite after.  He immediately recognised the arrogance he had exemplified; what made him so special he was a shoe in?  He altered the question in his mind so it read as 'in the instance of'.  He was hazy in fact just where this ended and the countdown to the reunion began; it seemed apparent to him, that each wasn't set to disappear onto their respective destinations as the next move.  Or maybe this was the fear talking - the one thing he did know was that he couldn't be the first to leave.  He sipped on the tea contemplatively...suddenly irked by the potentially lengthy duration it would take to remove clothing and adjust into the fetal position beneath his bedspread.  It was one of those moment a higher power seemed to work in his favour; within moments of the quandry appearing in his thoughts, Sam announced his intent to leave, with a pronounced double thigh slap.  He jumped on the in, accenting his mutual intention with an acknowledgement hinting at his inferior ability to cope with the long haul, comically adding he did not think the same was true of Sam.  Sam laughed, before offering his company for the leg of the trip pre-split in each others abode direction.  He nodded graciously, knocking back the last of his tea.  He rose with the empty cup, grabbing the other empties within reachable distance, manoeuvering through to the kitchen.  He heard the mumbled conversation of farewell between Sam and the rest, rejoining at an invite to contravene at the pub later in the afternoon, once cobwebs had been clearing and the second wind had caught gust.  He accepted without contemplation, nodding affirmatively at the confirmation of a text being sent whentst they all would be en route.  He grabbed his mary jane paraphenalia and coat, extending his own farewells to one and all, then followed Sam towards the front door.

[lukas989]

He felt a strange intense pressure on the journey back down through the building, upon now finding himself alone with Sam; the buffer had always been Dave, and in a way, Wayne - the two through whom he originally found himself part of the ensemble.  Wayne - much like many a group dynamic he found himself in - acted as the common target of abuse slash ridicule...although to him it was more wide-eyed disbelief (maybe as time went on, and the effect diluted it became ridicule).  Dave was the glue; the one who made the conscious moves to ensure comfort and ease of transition between newcomer and intergration.  The in building leg of the return home wasn't deafening in its silence - even in the elevator no words were exchanged, which was an uncomfortable experience for him...he needed transitional chat.  In the absence of, he stared around the inside of the lift, the sheer wretchedness of his current physical condition hammered home by the grainy shaky vision he took the view in via.  Every now and again he'd snatch a glimpse of Sam, who stood there, arms folded, staring down at his shoes.  He searched desperately for something to satisfactorily remove his focus from the awkwardness, which was offered by way of a small characture of a buxom lady with legs akimbo.  He deliberately laughed gently, looking back towards Sam for recognition, but he continued the inspection of his well worn in trainers.  He felt the warmth of a blush flood his face, the second look at the picture proving not nearly as funny.  He scalded himself for the desperate act of neediness, and attempted to sooth his own embarrassment.  The blush drained as he switched focus to now internal comedic thoughts of elderly women entering the lift and gazing upon the drawing.  They reached the bottm, and he deliberately made motions for Sam to depart the lift first, following him through the corridor, catching the door he loosely held open for him.  The fresh cool breeze felt revitalising, immediately bringing about thoughts of the immenent comfort and joy his pillow and mattress would offer him.  'Which way mate?'  Sam finally offered.  He motioned off to the right, stopping to allow for confirmation of whether he'd be joined.  'Ah right, well I'm this way.  Maybe see you this after then yeah?'  He answered affirmatively, struggling to hold back the relief he felt.  He waited a couple of moment s before moving off, to further de-emphasise his desire to get the fuck out of there.  The simple act of waling always suddenly felt awkward and clumsy in moments such as these, where the burning desire to rid himself from a situation loomed large over him.  It was far more prominent in his youth....walking by groups of older boys, he suddenly felt like his legs weren't working properly, and at any second he might bizarrely find himself in a heap on the ground, legs intertwined in a mangled mess.  Thankfully, that moment had never arrived...but the fear of it stuck with him - never take walking for granted.   

[lukas989]

As he sat on the couch, staring blankly at the hotmail logout screen, he remembered the overriding thought in his head during that unsteady walk home....relief.  Relief that he had made it through.  It was immediately obvious that relief wasn't the cornerstone of an enjoyable fulfilling frinedship or friendships.  He knew then as he did now that if he was to recant the tale to the majority of folks he knew, they would be sympathetic to why he would be desirious of an out.  It wasn't even of a malicious or superior nature - where he was better or too good for these people; it was just about the chemistry.  If you stuck him and them in a petrie dish, they'd immediately retract and find solstice at the farthest points from each other.  He didn't doubt the curiosity he felt about exploring the deeper details of what made up Dave or Sam - but deep down he was well aware of the nagging doubt he had they were potential lifer.  Further investigation upgraded this doubt to concrete belief that they weren't.  He daydreamed about what was being said or thought about him, by each of them.  Possibly nothing, but the chance was high that something was uttered.  He homed in on 'quiet' which as a possibility always frustrated him - because he wasn't quiet.  Maybe subdued, if the company was overbearing - that was the problem with overbearers...they never see what stares them in the face, i.e. they subdue others.  Of course this might in itself be bullshit, i.e. they subdue, all the while taking mental notes of every reaction, every utterance...not much to remember after all - wouldn't be too hard to pull off.  At the end of the day, he wasn't lost in the water...he was alive, still seen as a potential - even the most blinkered would be appreciative of the fact that he was the newcomer; the one with least information to draw from.  He had held his own, which in itself was worthy of further investigation.  It would be the immediate future occasions that would prove to be the clinchers....and what fun they had turned out to be.  The amusing irony wasn't lost on him now looking back at the blatant conflict in his thoughts back then...initially, 'How the fuck am I going to slink out of this?' through to, 'What methods can I use to increase my presence within the group?'

[lukas989]

It was a constant conflict he became a part of....yet more as a result of the specific situations he found himself a part of, as opposed to a general rule of thumb.  Many a time had his face culminated in becoming a deep shade of beetroot at coldly turning his back on people only because he observed others doing so, others he viewed as being preferable people to associate with.  Situations where he would naively dive headfirst into conversation and socialising with individuals without first doing background checks, only to discover they weren't the idealised pinnacle of humanity he had allowed his mind to conjure.  Other people on the scene would expertly demonstrate cold-hearted disdain for this individuals shortcomings and thus wash there hands of them forever.  He on the other hand, had set out on a course of friendship and trust, so when the time came to mimick the others dismissal, the effect was far more devasting on the hapless victim...he was now someone they would turn to...and instead he figuratively told them to fuck off.  He thus became an enemy as opposed to just someone not worth bothering with.  On one occasion he remembered such a scenario playing out, after which he felt invertly awkward and guilty for his actions - as he always did - yet the person was still on the scene...steadfastly refusing to budge from the social dynamic that had arisen (whereby he was the butt of the groups jokes/was discussed mockingly when he wasn't there etc..), but now after his shunning, this guy was now hungry for revenge, choosing to turn the mockery on him.  He made no effort to return fire owing to his guilt, and as a result was the one left standing looking like an idiot.  Thevirus spread, and soon he found himself the new butt; the one the group openly mocked.  The difference of course, was that he wasn't willing to practice this role daily, instead choosing to dissolve his involvement in the group.  The lesson wasn't lost on him.  He repaired the scars by systematically convincing himself he was better off - they were a bunch of pricks anyway etc, demonstrated by the ease in which they turned against him.  As he sat now, he was able to reflect positively on it.  Although the victim of his poor execution wouldn't admit to it, he was to thank in the whole situation.  He didn't need the group...he merely convinced himself he did.  The victim however - he needed the group - big time.  Why else would someone be willing to put up with such blatant disdain en masse?  Because they couldn't operate by themselves.  They knew it all too well.

[lukas989]

It was with this in mind that he knew the fascination with the girl in the park was dangerous; in all likelihood a pendulum more on the side of failure.  Physical beauty - although extremely enjoyable and alluring - is a mask worn by many many an ugly person...as he had no doubt countless people would testify to.  Not to mention it brought out the nervousness in him in abundance...instantly turning him into a wreck, dribbling and sweating and babbling (at least far more than normal).  Although generally confident in his ability to be coherent, the ratio of things said to actual interesting comment, plunged in the company of pretty people.  Of course, this was a common and universally shared dilemma, but it made it no more easy to deal with.  What he also found consistently occur was embarrassment caused by actually witnessing the shortcomings of a pretty person themselves - planting the thought in his head that this person, whom he imagined would be oft in demand of attention, would completely bely the hope and promise she offered on initial glance.  He would fluster immediately when met with stupid gibberish put forth by said pretty person, and desperately seek for something he could spew forth that would rescue the conversation from unrecoverable awkwardness.  He knew he could always just let this pretty fool squirm in they're own idiocy with a perplexed brow furrow...but if the hope remained intamacy could be gained, he was there to help; there to bear the weight of the beautiful idiots lunacy.  Of course - much like the unfortunate situation with the weak link - the recouperative actions he took would bite him on the backside...the pretty idiot would turn out to be a pretty asshole into the bargain, throwing the very furrowed brow he had so kindly endeavoured to avoid using himself.  Then the self-loathing again peppered with cringeworthy images of the pretty bastard regaling others with tales of what a weirdo he was.  Cunt.

[lukas989]

Things got easier - and very quickly into the bargain - during some very memorable times in his life.  The downside of course, was that they ended...which did more to press home the point that losing something was hard to endure when the capability to cope was fragile.  Or to put it another way (because he did cope in a way), the raw feeling of idiocy haunted you when you were so susceptible to such things affecting you.  The secret was (or his secret at least) was get the fuck out.  Escape trumped loneliness every time.  The benefit of his youth was that he had suffered through solitude and boredom for so long, there had to be an attempt to break free, even to say 'I tried...now fuck off' to those who would break his balls in the future.  College had ended, and for the first time proper he realised, that home with the folks,back in the place he'd spent so long forlorn, was not the answer...it was time to spread the wings - fledgling they may be.  His grasp of foreign language (any) ruled out a foreign land; he didn't fancy England (blamed in part, on his mothers overly negative take on the natives...promoted in no uncertain terms by the nationality of his dad); but he wanted to cross water.  He knew nothing really of Northern Ireland, other than there was a fair amount of divide...so he opted for Eire - and the one obvious place for an outsider looking for action was Dublin.  He planted the seed, which after 3 months of summer work waiting tables punctuated with nightly, often lengthy hitching sessions home, had grown into a fully bloomed flower once time came to leave.  He wanted to tick the box of epicness at every turn, which started with the journey itself - and opted for a bus/ferry combination rather than a flight.  The route he chose omitted Northern Ireland (owing to the aforementioned divide), and so an overly long, night time trip was undertaken down through England (via London and Wolverhampton), then into Wales, and finally on the ferry into Dublin.  Each stop involved a couple of hours minimum wait, for the switch onto the next bus leg; of which he was admittedly glad for, regardless of how much time it was adding to the journey.  With the arrival time being unimportant, the lethargy remained under wraps during the trip...in a way he was glad of the lengthiness of the process, just so he had time to think about the possibilities and adventure that potentially lay ahead.  His plan to sleep through the trip was ruined on the first leg of the trip, mainly due to paranoia...thanks to the sizeable lump of hash he had in his pocket, and the intense confrontation he'd had with someone on the bus due to the believe the guy had that he had stolen his seat.  He clearly hadn't (proven by the still evident toilet cubicle he was sat opposite), and the panic rose in him as to how he would remove himself from the situation.  He was saved by a thick english voice calling from behind him who announced 'You were sat back here mate.'  The shadowy face of the accuser unsurely trotted wordlessly to the location of the voice - a full third of the bus as it happened.  The blatant error that had been made, convinced him that the guy had deliberately created the scene because he was intending to mug him or something of that nature, and thus he sat wide awake for the remaining five hours to the next stop.  Leg two had started simultaneously with the break of dawn, making it impossible to achieve the sleep his body yearned for, and so by the time leg three was complete and he was in the ferry terminal, he felt as though everything was now a dream, what with it being a solid forty eight hours since last his brain was non-operational. 

[lukas989]

In spite of the exhaustion, the arrival at the terminal initiated the true realisation of where he was and what he was doing...in short, a total stranger miles from home, where he knew noone.  This isolation was to lessen to a degree upon arrival in Dublin - previous to departing he had met the Dublin-based brother of a be-friended Irish work colleague back home, whom had offered his services as tour guide upon arrival.  But until that point he was naked; easy prey for the attentions of psychos aplenty...a young naive idiot slowed down considerably by the telltale huge bag he struggled to and fro with.  A certyain peace came with the terminal - uniformed Welsh people milling about carrying with them a security that everything was safe.  The five hours untill ferry departure was to be filled with something; anything other than sleep....his paranoia not allowing his brain to switch off away from his belongings.  That plus the quarter ounce piece of hash in his pocket.  The timing of when to implement his plan - offered to him by his dad of all people - was weighing on his mind.  Not huge certainly, but sizable enough was this lump that uncertainty invaded his mind as to whether it was do-able.  His dad had offered forth the method as if it was childs play: consume five or so pieces of chewing gum, allowing a concealing material with which to wrap around said lump of ganjie - and hey presto, wander suspicion-free aboard, nothing more than a travelling gum chewer setting sail for lands unknown.  It was a plan settled in his mind for many a day...but now fondling the lump through his jacket pocket, the image of himself wandering past security doing a bad impression of the Godfather filled him with dread.  Concentrate on being normal he had told himself.  Don't focus on such things.  He needed something else to focus on.  As if a gift, he then noticed out of the corner of his eye the giggling attentions of a group of three girls.  The gift turned to embarrassment pretty quickly as the realisation that in the five hours there was a good chance he'd have to engage with them - and at the best of times he made a fool of himself in female company, let alone three of them, whilst struggling to cope with sleep depravation.

[lukas989]

He snapped himself out of the daydream far too late, all the while staring absently in the general direction of the three young ladies.  The realisation brought forth an abundance of dread...dread in the speculation these girls now believed him to be some sort of deranged pervert intent on causing them harm; would then alert terminal security, who would then apprehend him, search him, find his hash, then pass him over to police who would throw him in shared cells with an advantage taking homosexual, who himself was a deranged pervert intent on doing him harm.  Instead though, he heard giggling coming from their direction, which experience had taught him usually didn't mean fear of deranged perversion.  He glanced up at them; this time the eyes of the one sitting in the closest vicinity of him was ready and waiting with a return stare, and offered a quick wave at knee height.  He cracked a smile looking at his lap, wishing in its purest form that he had reading material of any sort to focus on.  Instead he was staring directly at his crotch - again not exactly the act of a smooth sophisticated ladies man.  If the engagement was inevitable, fuck it - he may as well do it sooner rather than later.  He looked up again - this time at three sets of eyes - and held a steady fixed hand in greeting at them, smiling perhaps overly broadly to begin before relaxing into a more natural example.  He gently shook his head at the sequence...nothing reeked inexperienced virgin more than the shift of awkward facial expressions.  It seemed to do the trick nonetheless - all three exchanged giggly glances and were lead by the nearest girl over to his seated position.  He tried as naturally as possibly to side-stare at their approach, forcing rythmical breathing from himself in order to hopefully avoid the all too familiar glaze of perspiration across his forehead.  The lead girl was there far more rapidly than the others, arms folded across her chest, gradually leaning at the waist in his direction.  He met her advance, sensing the expectancy he was projecting...keen to end the suspense and have the ice broken.  'Hi - do you mind if me and my friends sit here?' 'My friends and I.' he responded almost inaudibly.  'What?' 'No problem sorry,' the crimson flushing his face and ears immediately, unstoppable.  She turned swiftly to her friends, giving the affirmative it was ok to join.  He scalded himself for the initial response.  No wonder, he thought.  No fucking wonder.

[lukas989]

It was apparent quickly, this would be a conversation had mostly with the first girl; she who had made the initial move.  He inwardly judged she was roughly the least physically attractive of the three - roughly only because one was the clear winner - ironically the one who was furthest from him, sat shly semi-shielded by the similarly appealing third girl.  The talker was short, short haired and plain faced, with a smile way too big for her face, further emphasised by the fact it was always there regardless; almost mockinging everything around her.  Her conversational style was overly inquisitive...she had blasted through the formalities of 'where you from' where you going' and was already onto 'you got a girlfriend' and the like.  Over her shoulder grinned the face of the third girl - copper ginger hair, her face an explosion of freckles.  She sat saying nothing, constant grin and fixedly staring at him...the support for the talkers endless bullshit.  So concentrated was the onslaught, he found no way of taking in the beauty of the shy third girl...a light fear embraced him that he would be picked apart for taking his gaze off that of the other two, so deciding to patiently wait for the chatty enthusiasm to ooze slowly away.  He operated well under fire - it was mainly when left to his own devices he struggled; offered the muse of rapid fire crap to bounce off of, he was fine.  He brought forth titters and impressed glances from the two girls, punctuated with 'ooo nice!' and other such over-the-top playful tease lines.  The chatter found fascination with his geographical maneouverings, why he was, when he decided to, where he hoped to end up, moving onto what if you got mugged, what if it doesn't work out, your crazy haha and the like.  It all made him feel quite self-important; someone who was impressive; a muse for inquiry and to be discussed in depth after the fact.  A solid half an hour passed before he was able to finally start peppering the chatter with questions of his own...do you girls live here; are you travelling yourselves; what sort of general crap do you like and so on.  It came to light they were there waiting on a friend returning from Dublin.  He asked why they were here so early when they lived there (it struck him as odd a half hour plus the time he hadn't spent with them had passed), to which the chatty one retorted they had nothing else to do - so boring was the activities on offer.  He chuckled to himself at the mirroring reflections he had had growing up, stuck living in a place that apparently didn't want him.  He made no attempt to enquire further, content enough kindred spirits existed.  Chatty noticed the chuckle and accusingly asked what was funny...nothing he responded - just he knew how she felt.  Suddenly the supporter was tugging at her arm, whispering something in her ear, shortly followed by an announcement they were all nipping to the bathroom.  He watched after them, all huddled together, shoulders betraying their weak attempts to veil laughter.  He stretched widely, the pain of how stiff he was crashing through his back and shoulders with a harsh series of cracks and groans.  He yawned widely, ears ringing, vision sparkling; the girls departure seemingly acting as some sort of release...an excuse to finally relax.

[lukas989]

He blinked slowly and deliberately, making vain attempts to refocus and clear the cobwebs.  The corner of his eyes gave up crust upon being rubbed by his forefingers...the satisfying feeling of successfully gouging it out rushed through him as he flicked it away.  As he tilted his head back up, his view was all of a sudden dominated by the chatty girl, approaching swiftly, arms folded across her chest, a knowing grin etched on her face.  His heart sank a little...he had managed to convince himself in the short appraisal after their departure, that that was it...they were gone; the 'nip to the bathroom' was nothing more than a ruse to dump him.  'Sarah was wondering if you wanted to be with her,' she over-eagerly prospered, eyes wide awaiting his response.  He had no fucking idea which one Sarah was.  In this short time he realised, he didn't give a fuck either.  It wasn't as if his teen years had been choc-a-bloc with instances of smooching pretty girls, but at the same time he realised that if propositioned in such a way was something he really shouldn't be entertaining.  He was 100% sure of the age group of these young ladies, but he was quietly confident they would still be a bit away from their sixteenth birthday.  He glanced over at the remaining members of the party - the body language was the same as it had been previous, just with chatty removed...the supporter was standing in front of the quiet pretty one, arms also folded, staring intently at us discussing the deal that was on the table, whilst the quiet pretty one peered nervously over her shoulder, hunkered down out of sight.  He stared back up at chatty, whos eyebrows sprang up, impatiently signalling for a response.   His reply of sorry I have a girlfriend, brought about a dramatic series of tutting and eye-rolling; the frustration of her time-consuming proposition not bearing fruit pouring out of every motion.  He didnt know why he had even mentioned the girlfriend...it wasn't information that was needed really - but he still felt obligated to put it out there; to reward the girls willingness to commit to putting forward the offer.  It wasn't regret at lying - the girlfriend existed (albeit loosely), just he felt perfectly within his rights to refuse an offer of lip-locking with a girl who he didn't know by name, hadn't talked to or was of an age he didn' feel like publicly showing affection for.  'Its not like she'll know.' whined chatty.  He marvelled at her effort to secure a tongue session for one of her friends...possibly her way of instilling confidence in her (either one); attempting to tug the character out of whichever one was being referred to on this day.  He actually almost abandoned his initial decision and go for it, just to appease her...but the immediate self-deprication in his mind soon put paid to that.  He put the full stop on the advance with a line about how he would know, and how he couldn't live with the guilt.  It was the best he could come up with, in order to both remove himself from it whilst not irreparably damaging the girls confidence more so than it already was.  Chatty thought momentarily about continuing, but instead caught the next breath, and turned on her heel without a goodbye.  He held strong, not looking up for the reaction to his response, using the motion of deep involed eye-rubbing to excuse himself from the temptation. 

[lukas989]

He felt a burn sting to the edge of his ears, the blood rushing in acknowledgement of his awkwardness.  He counted to himself, timing the moment as to when he should look up and be able to breath again.There wasn't obviously a set time for this, but he opted for twenty seconds nonetheless.  He caught the three in his scope, walking out the main door of the terminal, the supporter offering the other two cigarettes from her pack. His eyes dropped sharply at the sudden inquiring look back over her shoulder by chatty. He wasn't particularily embarassed in truth - it was more an escape from the potential hurt he'd caused in quiet girl. He had no doubt he'd cope alright with the fact she was hurt, but he felt better and more able to leave it behind him without knowing. He glanced up at the large clock on the wall, which read quarter past four...another hour and three quarters before boarding. He noticed an abandoned newspaper sat atop the fixed laminate table in between his row of chairs and the next, and uneasily rose to fetch it. His brain was screaming at him now to give in to the desire to sleep, but he knew his current surroundings meant this was a waste of his time. The paper turned out to be the Sun, which gladdened him, safe in the knowledge he wouldn't be faced with any articles requiring huge amounts of application on his part. His lack of wits perhaps, resulted in him opening to page three without reservation - the ample breasts of a fresh-faced blonde staring back at him for an overly long spell, before he clumsily grabbing an extra few pages. He tittered to himself - far from conservative-thinking, he recognised in moments such as these that it would take deep-seated trust in a situation before fully exposing himself sexually. His sex life up until that moment had been still in the single figures with three different girls...two of those hopelessly shit, and on one occasion with each only. There had been a frustration in that itself up until girl number three (she as recent as two months ago), where he felt the first time was the walk on eggshells...keep it civil - or at least as much as push your penis into a welcoming(?) vagina could be, then begin the opening up from episode two, into the full-blown warts'n' all of part three (or so he imagined). Of course never getting to episode two in either instance, resulted in disappointing memories and blown chances. Girl three allowed him to open the door and wander casually through - she had been the one whom he'd felt most comfort with by far. He thought about each encounter in turn. The first - the removal of the virginity - had been abroad; the family vacation to France. She represented the first proper time he had felt any realistic chance of not feeling an asshole with...the person for him who made him realise it was possible to meet people who found him a turn-on. The two week trip had culminated in a drunken rushed and awkward exploration of each others bodies...and not a thorough one at that, given the trousers were tugged down to the knees, it was around two am, and they were outside in the dark, struggling about on the moist grass of hole 14 of the resorts golf-course. The ample amounts of french bier and sangria sloshing in his system prevented any ejaculation (thankful owing to the lack of condom), and as a result a hung-headed apology, based on the premise he felt he had let her down. She told him not to be stupid, she'd remember him forever kissed him stroking his face, and disappeared from his life. That had been amazing...in his mind, it was let down by the memory of the sex; further tarnished further still by his failed attempts to masturbate the load out of himself back in the bathroom of the appartment.

[lukas989]

It was one of those moments noone would ever learn of, regardless of trust - but it never failed to humble him dead in his tracks at the very thought of it. On this occasion in the ferry terminal, it aroused a brief moment of confusion...as if time had been lost, before he realised he had momentarily drifted off to sleep, whilst lost in the daydream. His second stab at love making had been during college - the illusion of hugeness had been robbed by his virginity loss; it was time to hunt down conquests - no time to be lost on building it up and setting the moment atop a pedestal. The very essence of this dissolution of importance made itself present in the guise of a young lady called Kim - decidedly average looking; short, plump, non-descript facially, tired shoulder-length straw coloured hair...the sort of girl a young man in need of uncomplicated sex looks for to various degrees. Or so the story goes...as it turns out, the frustration at the wasted effort and energy spent feigning interest in her mind-numbingly boring 'woe-is-me' bullshit...the turmoil fo growing up, the marital problems her parents went through, her sisters accident, etc etc..which made the task of gaining access to her vagina superbly easy - listen with tilted head and worried eyes aplenty...and hey presto, an engorged labia. The frustration sprouted from how absolutely terrible in its purest form the sex was. Hours went by, endured the whole time in the form of lying side by side fully clothed on his bed, in the prison-esque decorated Halls of Residence room he was to call home for his first year. He fought bravely through the great pain he experienced in his testicles, fighting to maintain the romance he imagined she was experiencing, until finally, the many many minutes of playful groping around his stomach area, wandered further down towards the brick-like erection he had, imprisioned within his denim jeans. He was a whisker away from calling out joyously as she awkwardly stroked, such was the feeling of elated achievement. He returned fire with a beeline sequence of moves that culminated in the prying open of her own jeans button and fly, likening the moment to gleefully tugging away the wrapping paper surrounding the lego technics his dad had bought for christmas many years ago, albeit soggier. Unfortunately though, the joy didn't carry like it had with the lego; he climbing awkwardly on top of her, the fluster washing through him in acknowledgement of the fact this was unlikely to make it into the top ten of sexual conquests of all time. She spiked the atmosphere with far from sexy quips like 'are you ok?' and ' this feels great - honest,' - he was ashamed of the building desire he had to hop off her and scream 'shut the fuck up!' at her. Instead he took himself to a different mental place - namely the thoughts of having sex with hot girls he had known growing up (aka his masturbation images). Upon filling the condom, thought quickly turned to how the usual...how the fuck was he going to get out of this.

[lukas989]

He had managed to escape the scene - and he meant escape in purest form - by reasoning with her that the single bed they were perched upon fully clothed, crimson-faced from the exertions, was by no means a vessel conducive to a fine nights sleep, and that given the time, he would see her again in a mere few hours. She resignedly nodded with a breathy ok, and leaned in to kiss him, which he met tight-lipped. He immediately regretted doing so - any ammo she'd have that he was attempting to worm his way out of the 'relationship' wasn't exactly great fodder for his love cv. She gazed at him for a while; he stared back knowingly thinking of vastly different things than she was...namely I'd really like to headbutt you right now. He lazily imagined the aftermath of such an action...her thrust back onto the mattress, hands thrown up to her instantly shattered nose wailing, as he sat there brain awash with fuzz, stroking slowly at the area of connection on his forehead. Then a hand outreaching to check her, retracted, rising to his feet, thinking desperately about what the fuck to do. Possibly threaten her? Kill her even? The purity of ridiculousness riddled through the musing broke a smile across his face, which prompted a return grin, and an eager move forward to kiss him again on her part. He returned the smooch softer this time, happy with the unexpected rescue job he had stumbled his way into. 'Ok, goodnight', she smiled, the look of elation on her face suddenly sending spikes of fear through him. It looked like he would have no choice but to act a total fuckhead to get out of this. He was already deep in contemplation as he rose and left the room, snatching one last look at her sitting on the bed before he closed the door. She waved lightly, her face etched with the kind of kitchsy expression reserved only for those head over heels in some form or another. Every thought running through his mind was punctuated with a desperate 'fuck'. Maybe the band-aid thing was the way to go here; quick and effective, all out in the open. He pushed quietly through the door at the end of the corridor into the stairwell. Panic rushed through him as he heard the turn of a door handle, suddenly faced with the night watchman. He studied him wide-eyed, unsure of what would now happen. In a barely audible whisper, the watchman said, 'Look, I know what you're up to..just don't make a habit of it ok?' His face wore an expression that said 'play the game and I wont fuck you in the arse.' He nodded relieved, fighting a sudden urge to reach out his hand to shake. The watchman nodded back, whispered 'goodnight', and disappeared back into his room. He glided up the stairs to the top floor two at a time, the urgency in getting to his room behind a locked door accented by the spikes of sweat appearing over his chest and face. He clumsily slipped the key into the lock and let himself in. Instant relief at the door clicking behind him, exhaustion washed through him. He collapsed backward onto the bed, aware of the first glimpses of day cracking through the night sky. Within seconds he was asleep, the worry of what tomorrow would bring gone for just enough time to allow him to do so.

[lukas989]

The large clock on the wall above him showed three pm - an hour until boarding. The quarter ounce of cannabis resin had remained up until now safely behind the zip of his coat pocket, and he decided now was the time to conceal it behind a wall of chewing gum. He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket to retrieve three pieces of gum, and commence with the preparation. The very thoughts in his head made him defensive and paranoid - much like whenever a policeperson walked or drove by him, regardless of what level of actual guilt he should feel. In order to remain natural, he returned to the reading of the paper...yet in the five minutes or so he spent doing this, all the while chewing down the solid gum to a malleable mouldable lump, he registered not one story. Satisfied he now had the necessary material to put his fathers borrowed plan into action, he rose with his hefty bag in hand, and made his way to the public toilets. The bag acted as a heavy distraction; the awkwardness of its weight explaining any flushing or strange facial contortions that otherwise might mark him out as some sort of deranged rapist. He breathed a quick thanks to a man who sidestepped out of his way, and staggered carefully into the bathroom, picking out a cubicle to the far left to perform the deed. After locking the door, he noisily dropped the toilet seat and perched himself on top of it; the theory was that if any suspicious individual monitoring his behaviour would hear the correct kind of sounds and see the correct kind of things (his feet pointing towards the door in front of the toilet), and be therefore satisfied an actual shit was being had. He stopped short of lowering his trousers...pressing naked arse cheeks to public porcelain was an act he only cared to carry out in absolute necessary circumstances.  The lump suddenly looked far bigger than he'd previously remembered sitting in the palm of his hand, and the panic immediately set in. It was going to be hard to come up with a good reason why he had such a huge lump of gum in his mouth, forcing him to hang his mouth open like a panting dog. He dug his lighter out of his pocket; the decision was to pull a section off the lump for immediate consumption outside once he was done here, thus allowing him to reduce how far open his mouth would have to be. Simple. He coughed in time with sparking the lighter and slowly dragged the flame across one edge of the lump, then dug his overly long thumg nail into the softened area. satisfied with both the new size and how much he had forced himself to consume, he spat the lump of gum into his hand.  The dismay was solidified by the just-and-no-more nature of the covering - but he decided to go with it nonetheless. He wrapped the wad in a previously retained gum wrapper - he would smoke the necessary first, then put the lump in his mouth...he wasn't an idiot.

[lukas989]

He struggled towards the door with his big bag, becoming more nervous by the second. His dad had recanted tales of successfully transferring lumps of dope to shores afar with such natural flair, that it hadn't even crossed his mind there'd be potential negativity. It was this very casual-ness that had left him unprepared, which in all honesty was far too often a result...the ' fuck it, it'll be alright' attitude had left him in many a pickle. He Wanderedf through the auto-opening door scoping the immediacy of the outside, picking a wall to his left to perch upon; the hope was that he'd be left alone to swiftly roll one up and smoke free of fear of being spotted, or puffing large clouds of suspicious smelling smoke into groups of people. Fortunately a breeze gently brushed his face - he drew comfort from the fact the essence would be drawn from him lessening the chances of being surrounded by the pungent aroma. He dropped the bag down, and reached into his pocket for his tobacco tin, then into his inside coat pocket for the smallish lump he was required to crumble in. It felt huge in his fingers all of a sudden...certainly too big to dump into a single skin joint. The realisation crashed through him that he was going to be absolutely fucked - far from ideal what with the imminent dealings with security personnel and whoever else. He estimated the time left at fifty minutes before before boarding...choke down this in five, then fifteen to suck in some fresh air, and resurrect his brain as best he can...then back into the terminal, chug some water, eat a chocolate bar - then hey presto. Model citizen once again...just an fine upstanding Scotsman broadening his horizons, free of controversy, devoid of trouble. Welcome they'd say...excellent to have you - trust you enjoy your stay. He drew a thin line of tobacco across the cigarette paper, glancing around him for the knowing stares of potential captors, then proceded to carefully break the lump over the top. He was absolutely shitting himself - overly large pieces stared back at him from atop the tobacco; obvious candidates for hot rocks dropping glowing from the lit end; screaming at people around him that this right here was an illegal cigarette being consumed...but he decided it was easier to attampt the masking of that occurance as opposed to carefuly picking the lumps out and breaking them down further. He grabbed up the joint, and uneasily finished the roll, running his tongue along the gum, then carefully tore off a piece of card from his papers pack. Typically the initial roach effort was overly large, preventing him from being able to push it into the end of the joint, which caused panic and enquiring eye dartings of his surroundings...in reality noone was paying the first bit of attention to him, but to him he felt under the microscope...expecting a large hand on his shoulder at any moment. Finally he forced the roach in, audibly sighing with relief at the moment. He glanced around him one final time, then lit it up, drawing heavily to get it going. He immediately felt stoned. This was going to take some effort.

[lukas989]

The heat rose around his fingers with the speed he was smoking, prompting his to alter his grip to fingertips. It struck him that the value of the mary jane withing this small joint amounted to no more than a couple of quid...but he'd always been the type of guy who never wasted anything. He'd once lost a tenner on a bus; he'd uncharacteristically shoved it into his back pocket rather than his wallet after making a purchase of food and drink for the trip, and over the course of the journey it had apparently working its way out with all the squirming on the uncomfortable seat. It haunted him to this day...even discovering money randomly (on the ground, down the back of the couch, etc etc) always brought forth the memory, and the musing that he was ten pounds down in life. The money he found was always going to be found...the money he lost was because he was careless. With this he struggled on smoking, regardless of the pre-vomit saliva that was filling his mouth between every drag, the uncomfortable swimming motion he was experiencing through his vision, and the tired helplessness in his brain. He managed to scope out the clock on the wall within the building, and checking became his crutch whilst the immediacy of his surroundings was devoid of people. Thirty-nine mintues were left until D-Day. Saying it aloud in his head offered some much needed comfort; plenty of time to recouperate, and rid himself of the telltale signs folks of authority were looking for. At least away from the mind-numbingly obvious end of the scale. He greeted the assessment with a slower consumption of the joint, relaxing and enjoying it more as a result. It always impressed on him just how much more obvious the impact of smoking cannabis was on him in public and less personal settings were...he could comfortably chug down four or so full sized joints in his own company, or even with friends - just as long as where he was was where he'd be sleeping after. Any situation that demanded a journey or sustained relocation brought about a lack of coping with being stoned, and as so, more paranioia, doubt and fear. All these boxes were ticked here...the things to look for were the subtle releases of doom and gloom - every minute was sacred in the build up to coming face to face with a random uniform, intent on brightening his day with the internal cavity inspection of a handsome young man complete with a tight butthole. He shook the image of a grinning moustached police-type man sloppily rubbing lube over his gloved hands, as he bent over a steel table with his jeans around his ankles. These types of thoughts weren't wanted here right now.