Incarna

7 - Episode 2 Screw the Bankers

Tone casually turned on his stool as if reaching into his pocket, so he could caste a surreptitious glance around the room. The background noise of the chatter was normal as far as he could tell. There was no hushed embarrassed silence for his dismissal by Midnight Owl. The was a scruffy looking young bloke over at a corner table that could be watching him and maybe Janey and the chorus line were giggling among themselves about him. 

Stuff ‘em, bitches! He’d worked his way through the whole chorus line last year and none of them’d seemed to mind at the time. In fact some had literally formed a queue awaiting his attentions. Perhaps that’d been his imagination, maybe they’d been mocking him even then. Damn, gotta get outa here and clear my head, feel like I’ve come down with the flu, or a migraine is on it’s way.

He nodded to Mick the barman as he went passed behind the counter. Slipped him a fifty and told him to put the rest on the Suspended Coffee tab. Paying it forward for coffee and sandwiches for those in need. Tone was one of the founders of The Grills - Suspended Coffee to the down and out program. It was good social capital for all of them over at his bank. Most people thought they were heartless bastards. He didn’t advertise that he did it, but he made sure that a few people saw him do it! He’d stopped by a couple of mornings to see who took up the offers. Most had been neat but obviously old clothes. It seemed the righteously homeless, as he liked to think of them, didn’t come to places like the Grill, no matter how good the coffee or the food.

He got up and nodded to some of his mates at the other end of the bar, then walked as cooly out of the Grill as he could manage. Man, what did that bitch do to me, he thought as he struggle to lifts one leg after the other. He stood at the taxi rank and held onto the metal of the sign post. It’s coldness felt like ice cutting every millimetre of his skin that touched it. His whole body ached in the worst way imaginable. His balls felt like they were dragging across cut glass.

He slid very carefully into the back seat of the taxi and closed his eyes for a moment to catch his breath. He woke as the taxi pulled up outside his place but he didn’t hear the driver nor could he see anything but her face. Inches from his and breathing all over him. He shut his eyes quickly as the driver called to him again.

“You ok mate, please throw up outside me cab!” and the driver pushed a button and the door next to Tony opened for him. “S’ok mate, migraine, just gotta getta bed!” he said slurring his speech. The driver looked at him suspiciously. He’d seen it all, the drugs, the sex, the vomit and the blood, and he didn’t get out to help anyone at this time of night. Nope thats how you got mugged. Tone handed him a fifty, took the change and dragged himself out onto the footpath.

Every step up to the front door of his townhouse was like trudging through metre deep snow in bare feet. He swiped his phone over the security reader and then stuck his thumb on the bioscreen. The door unlocked and Tone used the door to pull himself up the last step and into his sanctuary. He leant back against the door and felt it lock. “House” he said as clearly as he could for the voice recognition and his lights came on. “Alarm, 6am. Aircon, 22 degrees.” He dragged himself toward his bathroom struggling with every button and zip as he did so. He left the clothes where they fell and careful of the glass shower door fumbled with the taps till he had the temperature just warm enough to wash off the day.

Tone didn't trust the house computer with water temperature, never had! He was wary of hot water, he'd heard too many stories of late night showers where the stoned or drunk hadn’t recognised the temperature and been scalded by piping hot water. He had no fuck’in idea what was goin’ on with him but he wasn’t takin’ any chances.

He stood under the shower and closed his eyes and began to drift. He came awake with a start and screamed. She or it or whatever the fuck it was, was in the shower reaching out for him. “Give it back, give it all back,” was all he heard as he shut his eyes and slammed the hot tap closed and the cold wide open. “Drown you bitch,” he screamed deliriously.

Tone managed to shut off the water and with his eyes still closed fumbled for a towel then wiped himself down as he blindly scrambled to his bed. To the scene of epics, and sagas, and operas, and symphonies beyond imagining. “But not tonight eh Tone,” he said disgustedly to himself. He fell into his bed and was asleep before his body finished crumpling into a naked heap on the black Egyptian cotton sheets.

He awoke somehow during the night and opened his eyes feeling for the blanket. He screamed when he saw her face in the dim light and felt her body weight sitting astride him and his erection held in a fist like grip inside her. It was no longer Midnight Owl but some nightmare made real. Clawed hands scratching his chest were watched by slitted eyes in a horned head. Breasts, feathered shoulders, hairy hips and legs that chaffed his hips as she rode him back and forth. He shut his eyes and amid the pain and chaffing and the burn of an ejaculation that didn’t stop, he called out for help and only heard laughter and “give it back, all of it!”