Tough, Tough Toys for Tough, Tough Boys by Will Self

Author:Will Self [Self, Will]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802137029
Amazon: 0802137024
Barnesnoble: 0802137024
Publisher: Grove Press
Published: 2000-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

DESIGN FAULTS IN THE VOLVO 760 TURBO: A MANUAL

‘. . . bearing in mind the fact that everyone hides the truth in matters of sex . . .’

– Sigmund Freud,

‘My Views on the Part Played by Sexuality in the Aetiology of the Neuroses’

1. Instruments and Controls

Welcome to the terrifyingly tiny world of the urban adulterer. Bill Bywater has been snogging with a woman called Serena. Giving and receiving as much tongue as possible – exactly at the point where Sussex Gardens terminate, and the streams of traffic whip around the dusty triangular enclosure of trees and grass, before peeling away in the direction of Hyde Park, or Paddington, or the M40.

Bill has been snogging – and the adolescent term is quite appropriate here – in a way he remembers from youth. Not that the palpings of lip-on-lip, tongue-on-lip, and tongue-on-tongue have been any less accomplished, or plosively erotic, than we have come to expect from the man. It's just that Serena has recently had an operation on a benign cyst in her cheek. Bit of Lidocaine. Slit and suck – two stitches. Bosh-bosh. ‘Perhaps it would be wise’ – the surgeon had said, admiring the creamy skin of her cleavage, the standing into being of her ever-so-slightly large breasts – ‘if you were to avoid using your mouth for anything much besides eating over the next week or so?’

He was right to make this statement interrogative – almost verging on the rhetorical, because Serena hardly uses her mouth for eating at all, preferring dietary supplements and cocaine to get by on. Serena used to be an ‘it’ girl – but now she's ‘that’ woman. A socialite – she went to a finishing school in Switzerland where they taught her to fellate. She'd set her cap at Bill months ago. Not that he wasn't ripe for it.

Serena says, ‘I've had a small operation on my cheek . . .’ The eyelashes perturb the polluted air, monoxide and burnt rubber. ‘Try and be gentle with this side –’ She caresses her own elastoplasted cheek. Their bodies marry. Her thighs part slightly to receive the buttressing of his thigh. Her lips begin to worry at his mouth – so adept Bill wonders if they might be prehensile. He allows his hands to link in the region of her coccyx. A thumb lazily traces the rivulets and curves between her arse and the small of her back. She moans into his mouth. The traffic groans into his ear. He concentrates on stimulating the side of her which isn't numb.

As he is snogging, Bill is acutely aware of the time: 6.30 p.m.; the place: Sussex Gardens, W2; and the implied logistics: his wife, Vanessa, cycles home every evening along Sussex Gardens, at more or less this time. It is not unlikely that Vanessa will see Bill snogging with Serena, because Bill is – he acknowledges with a spurt of dread – at least sixty feet high. He bestrides the two lanes of bumpy tarmac, his crotch forming a blue denim underpass for the rumbling traffic.

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