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It's
a Friday night and you are feeling sorta frisky, so you decide
to head down to your friendly neighbourhood beat near the lake,
in the hope of finding some cute boy to scratch your itch. You
slink around the area trying to avoid the gazes of the sinister
middle-aged men who give casual sex a bad name, when your eye
catches a luscious young thing sitting forlornly on a damp bench.
He has the look of a Bernard Sumner circa "The Perfect
Kiss", and that is enough to drag your nervous feet over
his way.
After making awkward small talk you get down to business.
So you are down on your knees and you are listening to the noises
around you; the crickets beside the lake, the cars zooming past
on the nearby highway, and the obvious slurping sounds of love.
But another noise makes it's way into the cold night air; someone
is singing under their breathe, it's Mr. Sumner above you. You
wonder if you should be offended, and begin to have doubts about
your technique. But curiosity gets the better of you and you
focus your ears to work what he is singing. "I try to reach
the halo, but desire just not strong enough."
You know that song. "Revolver," you say. He looks
down at you in bemusement obviously thinking that you are making
some strange phallic reference. "No the song you were singing,
it was by Revolver right?"
"Oh yeah," he mutters. "I was listening to the
album before I left tonight."
"I had to steal the cd off my brother because I could no
longer find it in the shops," you say.
He smiles slightly, and there is an awkward pause before you
return to the task at hand. He makes not a sound for the rest
of the encounter, except to say "thank you"; he even
mutes his primal orgasmic screams.
And so you are walking home feeling particularly dirty, and
decidedly unsatisfied, and you think to yourself: "Oh well,
at least he had decent taste in music."
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