The alternative to 50 Shades Of Grey.
50 Shades Of Chav.
As he approached with those pasty white arms hanging out of his Gola vest, his smile told me it was benefit day, and I knew my velour tracksuit would be hanging off the lamp shade tonight.
It was Dwayne's birthday. I was preparing his special tea of Findus Crispy Pancakes and Pot Noodle. I would let him take me any way he wanted tonight. His favourite position was what he called The Dogs of War, where he took me from behind and played Call of Duty at the same time.
Our 6 week anniversary was approaching. This would be my longest relationship without becoming pregnant. I thought of this as he lay on top of me making love. His skinny arms straddled my head like breadsticks either
side of an orange. As I rubbed his whiter than white back, I imagined every mole I felt was spelling out Braille for I love you.
My Tan was 11 Shades of Orange. As I stood in line at the Job Centre thinking
of reasons I couldn't work, a sweet smell drifted past my pig like nostrils. It was a mixture of weed, B.O and Lynx Africa. I turned around and there was Dwayne. Our eyes met, and he was soon lifting me onto the wheelie bins behind the Iceland. He had tied up his Staffy to block the alley way, so we
wouldn't be disturbed. There was a tramp watching, but it just added to the mystery. I knew it was love and my life would never be the same.
My mum had told me to leave Dwayne many times due to the violence, but
I knew he loved me, as he always took his rings off before he hit me. Tonight though, he was in a foul mood. I had fu**ed his tea up after failing to de-frost his prawn ring that I had nicked from Farm Foods. He picked up the power lead from my kids mega drive, and whipped it across my doughy arse. It stung, but I liked it. I shouted "again, again", so he carried on. I thought my shell suit would rip into a million pieces. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw his Weetabix toothed smile. He even had a semi on, which was rare, as the
crack normally played havoc with his erections.
I had a week to myself, as the kids were all at their respective dads, apart from Shakira, whose dad was on remand. Luckily her Grandma was home, as this time last year she was in Malia on an 18-30. Dwayne wanted me to be a Dominatrix but I couldn't get the gear as the new security guard at Ann Summers was a right git. I had to improvise. I put on my fave slag wellies and wrapped bin bags around my muffin tops. For the mask, I pulled my old black period pants over my head. I looked like gothic Vanessa Feltz attempting a bank job. Dwayne looked well chuffed as he had scored some Viagra off his dealer. I climbed on top but the idiot was asleep. He had bought diazepam by
mistake. I tried to get him inside me but it was like trying to push toothpaste back into the tube. Finishing myself on the kids buzz light-year wasn't my finest hour.
