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I awoke the next day (Tuesday), to Spike gently tugging at my hair, inadvertently breathing directly into my nostrils.
"Fuck off you gay pig," I mumbled through saliva and gravy.
Great. Another day of this guy's shit. Then he started talking.
"You know that Steph girl? You met her didn't you? Well, we almost had sex last night. I was so close. We would've done it but I couldn't find my condom. You don't know where it went did you? We looked all over for it, but to no avail. She ended up going home, and I ended up jerking off into my pillow."
At least that explained why his hair was in such a strange do.

"Spike, it's 12:30, and already I'm sick of your shit," I said glancing at the clock, "I'm leaving, have fun by yourself."
Not sure what to do, I headed off to the beach, not bothering to get changed out of my underpants.
And that's when it happened. Sammy. My love, fate had dealt me another royal flush. A golden fruit on the maggot-infested beach. And she was in a bikini!
"You... yo... Bronson?" she blurted, not sure whether the handsome, Y-front clad figure before her was the same as the one whom eagerly carried her off home mere days before.
"It is you!" she squealed, running towards my gaping elbows and ever-hardening erection. "Yeah, sorry about that other night. I was drunk. Well anyway, what are you doing tonight? You should come over. We'll go and get food or something, yeah?"
Grinning like a mentally retarded cattle dog, I agreed then slapped her on the bare shoulder as I went back to the apartment to start getting ready for the big night.

As per usual, Spike had used most of my aftershave after a particularly violent toilet session. The little prick likes to splash it about the bathroom after he does a hefty bog, in an attempt to mask his atrocious digestive disasters. It just ends up smelling as if a laxative-abusing teenage girl has used the toilet after a meal of cologne-soaked urinal cakes.
After a quick shower, a brief toilet episode, and a swift change of clothes, I was ready to devour and debauch my darling Sammy.
"Hey, Jackrabbit, I'm meeting Steph at Hungry Jack's in a bit. Wanna walk there with me?" Spike inquired, "It's pretty dark you know. Might get raped. These are a new pair of pants."
I agreed.

"There you are, my stumpy little cupid," Steph proclaimed as she saw the exhausted, yellow lump next to me. "Ah my love, the scent of your sweat has such an aperient affect on me." she went on, using words she has no idea the meaning of but likes saying anyway.
"Well, I've got no reason to be here any further," I said, scratching one of my balls. "Catch you cats later. And Spike, make sure you're appropriately equipt with the necessary prophylactics. We don't want young Steph here coming down with one of your countless infections. Especially that one that left your cock septic. Fuck, that was a weird month."

Happy to be out of there, and scratching my balls further, I made a hurried and sweaty walk to Sammy's apartment. Oh, if only I could walk half as fast as I wanted to, I would've got there three times faster. Maybe it was love, maybe it was 'cause I'm fat, but my heart got an extra squeeze of acceleration as I walked up the stairs to her room. Before knocking on her door I imagined what she'd be wearing. A sexy little negligé? That black bikini perhaps? Possibly nothing but a three-pointed Dutch explorer's hat, crafted entirely out of Coles receipts stapled together? Probably not though.
"Bronson, Bronson, come in!" She exclaimed, opening the door on my fourth knock. She was wearing a pair of deep blue, almost grey denim jeans, and a tight, yellow, cotton baby T-shirt with a witty slogan across the chest. I think it was something about boobs. "I thought we'd go out to get something to eat, but then I thought 'fuck it' and cooked something up instead. I hope you like fish."
She wasn't wearing shoes either. I couldn't see a bone in her youthful, pillowy feet. Her toenails were coated with a light, transparent varnish, and one had a lucky little ring wrapped around it, probably for some time now.
"Yep, Fish Fingers. Pretty shit, but at the same time they're not bad. Oh, I've also got some wine," she said, interrupting my daydream about placing my tongue atop her marshmallow toes.

Since, after all, we were eating fish, we helped ourselves to more than a fair share of wine. Getting close to the end of our second bottle of white, I just had to spill my emotions to Sammy and tell her what a playful set of breasts she had, and how pleasurable it would be to jiggle them around a bit and do foul things to her.
Raising an eyebrow, my sweet Sammy stood from her chair, and drunkedly walked towards me. One arm akimbo, one outstretched towards me, she told me to get up and follow her.
My hand wrapped around hers, my head full of euphoria, my stride hampered by alcohol and an aggressive, extremely warm-blooded animal in pants, we shuffled into her bedroom and reclined on her soft, inviting matress...