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'Have you, have you ever fucked a tart who's had a kid?'

'No.' He didn't hear and turned to me, mouth ajar. I shook my head.

'Well I—' he zig-zagged crazily, squeezed between a taxi and a newspaper van, and drifted two-wheeled up Queensway - 'well I fucking have. And it's no joke. Don't know …

So I am nineteen years old and don't usually know what I'm doing, snap my thoughts out of the printed page, get my looks from other eyes, do not overtake dotards and cripples in the street for fear I will depress them with my agility, love watching children and animals at play but wouldn't mind see…

The condom case was empty, of course, so I looked out the box of Sharpshooters. Who needs it, I thought. You'll be coming blood, if anything.

It, too, was empty.

'Damn. None left.'

'No,' said Rachel. There was one. I saw it this afternoon. There were two there.'

In a voice that could ha…

Eight twenty-five. After some neck-ricking soixante-neuf and a short period inside her unsheathed, I clawed at the little pink holder and took its final trojan. — Not to worry, because this is my equivalent of a flash cigarette-case; the real supply is elsewhere.

Ur? What can she mean? She talks as if she's filling in a form. 'What about me ?' I want to yodel. How do you think my body feels, wearing that sliver of bathroom? (It's unpractically pricey, too. A week after The Pull I had to lone up to Soho and buy a gross-pack of 'Sharpshooters' - economy d…