It’s Cormac Brown’s challenge again. This weeks starter sentence was one I submitted and is in blue. Hope you enjoy…
A Night To Forget…
His life would have been a lot simpler if he’d just said no, but with his brains permanently residing between his legs, he was fucked.
Michael Raven or more commonly known to his friends and enemies as ‘Randy Raves’ was a player but he’d just played with the wrong girl.
* * *
It was his usual haunt, The King’s Head on the high street. Michael Raven stood with his back to the bar, a bottle of Stella in his hand, watching the slim brunette on the karaoke. It was a Friday night and, as usual, the place was bouncing. She was singing some lame song made famous by the current winner of some two bit reality TV show.
“She’s got a great voice,” the barman shouted from behind Michael.
Yeah, if you like the sound of fingernails scraping down a blackboard.
Michael turned round to the barman.
“Yeah, she’s not bad. Bet she sounds better in the sack though. Another bottle, mate,” he said planting his empty on the bar.
A huge cheer erupted as she finished her song.
“Woowoowoo. Ok, that was Cheryl and next up is Paul with a Kenny Rogers classic.”
“Oh fuck. Did you hear this tosser last week? He can’t sing for shit.”
Michael looked at the barman and smiled.
“Yeah, as I recall he’s pretty much as bad as you,” Michael said.
“I said, I’m just off to the loo,” Michael said, raising his voice above the noise in the pub.
“Oh, ok. I’ll watch your beer.”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll take it with me. I could be a while; I’ve got a big boy to empty.”
Michael winked at the barman and made his way to the toilets.
“Hi to you as well,” Michael said as he was greeted by the screeching brunette outside the toilets.
“My name is Cheryl, and…erm…I couldn’t help but notice the way you were looking at me while I was singing.”
“Well, you’ve got a voice of an angel,” he lied “And, may I add, the figure of a model.”
“I know who you are. You’re a bit of a ladies man, apparently.”
“My reputation precedes me. The name’s Michael.”
“Well you already know my name, so…..”
“Oh, shit, sorry, can I buy you a drink?”
“No, but I’ll meet you at this address in an hour,” she handed him a folded piece of paper, turned on her heels and walked back to her friends.
Michael watched her perfect butt cheeks wrestle with each other as she walked away, and then he unfolded the paper.
“What the f…”
His own address was written down.
Sixty minutes later, Michael was being thrust up against his hallway wall, hungry fingers desperately trying to tear off his clothes.
Holy shit, she’s a fucking nympho.
Cheryl kissed him hard on his mouth, the tongue intrusion going beyond tonsil tennis. Michael tried to breathe but it felt like her tongue had snaked its way into his stomach. He tried to push her away but found her strength too much. He managed to pull his head back from her and took a large gulp of breath.
“What’s wrong, Michael? Am I too much for you? Maybe I should go.”
Michael, still gasping for breath, nodded.
“Do you want me to stay?
“Then let’s take this to the bedroom.”
Cheryl stepped away from Michael and started walking down the hall, taking off her jacket. She reached behind herself and slowly unzipped her dress, easing it off her shoulders. The dress fell to the floor, giving Michael his first glimpse of that perfect butt. She turned to him.
“It’s the…erm… last door on the left.” Michael said finally catching his breath.
“I know. Are you coming?” Cheryl disappeared into the room.
What the fuck am I doing? This could be the biggest mistake of my life.
He made his way down the hallway, taking off his jacket. He stopped at the door and called into the darkness, the moonlight casting long shadows across the room.
“Cheryl? There’s a lamp at the side of the bed.”
There was no answer. Michael walked into the room, towards the bed. A low rumbling sound came from behind him. He turned just as the woman jumped on him, her strength increased. Just before Michael passed out he caught sight of her face. An image he would never forget.
* * *
The pounding inside his head would not stop. Bang, bang, bang. Then it would start again. Bang, bang, bang. Michael opened his eyes. He squinted at the brightness of the day.
“Oh fuck, my head,” he said out loud.
The pounding continued but Michael realised it was the road works outside his apartment block and not inside his head. “Shit, what day is it?” He pushed himself up and sat on the end of the bed, elbows on knees, and head in his hands. He rubbed his face and winced.
Michael looked in the mirror facing him and gasped. There were lacerations on his face and neck. His shirt was ripped and there were bite marks on his chest and stomach. In the mirror he noticed something scrawled above the headboard behind him. Michael turned and read the words: the woman’s face immediately coming to his thoughts.
“Beware the moon.”
The banging outside continued as Michael’s blood ran cold.
To be continued…
The usual applies, leave a comment if you want…go on, you know you want to…