Against The Grain.

Or, once upon a time in the East.

Having been told that my enemies were, bizarre as it seems, my 'friends', I found that the local pimps seemed to want me to screw their poor old Eileens like a good 'un.
It started as the obsession of one particular gangster with whom I'd had a disagreement, and spread to become some sort of sport.

The more that they tried to put Humpty together again, the more they failed.
To me, the recipient of all this 'assistance', in the form of dodgy,doggy women appearing under all circumstances and at all times of day and night, all trying to perform a honey trap, sometimes cracking up and revealing what part of town they'd come from and who sent them, the more the attention made me sick.

Unsubtle innuendo followed, the implication being that I was supposed to be pimped by these scum into being their pet porn star in some mission to attack some woman or other.
Truly I was exposed to an underworld solicitousness that was worse than emnity-and was supposed to be.

Of course, the local morons, even in Leeds, joined in with alacrity, trying to give me the cure.
Hardly a word was heard, or a tune played, without the implication being that via some magical process sticking my todger into some unesteemed fake who offered herself to the game would heal society's ills and result in my being left in peace.

I sat back grimly and with magnificent stubbornness ignored this.
Then people really did start to show concern.
Which was just as bad as the fake blandishments of the criminals.

Obviously, I like girls.
But I can sniff out a trickster a mile off, and I hate the game with all my strength and passion.

Sometimes, now, if I am relaxed, and in my favourite pub, I'll see a woman and think about getting a life.
Then the day after, and the day after that, for the first time ever(in ten years) another one will walk in and start giving me the eye as if some cunt has stuck a sign on my back, and I'll know that the bastards are trying to 'help' again.

Fact is, I'm scarred. And the essence of my scar is, that I do a Coogan's Bluff when pimps are about.I'm sure that some of these girls must have been on the level, but in any case I'm not particularly bothered.
You either find someone special, or it doesn't matter from day to day.
And if, like me you are not married, you will be ready to get to a completely free and clear situation when Dark Helmet isn't playing dollies wiht you and your life, before committing to any Sheila that walks through the door.

Concern stinks.
MYOB.
Or in my case, MYOFB!