Normally I wouldn’t, but I want to hang this tiny bit up in the public domain just to see. I’m not exactly struggling with this new novel, but I am more hesitant than usual, for a few reasons.
…I closed the door behind me, and blinked theatrically for the benefit of no one but myself. I tried to attach the key to my set but the metal of the bow was so thick I could not force it onto the split ring. Perhaps I would hang it round my neck like bling, though I would need to find the right chain. I paced the place out. It was not much more than six by seven but the ceiling went right up into the apex making it feel roomier than the bare floor space, which it was, if you thought of it in terms of cubic capacity. There was a sink and a small cooker with two rings in one corner. It could have been a nicer room, a much more plus de joli chambre – if it wasn’t for the heavily decorated dark brown furniture that came with it. There was only a bed, a wardrobe, a chair, a dressing table and a television from the nineteen fifties that was stood on the dressing table. These items, though, were enough to create a sense of doom and oppression. There was a further door to one side which let on to an en suite bathroom. Here were the most unexpected touches – the floor was a dark green, made of real marble as far as I could tell and the shower taps were art deco pieces which looked like they belonged in a grand hotel. These taps were connected to a huge old zinc shower head by a fat pipe, the plumbing arrangement was completed by a short crouching bath. F is for froid, C is for chaud; I turned them on together. At first there was rattling, then an unpleasant smell, then a trickle of brown liquid. Then a pause. My heart sank but my dismay lasted for only a second or so as the pause was followed by a shuddering blast of water, then another, and soon there was a strong, even flow. This was more than I had hoped for. I corrected the temperature and I stepped out of my clothes and stood under the water for a long time. I had neither soap nor shampoo nor any plans. I let the stream wash over me while I thought about wanking, about how likely it was that I’d do it right now, and about how territorial an activity it is, necessity aside, how dog-like, like pissing on a gatepost.