Fucking Damien, with his skin stinking like cigarillo pale ale and day old pork crackle, wreaking sweat into the bed. Fucking Damien, throwing me down with juggle clubbed hands and thickly mallowed fingers making clumsy fumbled passes. Fucking Damien, ploughing witless, greedy furrows in the dirt, clotted ruts and too much traction. Fucking Damien, channeling away, an inept oarsman throwing stroke after stroke and grunting, gormless with the effort, racing trials against my ghost upon the swell of my repentance. Fucking Damien, as if I hadn’t already said yes, he has to take the joy out of it too.

2 thoughts on “Acquiesce

    • Honestly, I really disliked most of this piece. Normally I can write a 100 word piece in one go, but I rewrote this one a few times and it still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m glad you liked it though, it’s always nice to get feedback on such an insular sport.

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