The Hunger Read Online Free PDF Page A

chocolate martinis, four bottles of Stella, a chilled bottle of Beaujolais, nine vodka tonics, a gram of coke, three hundred
press-ups, a circuit at the gym, a seven-mile run and a sachet of Kamagra.
    This is how my night goes:
    9 p.m.
    I’m not due at The Club for another hour, so I’m making great use of my time tying Suzie to my bed with her stockings. I’ve been pounding her for the last hour
and she’s been begging me to tie her up. I am, like all honest people, politically incorrect to my core. It’s in a woman’s nature to want to
submit
to a man, to crave a
power greater than she feels herself to be, and there isn’t a man on the face of the earth who doesn’t want to feel a sexy bird swinging on the end of his cock or gasping at the size of
his bank balance, screaming, ‘Yes, Boss, anything you want, Boss.’ Any bird who stays faithful to a weak man ‘for the kids’ then ‘for the grandkids’ then
‘because it’s the kind of woman I have become’, will never find out how good it is to be well and truly fucked. She will, like all women, spend her nights dreaming about a Big
Bang as she waits patiently for a bitter menopause.
    Suzie is nineteen, five feet nothing, a mass of blonde hair, and begging for a butt plug.
    —Tie me! Fuck me!
    I’ve got her all trussed up when my phone rings. It’s Rik. I can’t remember what happened next.
    9:45 p.m.
    I must have left the flat because some Wrap whose name I don’t know and who I’ve never met before is sucking my cock in the toilets at Little Italy. My phone rings
again.
Unknown
. I fucking hate
Unknown
. If I know who it is I can choose to ignore it.
Unknown
is too open with possibility and I’m terrified of missing out.
    —Yes.
    —Is that Mr Townley?
    ‘Mr’ always means trouble. I pull my cock out of her mouth and send her out of the toilet.
    —Who wants to fucking know?
    —I’m a Police Officer and I am in your flat on Old Compton Street after a member of the public reported an incident.
    In the future, a cell at the Police Station where this officer works will be like a second home to me and Esurio will say:
    —Exposed brickwork. Off-white paintwork. Stone floor. Wrought-iron bed. Think of it like a loft conversion in Shoreditch. A bit smaller, I agree, and with a rather austere front door, but
let’s not worry about trifles!
    But now it’s just a place that might stand between me and my pleasure.
    The Officer says:
    —I understand you left a young girl tied up in your flat in Old Compton Street. Is that correct?
    I hesitate. I need a drink. I need more coke. Then I say in an outburst of reckless honesty:
    —Fuck! I forgot about Suzie!
    —Forgot, Mr Townley? I think that’s hardly credible.
    Common sense would say that the officer is correct. It is highly unlikely that a man would forget he has a girl tied to his bed. Then, most things about my life are unlikely, including my
shocking and deteriorating memory. In a brief, sober moment some days later, with the help of a police caution, I piece together what happened:
    My phone rings.
    It’s Rik.
    I don’t answer it.
    I forget the call.
    Then I remember the call.
    And the Bankers’ Party.
    I remember answering the call.
    Which technically I didn’t.
    I stuffed the phone in Suzie’s pussy when it rang.
    She squeezed and answered it.
    I think I’ve spoken to Rik.
    Rik thinks I’ve dropped the phone in water and ends the call.
    Rik says: Stupid cunt!
    I think: I must go the Bankers’ Party
    I feel hungry.
    I say: I must go to the kitchen.
    I forget why I’m in the kitchen.
    I remember I must go to The Club.
    I get as far as Little Italy.
    I forget why I’m there.
    I remember Suzie.
    I think: She’s a great Wrap. Wouldn’t mind seeing her again.
    Suzie wonders where I am.
    I wonder what Suzie is doing right now.
    I see a Wrap.
    I tell the Wrap: I want you to suck my cock.
    She says: OK.
    Suzie shouts: Help me! Help me!
    My bedroom window is open.
    A nice man hears