'the corpse/the angel' The Corpse It’s like I’m paralysed. I’m lying here in what seems to be a lagoon of sweat on my bed, my arms and legs spread out, even Voyager is hanging free as I stare at the ceiling. I can stare at nothing else, I can’t move. It’s been like this night after night, and though I understand and expect the same inevitability I experience every night; I still go along for the ride. I can feel a bead of sweat roll down the side of my forehead onto my pillow that gives me an itch I know I can’t scratch because my arms can’t move. Maybe it wouldn’t itch so much if I knew I could scratch it, but I’ll never know, because I can’t. A noise, I hear from downstairs it seems. Ever so slightly, ever so softly it sounds as though someone is shuffling along the rug in the living room. Ordinarily I’d never hear this, but since my other senses have been immobilised, my hearing has magnified like I turned the volume up to eleven. A thud from downstairs and the shuffling stops so suddenly. I bolt upright, I can move freely, I no longer hear the noises but I feel its necessary to investigate. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t? I look under the bed for the cricket bat, it’s so dark in here I can’t see a damn thing; I have a feel around but find nothing but a crusty sock and an old condom. Wow how long has that been there? Forget the bat, I’m built like a brick shit house, no burglar-motherfucker is going to have his way with me, I’ll DynaMighty his robbing arse on my kitchen floor and shove the antique vase he wanted so badly up his… I don’t even have any antique vases. I move slowly and as quietly as a near three hundred pound man can move, down the carpeted stairs in my bare feet, tongue between my teeth for concentration. I don’t see the glow of a flashlight or the sound of breathing; I don’t hear anything for that matter as I reach the bottom of the stairs. My heart begins to beat like a boxer pounding a punch bag, I can hear the shuffling again, so obvious and so brazen, do they want to be caught? I turn towards the door to the living room, which I kick open and rush into. I stand in fright as I see the nightmare I see every night. His eyes missing, just darkness for as far as the sockets go. His jaw is hanging off, his skin is rotting and black. His hair is patchy and straggly, clumped together with mud. Dirt covers his vacant face, expressionless as he stands straight unperturbed by the worms and maggots protruding through all orifices. He begins to move towards me, slowly. So slowly you wouldn’t know he had moved until a sharp movement forward as if frames had been moved from his animation, closer and closer to me. I can’t move, I try to breath but I can only stand and watch as he approaches me. I look deep into his empty eyes as his arm is outstretched. He touches me on the shoulder and a jump out of my skin. I’m still in bed, still drowning in sweat. This has to stop. The Angel As I sit trying to telephone people who do not want to talk to me for one reason or another I can’t help but think about the visions or dreams that I have been having night after night. What I would like is to speak to Czecher, that guy has enough of his demons in that head of his, maybe he can help me out but I’ll be damned if he is answering his phone this week. Maybe he’s taken the wire out the back to get some much-needed peace. Or maybe he has just gone out. I wouldn’t mind speaking to my son either, if I am to be brutally honest it has been rather lonely here since Pedro’s funeral and although I didn’t really show that I missed him when I saw him on Takedown, there’s nothing more I’d like to do than sit down and have a beer with him while watching the football. But he must be out too, either out with The Hespelers or out with that hot nurse. Either way I’m jealous. My son, from what I’ve heard has finally lost his virginity. Eighteen years old isn’t too bad, there’s much worse. It’s not like he’s physically repugnant to women, most of them find him cute, he just hasn’t had the opportunity. Well now he has, and by looking at that nurse, she’s probably been around the block a few times so Kevin must be a diamond in the sack to keep her satisfied. A ring on the doorbell and I snap out of my little trance as I sit at my breakfast bar in my kitchen, a glass of scotch and ice sits untouched in front of me. I open the door and come face to face with the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. No, not a KFC family bucket. She stands there as if she’s brought daylight with her, the light shines from behind her and nearly blinds me, I fully expect doves to start flying out of her arsehole. Her smile is as white and perfect and the sheets she lays on. The little white uniform is enough to send any man over the edge, just a tight fitting knee-length dress that hugs the contours of her petite figure. “Hi.” She says, her voice sings to me. “I’m Vicky from Dust-Angels, the cleaning firm. You called last week about a Wednesday and Saturday slot.” I stand in awe and forget to respond for only a moment. “Uh, oh yeah, Dust Angels. I remember. Come in, uh… Make yourself at home.” I say, it’s the best I can manage under these conditions. “I’d better just crack on with the cleaning if that’s ok.” She says. Every word, every sentence is a verse from the most beautiful song ever written. I’m totally geeking out now and it is far from funny. “Can I get you a drink?” This isn’t a bar, Bill, but good try. “Yes please. Mineral water?” She responds with a smile. I’d do anything for that smile. She could work on the Titanic and say “Sorry everyone, but we’ve ran out of lifeboats.” And I’d say “That’s ok, thanks for the warning, I’ll take my chances.” I head over to the fridge and pull out a bottle of Peckham Spring, I knew that queer Kevin had these bottles of water in here for a reason, it’s fate. I hand her the bottle and when she takes it, her fingers brush mine, only for a moment, but I couldn’t help but feel it was intentional. Her touch was as soft as silk, she must use Oil of Olay, I use that too, the guys in the locker room often compliment me on my smooth hands. That sounds totally gay. I’m not gay yunno. She gets her squeezie bottle of surface cleaner and a cloth out of her bag and starts to work on the kitchen. She bends over the breakfast bar oh so suggestively, at least in my mind, her firm butt cheeks seem to be pointing right at me, her legs are spread enough for me to imagine moving right on in for the kill and taking her right there and then, but I bottle it and she catches me standing there, staring with my glass of untouched scotch in my hand. “I’m sorry.” I say thinking of an excuse. I haven’t got one. “I didn’t mean to stare it’s just… It’s hard not to, yunno?” “It’s ok.” She says smiling before turning her head away back to the cleaning. She knows I’m still looking; it’s the way she’s standing. Then when she walks, her feet are always in line, women only walk like that when there is men around. It makes her bum giggle from one side to another with every step, and in that tight skirt you can see it all. I have to wonder what colour panties she’s wearing underneath without going into a whole Frank Ricard – marriage councillors moment. I’m guessing a white thong, with a picture of my head on the front and “Kiss My Face” underneath; oh I’d kiss my face all right. I’d give it the full once over. I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room for a moment just to catch my breath. I put MTV on to maybe cool me down, maybe a Village People video will come on and turn me right off, but alas, the worst possible record that could ever be played at a time like this, when I need to feel restraint, when I need to stop behaving like a dog on heat. This is the worst moment to ever hear Marvin Gaye – Let’s Get It On. The opening chord sends a chill up my spine, I’m ready to get down on it and I’m not fighting it. I turn the corner into the kitchen and she meets me at the doorway, her right arm glides up the doorframe as her left takes my glass and puts it down on the side. She leans over and whispers into my ear. “I love this song.” She whispers so softly, sending all the right signals to my brain. “Yeah, so do I. I often feel that…” She cuts me off with a finger to my mouth. “Sshh. Less talk, more…” I cut her off with a kiss to her neck, she gasps – I must have hit the right spot, Billy’s still got the moves. Her hand moves to the back of my head and she grips my hair. She pushes my head forward and kisses me passionately, nearly taking my face off with her lips. I grab a hold of her waist and lift her up so easily on the table, perfect waist height for me. I go to open the buttons on the front of her dress but she takes my hands away and whips the dress open to the waist without breaking off any buttons revealing amazingly firm young breasts in a white lace bra. She puts her arms behind her back and ondoes her bra from the back, I lean in for the kiss and she pulls me in and caresses my tongue with hers as I move a hand up towards her tits and move my middle finger over her hard nipple before squeezing not too hard but enough to know I’m there. I stand in between her legs and can feel the heat bursting into my jeans, I reach down and slip a finger of each hand under the elastic of her thong and pull it off gently, lifting her butt up slightly and then past her thighs, knees and then off her feet, unhooking it from her high heels that she still wears. She hikes the skirt of her dress up to her waist and moves a hand in between her legs and plays with her perfectly smooth pussy. She keeps kissing me as she plays with herself with one hand while the other unbuttons my fly and pulls voyager out of my boxers, and he needs no introduction as he’s hard as a fucking rock already. She pulls me further in and places voyager up against her wet pussy lips, I can feel she’s horny as fuck as she’s dripping wet already. I push softly and I go inside her slowly, she breathes deeply and whimpers as I go deeper and deeper. I pull back and bring Voyager nearly all the way out and he’s covered in the creamy juice that drips from her pussy. This turns me the fuck on so I push in a lot harder this time and she groans as she knocks her head back and looks the ceiling, her grip on my hair is much tighter, tight enough that it hurts just a little. I reach around the back of her head and grab a hold of her blonde hair while massaging the back of her head that nearly sends her eye balls to the back of her sockets. I tug back on her hair, pulling her head back as I fuck her harder, our skin making that slapping sound as my waist hits hers, faster and faster, she shouts loud with pleasure. She lets go of my hair and lies down horizontally on the table, lifting her legs up and rests the points of the heels on my chest. She keeps eye contact and has a look of vulnerability written all over her face as I enter her even deeper from this position. She plays with her clit as I take the pace down a notch and look up towards my window where I see my 120-year-old neighbour Maud looking right in in total shock. I gesture for her to go away but I notice she cannot see Vicky beneath me and thinks I’m just standing at my dining room table knocking one out. She bangs on the window loudly and Vicky shoots upright nearly breaking my dick in half. She looks around and sees Maud who gets the picture and fucks off in a hurry. Vicky gets on her feet and starts to button up in a hurry. “Woah what’s the matter?” I ask. “I’ll get in so much trouble if she calls my boss.” She says, panicking. “Don’t worry about it, how does she know you’re from a cleaning firm?” I wonder. “It’s written on the side of my car, WITH the number! I’ll get sacked.” She says as she searches for her underwear that I threw across the room. “She’s not gonna call your boss, why would she do that?” “I don’t know, but I have to go.” She says as she picks her knickers up and walks to the door. “But Vicky… You coming back?” She just turns away and walks out the door, closing it behind her. I punch the table and shout loudly. “FUCKING MAUD, OLD FUCKING BITCH!” I slip a semi-erect Voyager into my boxers and give him a word of advice. “Don’t worry, mate. I’ll have a shower and finish you off.” I hear her car pull away with a wheel spin and I start to make my way up stairs slowly. I can hear the noises again, I can hear shuffling up stairs, not him again, the fucking corpse. The Legend Let me talk about that word that’s totally overused in today’s wrestling; respect. There’s a few people in wrestling I have respect for, not many, but a few. I call it my List, and on that list are a few names. The names of the people I wish to fight either again or for the first time before I retire. You, Legend, you are on that list. I know there isn’t a whole lot of time before I have to hang up my boots and let the youngsters have a go in the spotlight, and so time is running out for me to fight the big boys of today’s wrestling. You are one of those big-boys, Legend, and when I saw the card this week I smiled. I smiled because 1) I know you’re gonna hit me damn hard and I can feel the bruises already and 2) I finally get a chance to beat The Legend, the man I have only met in a triple threat match before. You’re a man of my own taste though, Legend. You and I are very similar in many ways if you ignore the most obvious of differences. Look at our physiques. Obviously yours is in better shape than mine is right now, but you’re very similar to how I was just a few years ago. Big, strong, ripped, confident, powerful. You have all the attributes that make a wrestling icon, you have a ability which is the most important of all attributes. You helped me get back into shape after my most public fall from grace. I was broke, I was high, I was drunk, I was fat. You took me under your huge wings and trained me, to get me back into the best shape I can be at the ripe old age of forty. You didn’t receive money for that gesture, Legend. You didn’t receive gifts or any personal gain of any kind. I don’t know what reasons you did it, but you did, and for that I am eternally grateful because it was that training that got me back into shape. This shape, this current shape I am in which is the number one contender for the world championship. At Hell & Back, by rights, I should have won the px:w World Title. I was about to take home the gold when my victory party was suddenly cancelled by a young starlet by the name of Gabe Reno. I got my vengeance on Gabe Reno, at State Of Revenge I showed him and the world that I am not ready to die just yet, and as everybody else, including you Legend, predicted Reno to overtake me and take my thrown and take my spot as number one contender I proved to the world that I am still as dominant as I ever was, and when I step into the ring with Lawrence Jarvis at High Impact, I WILL be stepping out as World Champion, and I WILL be defending my title in LONDON at No Return. But before I even get to High Impact, I have to face another Champion. The Television Champion. Luckily for you, Legend, that title isn’t on the line otherwise I’m afraid I’d have to take it with me to High Impact and swap it with Lawrence for his title. But Reynolds isn’t a fool, he isn’t gonna let Billy D take the TV Title from The Legend, Reynolds knows what we all know and that is; that title in BENEATH me! I’m higher up on the food chain than the damn television title, I’m not a television wrestler, I’m a PAY PER VIEW wrestler. I have my big matches on pay per view when people have to pay good money to see me. But instead this week, Reynolds is giving away what he could sell, a huge match, Dynamite versus Legend, non-title. Well for all those that are watching, hoping to get a classic match out of Bill Dynamite for free, think again, you’ll get no classic match, you’ll get Dynamite walking in, beating the hell out of King Kong and walking the fuck out of there with my head held high, looking forward to High Impact when I face a REAL champion. Idol out. back