Free Cinnamon Twigs by Darren Freebury-Jones Page B

Deal?’
                  ‘We’ll see what happens.’
                  ‘Look at you, mate. You won’t have any trouble pulling. Be free and bury the bone! Let’s get on it and have a good time.’
                  ‘Okay.’ I smiled.
                  ‘That’s my boy.’
                  ‘So long as you don’t threaten me with a frozen fish again. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life.’
                  ‘That’s because you’ve never had it done to you. There was a girl named Jenny I was seeing for a short while during college and her dad worked in Cardiff market…’ He trailed off. ‘I’ll give you a buzz later. See you tonight. Au revoir .’
                  ‘ Ciao .’
                  I crawled into university the next day, pale-faced and blurry-eyed. Flashbacks of downing flaming shots and stumbling around semi-naked came back to me. But I hadn’t made it into a stranger’s bed.
                  ‘At least you kissed other girls. That’s a big step.’ Michael lit a cigarette as we sat on a bench, opposite a war memorial statue.
                  ‘Did I? I must have had chronic beer goggles.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘I’m not even sure if they were all female.’
                  ‘Hah, it wouldn’t surprise me if you got with a lady boy!’
                  ‘Shut up.’ I groaned.
                  ‘Right, we’re going out again tonight.’
                  ‘You must be joking.’
                  ‘Nope.’ Michael grinned roguishly. His breath still reeked of tequila.
                  ‘Mate, I feel like hell.’
                  ‘Intoxication is the best cure for crapulence.’
                  ‘That doesn’t make sense! You have serious issues!’ I laughed.
                  ‘We are going out until you get laid, even if it means going out every night this week. I didn’t even pull last night, so I need to make up for it tonight.’
                  ‘Screw it. Okay then.’ A tired smile flashed across my face.
                  My mother was mortified when I told her I was going out again. She threatened to stop me from getting ready.
                  ‘You look dead-and-won’t-lie-down, and you’re going out again! You’re becoming an alcoholic!’ She glared at me.
                  ‘I’ll look fine after I’ve showered and gotten dressed. I’m a student, not an alcoholic.’ I used the excuse every alcoholic scholar makes.
                  ‘If you go out, I’ll change the locks.’
                  I laughed and ran upstairs to get ready.
                  Michael’s idea of getting over a hangover involved bottles of wine and shots of white Sambuca. Cigarette smoke and kebabs mingled into an all too familiar scent, still lingering in my nose the next morning. A girl lay next to me, her face buried in a pillow and her matted brown hair draped over my shoulder. She turned over, revealing her modest breasts, and smiled at me. She talked about how much fun we’d had, but I couldn’t remember her name, so I left before making a tit out of myself. Michael had been right. There was no point in searching for a deep and meaningful relationship. I’d had a good night with Sarah, Laura or Alex - whatever her name was. Sex and cynicism would pass the time, until I met a girl I really liked.
                  Michael and I developed a reputation during the following few months. Whispers traveled in the university corridors. Michael was given the nickname ‘Minge Monster’ by our friends. I realized I wouldn’t find a decent girl if she knew I’d behaved like a lecherous Sesame Street character. But Michael didn’t care. He basked in his reputation,