It was early and his erection was already hurting him, knock over a dried up cactus, open a window.

The trouble with new ones is that they never know the drill, never leave in time, always hover around waiting for a sign that it wasn't just a mistake fuck or just something to pass the time, annoyances.

He pulls on a sweater and walks to the bathroom to smear his eyes and mouth with cold wet tissue paper and bend to drink water from the faucet. She's still here and she's doing that annoying thing they do to look appealing in fake sleep, arching her back sticking her butt out from beneath the sheets, as if he was just a schmuck who had never seen a girl naked in bed before and he couldn't resist it.

He slouches back into the bed and pretends to ignore her then begins the slow assault of knocking his penis into the base of her spine so she can in turn pretend to wake up all sleepy and ready to fuck. Almost routine he cups her face, he couldn't remember her being so freckly from last night, she's wearing one of his t shirts now that he definitely didn't loan her, another tool she thinks is sexy but he's just adamant he takes it off her fast to make sure she doesn't sneak it into her purse as a souvenir or that prissy little excuse to return to his door a week later, expecting something, fuck they all expect something. He ejaculates weakly and she pretends to cum doing some breathy shudders even though he knows its a charade, he leaves her to clean up and goes to make tea, he doesn't make her one. Slowly she gets the hint and makes a show of getting dressed, stomps down the stairs after a indignant goodbye and leaves, the door slamming and ringing out.

Hell, he knows he's a prick but he doesn't ever hold the pretence of being good, he's finished in that department for now, maybe forever. He feels the comfort of being back in a cold room alone, stretches out starfishing like a child, wishing that money wasn't spent on things to swallow and alter his brain to dance and all that other stuff.

"You're a sociopath", the last one had told him as he sat eating a meatball sub in bed, ignoring her blonde hair matting up and mascara streaming because somebody had stolen her phone and she didn't know the way home and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of letting her use his laptop for google maps. In the end he grabbed a worn down biro and wrote a fake map on the back of an envelope and told her if she got lost to call him on 078767654563, she was too hungover and distracted to notice the extra digits.