"Shaun Hutson - Compulsion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hutson Shaun)

many of them, why should he?

He rarely asked their names.

What difference did it make?

Since his mother had walked out when he was six, there had always been
women around the house. Sometimes for months at a time, sometimes just
for the odd night here and there.

They never stayed.

Just came and went, dropped from a never-ending conveyor belt.

A cunt conveyor belt.

There was obviously something about his father that women found
attractive, but Thompson was fucked if he knew what it was.

Blondes. Brunettes. Redheads.

All colours. All kinds.

One had stayed for a month. Moved in with most of her stuff. She'd
cooked and cleaned for them both (what was her name?) until his father
had tired of her.

She'd packed her clothes again and moved out.

Alice? Alison?

He sucked on his cigarette and gazed at the contorted face of the woman
in his father's bedroom.

He had a clear view of the entire room through the hole he'd chiselled
in the wall.

Both she and his father were naked, sheathed in sweat. The woman's
dark hair was hanging down in matted strands like serpents' tails. She
was gripping the duvet with both hands as Thompson's father held
tightly to her hips and slammed his penis into her.

Every now and then she would look over her shoulder at him.

At the veins bulging in his neck and temples.

At the clenched teeth.

Words were exchanged, but Thompson couldn't hear them properly. They
communicated mainly by grunts and sighs that obviously meant something