We head back to Gian’s place, where we drink and listen to music. Gian, Derrick and a few others I’ve just met listen intently as Roy regales us with a pig-hunting story. His dog had cornered a big boar in a gully, but it was a tusker and it gored the dog to death. Roy loved that dog, so he was justifiably upset.
He grabbed a fallen branch and set upon the pig with the sort of lunatic fury that has rightly earned him the “Mad Dog” nickname. No one but Roy could have been surprised when the intended flailing went awry. The branch broke across the boar’s back, at which point the old tusker proceeded to gore Roy’s leg. When Roy finally got his knife out of his belt, he tried to stab the pig, but — in Roy’s words — the pig stabbed him with his own knife. So he had two gashed legs, a dead dog, no pig and was about two kilometres from his ute, which, when he got back, had a flat tyre, and Roy wondered if the fucking pig didn’t do that, too.
While the others are laughing, I wink at Meg, then exit to the laundry. A moment later Meg joins me and we spend a few minutes kissing and fondling. I guess we look a bit guilty when we return; Gian gives me a wink that makes me think he has a pretty good idea what’s going on, or maybe he just wants a piece of me, too.
The others are keen to go to the pub. I’m not. I don’t need a repeat of the last time, and there’s something else I’d rather be doing. I tell them I’m going to head back to Spinifex City, get an earlyish night for our start tomorrow. I’m hoping Meg will also suddenly find herself all petered out and in desperate need of a good sleep, and decide to come back with me. Lo and behold, she does, but then Roy decides to call it a night, too. I’d figured him for another big one.
When we get back to Spinifex City, Roy wants one more drink. He’s so enthusiastic and so insistent that I can’t stand saying no to the old bastard, though Meg has no such compunctions. She gives me a look, says good night and heads off to her room.
I pull up a plastic pew at the outdoor tables and I pour two whiskies. Roy is still thinking about the good old days. He tells me about the time he found a feral goat submerged up to its neck in mud, though in Roy’s telling it was quicksand. He put a rope around its neck, attached it to the winch on his ute and pulled the animal out. Roy went down to loosen the noose. The goat wasn’t moving, as he’d damn near choked it to death. He got the rope off and the goat eventually sat up, but still didn’t try to get away. Roy started patting the goat like it was a dog. The goat realised it was not a dog; the goat realised it was a very scared and confused goat. It jumped up and bolted, knocking the feet from under Roy, who landed hard on his tail bone. The goat swung around and ran straight back into the bog, stuck in pretty much the same spot as before. Such an act of betrayal was too much for Roy. He went to his ute, retrieved his gun and shot the goat about fourteen times. Then, not wanting to contaminate a watering hole, he had to carefully wade into the bog, put the rope back around the goat’s neck and winch it out again, except this time it didn’t move when he took the noose off and he could pat it to his heart’s content.
I haven’t stopped laughing when Roy starts telling me about his grand plans once he’s done six months at the centre. It’s not just Thailand in his sights; Roy wants to do a trip to Mongolia. I ask him how he settled on such a peculiar destination, and he tells me that he’s seen it on TV a few times and it’s always just sounded interesting to him. He reckons it’d be good to see another culture like the Mongols in their tents or huts or whatever they are, with all that open space and grass and living like it’s the Middle Ages, and they’ve got some horse milk booze that he wouldn’t mind trying, too. First, though, is Thailand, where his non-English-speaking whore is waiting. He thinks she might even marry him, if he asks.
I pull the pin after half an hour with Roy. I get back to my room, shower, then lie in bed, thinking about what could have been and what should have been. Not long after, there’s a very faint knock on my door. I open it and see Meg. I drag her inside.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” says Meg in a whisper. “Thought you were more interested in Roy. Thought I might find you in his room, doing that dance.”
“Well, I thought maybe we could do that dance.”
“Oh really?”
“Ah-huh. Do you know it?”
“I’m not sure. How does it go?”
“Like this,” I say, pushing my body into Meg’s, my mouth searching for hers, my tongue parting her lips. We sway side to side. Our hips press into each other. I pull Meg’s shirt up and over her head, then with my right hand I flick open the strap on her bra. Meg lets it fall away to reveal luscious milky breasts. I gently bury my face in her cleavage.
I manage to push Meg’s little shorts down over the curve of her arse; she lets them drop to the floor. She pulls my own shirt up and over my head; I stand and unbutton my shorts and let them drop. Meg runs her hand along my back and over my shoulders, around onto my chest, then down, reaching for my cock. As we kiss, I slip my hand into Meg’s panties and squeeze her arse, firm but not too firm, then follow the curve of her hip till my hand dips into her crotch, my fingers finding the warm wet of her pussy.
I pull her panties off, then step Meg across until she falls onto my bed. She lies back and I straddle her, kissing her mouth, then her breasts, then her belly, till I reach her pussy where I stay, my tongue licking and thrusting and pulsing across the mound of flesh until she gasps and grips the bed sheets, and I feel the orgasm ripple through the thighs pressed tight around my head.
Meg tells me she wants me inside her and so I quickly put on a condom then pull my body on top of hers and we fuck, just how I imagined, deep and passionate and intense. When neither of us have more to give I slide my body from Meg’s and whisper into her ear, “And I’m going to fuck you like that all night long.”
Meg pulls away and looks at me. “Oh really?”
I smile, hoping my boyish charm mitigates my vulgar mouth. “Well, if you want me to. If you tell me to.”
Meg laughs. “And if I don’t?”
“Hmm. Then I’ll sit in the corner and sulk. While I play with myself.”
She laughs again. “And I suppose I’m sleeping while you’re watching me?”
“Of course. Be creepy otherwise.”
“You are weeeeird, Nick. Naughty and weird.”
“Of course … you could just tell me to fuck you again,” I say, looking at her eyes, her gaze darting away then coming back to my own.
I find Meg’s hand without looking and hold it, then she leans over and gently kisses me on the neck. She keeps kissing, slowly moving higher until she is at my cheek and then moves across to my ear. She kisses the lobe softly, then whispers, “Fuck me.”
I turn and we kiss and Meg’s hand finds my cock and soon we’re fucking again. After we finish we fall asleep, Meg’s head snuggled into my chest. When I wake at 4 a.m., my cock is hard, so I stroke Meg until she wakes, then we kiss and fondle and fuck.
With only twenty minutes till the bus is due, Meg pokes her head out of my door to check the way is clear, then slips away. I shower and dress then I head out to the bus stop with the rest of the crew. I see Meg walk over. She stands away from me, but I catch her gaze and subtly lick my lips, glancing at her crotch. She bites down on a smile. I get on the bus, expecting Meg to sit next to me, but instead I get Roy and we talk about pigs.