Harry Art - Chapter 1

Harry Art was a tall man standing at around six foot two with a wafer thin pencil moustache. His tanned skin made him look Mexican but he was not Mexican, he was English. He looked on over London's famous Thames river sipping a cup of coffee. He pictured a black and white scene, a little like a French Existential Film, others in the cafe turned and looked at him for a second every now and again. His dorky hair cut flustered in the wind. He had never been laid, he was forty two years old. The sexual frustration was beginning to boil over and he was in himself becoming much more aggressive. He smashed down the cup abruptly before setting his eyes on a young lady of the busty variety. He wiped his paper thin moustache.
"You!" He bellowed so loudly that the entire riverside could hear him.
"W-What?" She questioned with fear in her voice.
"Would you like to join me for dinner later on today?" He asked, his face red and veins bulging.
"I'm fourteen," She replied. "This is my mum." Harry looked on for a moment before nodding his head in defeat. He walked past them. The ever so careful smell of their skin greeted his nose. He lurched down in a quick and aggressive motion.
"That is the most unmistakable scent of perfume I have ever had the pleasure of smelling." His tone had switched from aggressive to sincere in a matter of seconds. The females looked on and Harry after ten seconds of looming walked off into the distance. The clouds covered the sun like a parent covers pornography from their child. The air became cooler and Harry felt more comfortable for it. The sun always made him slightly gassy as it is. He carried on his way home, his trench coat flapping in the wind as his tie swayed side to side dancing with the Angels that delivered such a chorus.

He finally reached his house. He walked past his mum who was busy making some kind of plate of food. She was Mexican, he had never met his Dad but he was believed to be of a more Puerto Rican decent. Harry was happy with his heritage, he felt rather cultured. He closed his bedroom door and sat in his torn and decaying computer chair. His room was only small and the only other items were a bed, a wardrobe and a drawer. Everything was so crunched together. He loaded his favourite pornography up and started violently masturbating. He played a selection of death metal tracks in the background. After a long session he breathed tightly, licked his hands clean and pulled up his trousers. It was time for dinner. All Harry could think about was sex, he was plagued by images of sex time and time again. He closed his eyes, sex, he opened his eyes and for a moment the dull reality of life would feature followed swiftly by delusions of sex. It was clear what had happened. Harry had become possessed by a demon.

He lightly picked a taco up and devoured it. Conversation with his mother had dried up about five years ago.
"Harry when are you going to move out?" His mother asked. She'd been waiting all day to ask this question. "You're forty three years old."
"This is delicious," Harry answered blatantly ignoring his mothers question. She looked down at her food in disappointment. It was a sunday, Harry finished his dinner, pushed the dishes off of the table onto the floor for no reason and then went to his bedroom and masturbated once more. He went and got a drink of coke and then decided to fall asleep. The alarm blared awakening him at 5:30 in the morning, Harry had a job as a man who printed newspapers. He was in charge of the machines that made them go out in the morning. His paper was 'The Independent'. He liked his job, he spent most of it on sex lines, he didn't have to pay for his phone calls here. He was a talented newspaper printer so it would be hard for him to get sacked.
"So what are you wearing?" Harry asked rubbing his semi erect pork stick through his tweed trousers.
"A pink laced corset." A moaning female voice answered abruptly.
"And what do you look like?" He breathed.
"Blonde curled hair, blue eyes, plush rose tinted cheeks," She growled, she knew he was getting into it.
"Do you like where thongs and stuff?" He asked.
"Not at the moment I'm not." She said seductively.
"An granny panties," He came down the phone and hung up almost instantly. He got up as if nothing had happened and carried on with his work. His co-workers looked on in disgust.