Cockney Kung Fu - The ‘Arrival’ Of Digby.

Here’s another little story about a character who will be appearing in the next instalment of Cockney Kung Fu.

It’s a little bit ‘Adult’ in theme so reader beware.....

He got her to make him a fish finger sandwich after he’d fucked her...

Digby was very self aware. So self aware in fact that he knew what a bastard he was making of himself as he sat in the kitchen of this woman’s house in his pants. So self aware that as he asked her to make him a fish finger sandwich all he could actually think of was the fact that half an hour ago he was fucking her in her arse. He wasn’t much for pillow talk so as he had laid there in the afterglow all he could actually think of was how hungry he was feeling and if he could remember the number of a cab to get home to his Mrs.

He’d met this bird in the Brass Farthing in Shoreditch. She wasn’t a stripper, at least he didn’t think she was. She was one of the barmaids. He’d gone in there after a flaming row with his wife and had been determined to drink himself into oblivion then crawl home after the old ball and chain had fallen asleep. He’d sat at the bar and watched the grotty series of strippers lazily do their turn on the pool table. each one exposing their literal insides for a quid here and there.

‘Ain’t they got no pride?’ He wondered to himself.

After three or four pints of light and bitter he began to get other ideas. One side of his mind was telling him that this was typical of his arsehole behaviour and he should head home. The other side of his head was saying ‘Fuck it’. He went with the ‘Fuck it’. He always did.

That barmaid looked alright. She had a couple of home-made tattoos on her wrists but he could cope with that. She was thin like a junkie but looked like she took care of herself. Probably about twenty-five, nice little wiggle on her. So he threw a selection his normal crap on her....

‘Sorry if I’m bothering you darling but I came into a pile of cash recently.’

‘Oh yeah, I betcha did.’ She said whilst chewing gum.

Digby took his time. He drank from his pint in a cool and assured style. Stubbed his cigarette out in the bar ash tray.

‘Course I wouldn’t expect a clever girl like you just take the word of a stranger.’ Digby pulled a roll of pound notes out of his pocket. 

‘Get me a ‘nother one and a Bells sweetheart willya. And get yerself one. Go on treat yerself.’

Never failed. He may be an over the hill ex con alcoholic but he had the knack of reading women. He could tell what they liked and especially this barmaid, ‘whatsername?’, to be honest he didn’t care for names.

So he hung about until closing time and all the while was chatting to this sort. He bragged on about all the banks he’d robbed and all his mates. He didn’t at any point mention that he was married with a crazy cunt of a wife. And, do you know what? She didn’t ask.

‘She knows this is just a good fuck after closing time. No strings.’ He told himself.

Turned out that this girl lived locally and had a kid. The kid was ten so had put himself to bed whilst she was getting chatted up by strangers in an East End shithole pub. 

‘Piece of luck.’ Thought Digby.

They walked up the steps of her block of flats. Digby pulled an old favourite and kissed her in the cold moonlight as they hit the first balcony. He did the usual trick of going in soft and then kissing her hard. She liked it as she wrapped her legs around him and he pushed back with her against the wall. 

‘This’ll only take a couple of minutes then I’ll get to fuck her on the couch’ he thought to himself.

She lived on the top floor of the flats and Digby was a little bit puffed out by the time they got there. He tried not to show it as whatsername put her keys in the lock and asked him in for a cup of tea. He mentioned what a great view she had from the balcony as he got his breath back.

‘Yeah, a great view of a lot of hopeless idiots’, he thought.

Once in the kitchen Digby held back. He knew his game. He knew that he wouldn’t reach the finish line if he was all hands. So he drank the tea out of the West Ham mug she handed him and asked her about herself.

‘Mum lives round the corner. I know it’s a bit of a shithole but I grew up ‘ere and like it. Alfie is asleep so you gotta be quiet promise.’

Digby promised. Of course he did.

‘I got pregnant when I was at school didn’t I.’ She continues and around this point Digby was really bored. ‘I was a idiot weren’t I. Didn’t even know what sex was ‘cos I was stupid.’

Looking down at the claret and blue colours on the mug and realised that her ex might be a fellow hammers fan.

‘Where’s the kid’s Dad?’

‘Oh, that cunt. Don’t worry. He won’t bother you if he sees us out together.’

‘Out together?’ thought Digby. ‘Fucks sake, what does she want?’

‘Oh, OK, that’s cool’ Digby said out loud. As the words came out of his mouth he laughed internally. ‘Jus’ tell ‘em what they wanna hear, works every time’, he thought.

Digby drank the rest of his tea down in one gulp and realised that he’d probably invested in enough small talk by this time. as he moved in on her for a kiss he heard her giggle and her hand went straight down the waistband of his trousers.

‘Job done’, he thought to himself.

So here he was an hour later. Sat in her kitchen in his pants. She was frying some fish fingers and he was glancing around for a yellow pages to get a cab number.

‘You gonna stay ‘til Alfie gets up? He’d love to meetcha.’

‘Fuck no’, he thought.

‘Nah sweetheart. I’d better get off home. I got a lot of important business tomorrow. Need a clear head you know what I mean. You know a cab number?’

‘You don’t need no cab, my uncle Donny drives a black cab, he’ll take ya home.’

‘This ain’t going well.’ Thought Digby. He decided that he would go with the plan and get this geezer to drop him round the corner from his house.

‘Thanks sweetheart. But I don’t wanna put him out of ‘is way.’ One more try, cab drivers are nosey cunts.

‘No trouble for you babes.’ She leaned in and gave him another kiss. As he kissed this ex junkie in her fag stained kitchen he felt the blood rushing back into his Y fronts. His groin was telling him it was time for a second innings but his mind was trying to place where he had heard of a black cab driver called ‘Donny’.

And just has he bent this bird over the cooker he realised who Donny is....

‘Shit! This ain’t gonna end well...’ He thought.

‘You got any more fish fingers darling?’

She giggled.