Oh Bleeding Hell, I'm Pitiful
AN: This is quite different from my usual , for one , it's teeming with male perspective (meaning perversity) for another, it's slightly AU. But you can forgive that, since James is so damn…desirable in this story! Anyhow, here it is:
Oh, M'excuser! I 'ave forgotten mon disclaimer:
Joan does not speak French , and neither do I . However , that does not mean we are the same person. She owns the characters, I own the plot. It's as simple as that.
(Psst! Ignoramuses!)
My morning problem could be solved (during my schooling years) by a simple turn of the head. There , beside me , would be another beautiful peroxide blond eager to jump on my nob. Who was I to complain? I was Merlin. In a matter of speaking, of course , I highly doubt the many bedside buddies I gathered over the years would've been content with a corpse dressed in sapphire robes.
I remember the darlings with masterful engorgement charms placed on their bosoms for my enjoyment, I remember they use to do it every day. Along with the Marauders , I imagine we were the most sought-after men in the whole of the Wizarding world.
My morning problem these days could never be solved however , with the aging toothless squib I'd picked up in the Hogs Head last night , for she could barely provide for her nineteen sons. Yes , THE James Potter , had been desperate enough to shag a wrinkling squib with more vigor than the runaway witch that had been present the night before. I figure I don't have a problem , just a larger junior head than most.
Either way , I am still unemployed. I don't exactly know how that came about. One day I was sighed on to be the star chaser of the Chudley Cannons, the next minute , I was celebrating with bleached blonds, turd-colored brunettes and any female genitalia I ran into, literally. I blame it on the opium Sirius forced…alright , encouraged me to experiment with. Supposedly it made me hallucinate , the fact of the matter is all I saw were abnormally sized vaginas and mounds of nipples.
I promise you , the front page of the Daily Prophet was not covered with picture of me shagging the brains off of minors nor transvestites. The negatives were purchased at a dear and costly price. However, this did not change the outcome of my escapade.
I was fired . I believe it is safe to say that my career was the shortest of the extensive history of Quidditch, having only lasted a couple of hours after the contracts were finalized.
That was three months ago, when I still had hopes and galleon-gathering schemes.
Apparently, your criminal records is a very public document. It was also imperative that it be gleaming with cleanliness and as virginal as an embryo. In other words , it mattered that I had been persecuted on drug possession (both wizard and muggle) some three times, charged with wand exhibition toward minor muggles, and finally ,accused of sexually insinuating behavior towards a Ministry official under the influence of wizard alcoholic beverages. It was quite an impressive record, but my future employers never fully appreciated that. Though they did occasionally inquire about the events, occasions in which I would sniff the air angrily and name them 'Arse-wiping twats' and snatch yet another copy of my notorious record from their hands.
My account at Gringotts was rapidly withering into the cracks , and my parents refused to provide me with that heavenly substance , regardless of the fact that they were bursting with galleons and that I was their only son. According to my father, the negatives he'd purchased had been degrading (as well as amusing , I thought) and as far as he was concerned , utterly disappointing. His solution was ignoring my pleads and barking instructions to find a respectable job. Honestly, I didn't have the heart ( or the testicles , I'm ashamed to say) to tell him that every location in need of willing assistance in the United Kingdom had a copy of my rather illustrious criminal record.
So here I am , grimacing because the squib just cracked a smile from within the blankets and I know , I've sunk too low. I know a portion of my brain had found her somewhat attractive , especially after she'd jokingly offered to pay me. But really , I can smell her sweat from here. It smells like a pubescent orangutan , and adolescent monkey-cousins smell horrid.
I need a shot, both alcoholic and deadly.
"G'morning, luv. Care for round three?" he cheeks crinkled , the glamour charm placed over them fading slightly.
I cringed. "Are you going to pay me or not?" I spat. She looked at me inquiringly.
"Rather thought that was your job, sweetums," she smiled , her tongue darting to a loosely hanging tooth.
"What?" I asked .
She narrowed her eyes , "Don't play stupid with me, lovey. It's twelve Sickles a pop. So that's twenty-four , luv. I'm quite able at arithmetic"
So, I lost my nutrition currency to a very disgruntled and grotesque squib prostitute (whom was very accomplished in self-defense, I might add).
" Now bugger off, woman!"
"Gladly, luv." She smiled disgustingly, jiggling her purse intentionally and blowing me a stench-ample kiss.
I scoffed , slamming the door to my tiny room above the Leaky Cauldron. I heard her laugh outrageously in triumph . I bet I was the only shite-face that ever paid her buggered and sagging arse. But I'm a gentleman, what can I tell you?
However, since my ego is quite sensitive and violent when prodded, I opened the door again, demanding loudly ,
" 'Choo laughing at , wench?"
She smiled slyly , her eyes dancing with malignant delight, " You, luv."
I admit I must've acted very rashly. But that fact does not by any means suggest I regret doing it.
Forget magic, I slapped her , harder than any man I might've previously slapped for reasons concerning me feeling a feminine release, I loosened that hanging tooth from her gums and it made a sound like twinkling glass when it shattered on the floor. Nothing could have given me more pleasure, unless I had stolen her purse.
Which I did, my fingers moving as quick as a premature ejaculator, (however , now that I rethink it , perhaps not so swiftly). Then I again slammed the door in her elderly mug.
In my room , I quickly gathered my belongings (which had withered considerably, due to my unfortunate need for food), because I could hear that wench wailing and bawling about a thief sexually harassing her. Such bollocks the deformed can think of these days.
I snorted , muttering about my need for free , healthy and willing birds , then apparated.
An: I'll give you condoms if you review.
Hey, at least it's better than all this 'cookies' bollocks, this way you'll be given something useful, safe , and impossible to acquire from your parents.
Toodles!
