Monday, October 24, 2005

Underground Heroes.

Last night the storm passed over The City and washed away the filth leaving lakes of smelly garbage. Old Indian women wrapped in grey rags against adobe wall. The rain fell in buckets. Into a dirty muddy taxi. Pablo and I raced through puddles of sewage to several small nightspots until we reached El Mansion. Small but obviously the spot. Rent Boys poised with hooked hips by the jukebox. Sugar Daddies flutter around them in a stylised ballet. Towering Drag Queens in The Darkness. Smokey with the red fireflies of cigarette cherries. Purple and red and yellow flashes fill the air sparkling off of the walled mirrors. Bodies gyrate and simulate fucking on the small dance floor. Danced and swirled and drank. Several heroes sided up to me and asked a million questions in a foreign language. I nodded and smiled with brown hands touching my arm, my leg, my face. Guapo. Mumbled several times like natives around a fire.
Beer flowed, conversations stuttered, words found and then lost in a disco beat. Entered the men's pissoir, was cruised only as Mexicans can. A foreign tongue hit its mark and was pushed against the white tiled wall and kissed with passion and hatred. Pablo enters and stopped the luche amor.
Drunk I was, tittering, dropping my beer, knocking over a chair. Still more alcohol was bought for me, seems I was the Guest of Honor. El Primo Faggito. Macho Rent Boy, hot with square jaw and Poncho Villa moustache the eyes alive with cocaine fire tapping my chest hard, "What ya want, gringo? Want my beeg dick, joto?" Only straight men say dick, fags say cock. Funny. I am jerked away by four hands onto the dance floor and showed 'em my moves. Doin' The Elaine--Ha! My pack of Lucky Strikes are emptied by begging hands and the beer flowed.
Stumbled out into the night, Pablo and some other wrapped around me giggling and talking in the dialect as we stomp through the rushing water. Flop into a booth in an all night food joint--neon arabesques flicking in purple-- and I slouch down zonked into the booth, eyes fuck'd up, held up by Pablo. Or maybe his friend, who cares. Coffee is ordered for me and can I get a fucking cigarette, please? Chatting. Blah. Blah. I look at Pablo and Pablo looks at me and I place my hand behind his head and brings him near and our tongues touch. Tastes like coffee and cigarettes. Warm and wet. Pablo's friend--what the fuck ya say yer name was, cutie? Ah, yes, Manuel--Thank you. Wanna take turns on Pablo, I say in English, Manuel just shrugs and shakes his head, no intiendo. I like Nintendo, I say in English and Pablo tongue wrassles me some more and the waiter comes over and tells us to knock it off. Putos.
With a grunt of stripped gears the taxi (Driver mumbles pinche jotos) whirls away into the night, the three of us in the back seat. Me in the middle, Pablo embraces me and we kiss, as my wondering hand gropes Manuel's well endowment. Screech of old fucking tires in front of my hotel. A debate of what to do with this gringo. Manuel sinks into the seat, arms folded stare into the back of the driver seat, the cab is paid and takes off into the downpour with one sad Mexican.
Up three flights of tiled stairs, shoes sloshing, and slamming the door behind us. I pull my shirt off and lean on the wall as my pants are yanked down and I say, Fuck yeah. Pablo sucks my American cock like a champ. He stands and undresses his self, hard on poking out straight and free, I wrap my arms around his thin brown torso and we plop onto the bed. A rubber is applied as I rip open a small packet of lubricant. Lay onto my stomach. Pablo glides on top of me. Little bites on the back, fingers sucked. I grab the pillows as Pablo grabs my shoulders and lunges and thrusts. I grunt through clenched teeth as Pablo jacks me off from behind. Si, tu gusto, baby? The bed creaks and squeeks and boings and thumps, pillows fall onto the tiled floor and sheets and blankets are twisted as much as my body. Thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap his brown hips smack against my ass doggy-style and then Aiiiieee! He squirts his semen and lays there ontop of me kissing my back with his penis still in me for a long time. I roll over, still a little tipsy and we kiss and fall asleep, ass throbbing and sore.
Morning. Coffee in the corner shop and he goes to work. I sit in the Internet cafe and I watch him work. He keeps smiling. "What are you writing", he asks in Spanish, smiling his smile. "All is lost. All is lost. That is all I ever write", I say in English. No intiendo. Afterwards, I go to my feelthy hotel room and sleep.
Mexico is a dream.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Port of Pobres.

"There are opportunities in life for gathering knowledge and experience. In order to do this, one must take a risk."
---Jeffrey Boumont (Blue Velvet)
As of this writing, I am sitting in a small internet cafe, The Cafe Metropol, in Matamoros, Mexico, sipping a Pepsi Light and staring at the extremely handsome guy running the cafe. He glances at me with those big brown eyes and smiles his smile that melts hearts of man, woman, or beast. It is so freakin' great to be back in ol' Meh-hee-co! Let me report the last two days, okay?
The Greyhound bus departed Gotham City with a blast of black sooty fart and grinding of gears around 2 a.m. I waved adios to New York and hoping never to see that ominous city again. I slept all the way to Washington, D.C. There wasn’t much to see on the way except trees and rural farmlands. But in Washington...man! We rolled in around thirty minutes after the sun rose it's lazy shiny ass over the horizon. The monuments were very impressive. The bus station was around the corner from the Capitol Building and you better believe my digital camera was working overtime. I remembered all those sci-fi movies I had seen of Martians blowing up these time-honored monuments. I stood there gazing across Pennsylvania Avenue and I felt proud to be an American hoping a flying saucer would buzz by. A quick bite to eat at Micky Deez and it was back on the bus.
The rest of the trip was relaxing; the bus wasn’t crowded and I had two seats to myself. The country side was idyllic, it being the beginning of Fall; the colors in the trees were beautiful…oranges, reds, copper, rust. The cities were impressive. Atlanta. Mobile. New Orleans. Dallas. Corpus Christi.
Past Corpus Christi the greenery changed to flat oil fields. Silver refineries belched flame into the blue cloudless sky. Armadillos zigzagged out of dead bushes and islands of trash. All the way down to Brownsville. I started up a conversation with this one kid named Juan Carlos, a street wise cholo of about eighteen years old and told him my intentions in Matamorros. He agreed to help me out once we reached there. He said he knew Matamorros well. We chatted all the way into Brownsville and he could tell that I was queer, for he kept giving me a coy look and joked several times laced with gay sexual innuendos.
Around seven in the evening, we arrived in Brownsville, Juan Carlos rushed me across the bridge that separated Brownsville from Matamorros, whisked me into a taxi, and took me to a real cheap hotel. The Hotel Don Felix. He said he was going to stay with friends so after I checked in and got to my room, he took off. The room was dirty and there was graffiti on the chipped blue walls, but I was tired. So I unpacked and then fell asleep on the squeaky sagging bed; pleased with the fact that I was back in Mexico.
A whorish-looking landlady ran the hotel. Her husband was a man of about forty, powerful and vigorous, but there was a beat look in his eyes. They had seven daughters and you can tell by looking at him he would never have a son. At least not by that woman. This giggling brood of daughters kept coming into my room (there was no door, only a thin curtain) to watch me dress and shave and brush my teeth. It was a bum kick. And I was the victim of idiotic pilfering—a catheter tube from my medical kit, underwear, vitamin B tablets.
The following morning, I was awoken by knocks and when I answered the door it was the kid, Juan Carlos giving me some lame story about being robbed and that he needed money. I gave him ten dollars and he shot out of there. I never saw him again. Shoulda fucked 'em first.
I spent the day checking out the city. It was a beautiful coastal town. Much better and cleaner than Tijuana or Juarez. Cobblestone, muddy streets, one-story buildings mostly shops.
I walked up to the main square. There was a statue of Bonito Juarez, "The Liberating Fool" as I call him, shaking hands with someone else. Both of them looked tired and disgusted and rocking queer, so queer it rocked you. I stood looking at the statue. Then I sat down on a stone bench facing the Rio Grande. Everyone looked at me when I sat down. I looked back. I don’t have the American reluctance to meet the gaze of a stranger. The others looked away, lit cigarettes, resumed conversations.
The town looked old, dirty saloons crowded with sailors and dockworkers. A shoeshine boy asked me if I wanted a "nice girl." I looked at the boy and said in English, "No, and I don't want you either."
I got up and walked around, taking pictures and smoking a good pack of Lucky Strikes. I passed a bar, a large colonial looking building of concrete and teak wood, and decided to go in for a drink. The split bamboo walls shook with noise. Two middle-aged wiry little men were doing an obscene mambo routine opposite each other, their leathery faces creased in toothless smiles. The waiter came up and smiled at me. He didn't have any front teeth either. I ordered a cognac.
A boy of sixteen, who said his name was Paolo, came over and sat down with me and smiled an open, friendly smile. I smiled back and ordered a refresco for the boy. He dropped a hand onto my thigh and squeezed it in thanks for the drink. I looked at him speculatively; I couldn't figure the score. Was the boy giving me a come on, or was he just friendly? I know that people in Latin American countries were not as self-conscious about physical contact. Boys walked around with their arms around each other's necks. I decided to play it cool. I finished my drink, shook hands with the boy, and walked out into the bustling streets.
A hunchback with withered legs was playing crude bamboo panpipes, a mournful Oriental music with sadness of the high mountains. In deep sadness their is no place for sentimentality. people crowded around the musician, listened a few minutes, and walked on. The musician coughed from time to time. Once he snarled when someone touched his hump, showing his black rotten teeth.
The city produced a curiously baffling impression. I feel there is something going on here, some undercurrent of life that is hidden from me. This is the area of the ancient Chimu pottery, where saltshakers and water pitchers were nameless obscenities: two men on all fours engaged in sodomy formed the handle top of a kitchen pot. What happens when there is no limit? What is the fate of the Land Where Anything Goes? Men changing into huge centipedes...a man tied to a couch and a centipede ten feet long rearing up over him. Is this literal? Did some hideous metamorphosis occur? What is the meaning of the centipede symbol?
I walked down the main drag. a pimp seized my arm. "I gotta fourteen-year-old-girl, Jack. Puerto Rican. How about it?"
"She's middle aged already, "I told him. "I want a six year old virgin that loves takin' it up the ass...don't try palming your fourteen-year-old bats off on me." I left him there with his mouth open.
I walked around the local shops and sat in the main park lined with palm trees watching the parade of guys go by, sipping on my jamaica. There was a large gazebo in the middle of the park where a huge band played Ranchero and Salsa tunes all day. At night, I prowled the park for some unclean fun. Was cruised by a couple of fags, but they were a little ugly. Sitting under the stars with a warm breeze blowing I want to move here. I returned to the Hotel Don Felix and checking my wallet ($653.28 American) I decided to move to a better hotel and got a room for a week. It was the Hotel Mexico in the main shopping plaza. Not bad, but at night I had to keep swatting palm size cockroaches off of my bed.
I dined on mouthwatering tacos al carbon and found this Internet cafe. I think I'm going to ask the guy that works here to show me around. He is rather hot and I wouldn't mind a little Mexican in me.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

8 Hours in Manhattan.

So.
Seven hours later, after leaving Cooperstown, in upstate New York; here I find myself in a three story McDonald's on 42nd Street in the ominous metropolis of Manhattan. Only here in this urban sprawl would they have free Internet services at each table of Mickey Dee's. I feel like such a damn Rube. Chicken McNuggets are perty damn tasty, though. With a medium Dr. Pepper. Ahhh. Listening to Danny Elfman's version of I am the Walrus on my iPod. Fucking genius. Looking out the gynormous plate window watching the river of people bustling to and fro amid their million of concerns. The city is one big fucking parking lot, car traffic seems to be at a standstill. Oh, I guess yer wondering what happened from then until now. Okay, let me relate the journey...
The trip was long but interesting. Passing farmlands and rural vistas of gold, orange, burgundy. Fall is here. Stopped in one small town and talked with a cute dark haired farm boy, he wanted to leave the farm and go to New York City and be a big country singer. He'd make a good Rent Boy. Poor chap. Bought my Dr. Pepper and a Snickers and got back on that bus. There was an eight-hour stop over in New York City. Entering Manhattan was weird. For hours you’re traveling through the woods. You then drive around a bend and WHAM; there is this god damn gigantic city skyline stretching from horizon to horizon. Buildings stretching up out of the shit and concrete, clawing at the moon. The Greyhound bus thrusting through Lincoln Tunnel like a penis up Manhattans ass all the way to the Port of Authority; a multilevel structure in the middle of Lower Manhattan. Once there I put my bags in storage and tried to do as much as possible in eight hours. First, stopped off in a tea room...er, public restroom in the long corridors of this underground labyrinth, man there was some heavy cruising going on. But, no time for random orgasms, I have some touring to do. Checking myself in the mirror, a Cuban guy complimented me on my Toxic Boy T-shirt. "Thanks." I smiled and hit the town.
The streets were teeming with a mass of rapidly walking bodies all going somewhere...nowhere. I zipped down, down, down the spiraling staircase under the 42nd Street Station. Some scrawny hip black cat was tootling on a saxophone. Pretty good, tipped him a five. I rode on a subway over to Times Square and got hit up for drugs on every corner. The sky filled with glowing flickering billboards the size of football fields, the smell of sewage and car exhaust caused them to be hazy and overbearing.
I walked down Broadway and gawked at the billboards for the various plays in the theaters. There was a gigantic poster of David Hasselhoff and one of Mike Teevee, my digital camera was snapping overtime. I hit the porno theaters and paid a dollar to watch this couple fuck behind a glass window. Man, did that ugly fucker have a hairy ass and the girls hooters were floppy like puppy ears. Ew. It was in a circular room and I think the fat little pervo opposite me was more interested in me than the show. After the dude came to some sorta climax, I walked back out into the night and found the NBC building. I had a hot dog from a cart and ate pretzels and hot chestnuts.
I asked this fat old queer in purple tight sweats and a fake permed wig walking a chihuahua on a leash where the fuck the Empire State Building was. He pointed it out and said "There the fuck it is." But, again I wasn’t impressed; I thought it would be bigger. Last time I was here I saw it from afar. It was all decked out in Christmas colors...red, green, yellow. He asked me, this titanic homo with an imperious and fay glance; if I would come to his house for a drink. Nope. Waved goodbye and I took the smelliest cab in the world back to Port of Authority and stood at the entrance people watching. And, yes, the thought did cross my mind to stay in this metropolis, but I have this Homer Simpson hatred to this town. I was even cruised by this cute black guy outside the Port of Authority terminal. He wanted me to go to his apartment but there wasn’t time. Instead, I found this McDonald's and thought I would grab a bite and type this shit out for posterity.
Oh! I went into the Mega-Virgin Bookstore and bought the Edgar Rice Burrough's anthology of his first three Martian Novels all in one volume. Neet-o.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Issued Black Winds of Hate.

I am one depressed cowboy, buckaroos.
Now understand, during this whole period in Nebraska and New York I have had to hide my homosexuality. Skippy and his family are pretty nice people, good and wholesome, a family unit that I am envious to have; but I think they’d frown on having a faggot in the house. And the random blow jobs with Jason have come to a complete halt. He acts really weird when I come into the room or try to talk to him. I have given up on the little creep. Well, with any luck I screwed him up for life. Now, every time his big brother brings some stranger home; he’ll probably cower in his room like a neurotic cat fearing that he may be violated.
Last night, the little toad supervisor at Wal-Mart fired me because I rang up and paid for a candy bar. I could understand if I stole the damn thing, but I paid for it. It was obviously against company policy to ring up your own items, a little tidbit of training they forgot to mention in orientation. I think the little shit had it out for me because he was just jealous of my good looks and positive outlook on life. Fucking worthless asshole. I was exiled from Wal-mart at three in the fucking morning and I hung out in a diner across the street gulping coffee until Skippy got off of work and we drove back to his house.
I explained the incident to Skippy’s mother, but she didn’t believe it for a second. Now I am branded a thief. It's over a week until my next paycheck and I promised to leave when I get it. Well, for a Christmas present (Her words.) this morning, she bought me my Greyhound ticket to Brownsville, Texas departing tomorrow morning. She said since I kept going on and on about how I wanted to live in Matamorros, Mexico, I should just go ahead and go. When I get to where ever I am going, I should call Wal-mart and have them forward my pay check, she suggested firmly. I'm getting the Big Goodbye.
So, this afternoon, I packed my bags and got ready for my trip. Skippy is working tonight and said he would meet us at the bus station when he got off from work the following morning. Well, good thing is, in a couple of days I shall be back in Mexico. So, I have barricaded myself in Skippy's room until tomorrow and the hostile vibrations in this old three story Victorian house are giving me the jitters. I shall snuggle here and finish reading Selby's Last Exit to Brooklyn.
Son cosas de la vida, cabrones.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Queer.

All I keep saying to myself is, "It has happened. It has happened at last."
Flashback: Three days.
I was down in the basement doing my laundry at the house that I am a guest in. By myself. Torn and ravaged by pent up homosexual lust. Then that teenage boy slinked down the stairs, Skippy's sixteen year old brother Jason. He had his blond hair slicked forward and crested at the bangs, his straight black eyebrows and green eyes alive with energy. Face pale with a hint of flush on the cheeks. His body is thin and athletic, smooth and hairless. What I like most is that straight Aryan nose, flared at the nostrils. Like Buster Crabbe's back in the Flash Gordon days. We talked and chided away the time as the washing machine clunked and gurgled, mutilating my fine fabrics.
The boy looked hot in the wife beater and dark blue basketball shorts. Somehow, the topic of pornography came up and I did mention to him that I had contacts in Los Angeles (Myself doing a couple of flicks to pay my way through college, unnerstand?) He kept grabbing his crotch as he discussed in the most vivid and filthy ways he would fuck a girl on camera. I turned and pressed my growing erection away from him, pressing it against the vibrating washing machine. Hands shaking, I lit a cigarette, "Ya sure ain't shy about yer sex life." I said.
"Yeah", He smiled, stretching out on the blue couch, "I fucked a whole lotta girls before. And if you promise you won't tell another soul, I'll let you in on a secrete. I leta guy suck me off before."
My back to him, facing the brick wall with the machine masturbating me I rasped through clenched teeth, "Really." I turned on him, leering at his crotch; my eyes glazed like Nasferatu at Renfields cut blood dripping finger when:
"Jason! It's Stacey on the phone!"
"In a minute, Mom!" He raced up stairs. "Laters!" He calls back at me. The machine beep long and loud, I put my clothes in the dryer, and sat alone on the couch, smoking, the cushions still warm from his body.
Later that night, I was off from Wal-mart and Skippy had to work, so's Jason and I sat up on the back balcony under a full moon and talked of the porn industry.
"I wanna move to New York City and become an escort." He said, staring at the big white moon.
"They are called Rent Boys, nowadays." I corrected. "But, you have to be able to perform at the drop of a hat."
"Oh, I can do that." Jason gloated. "Once I fucked this girl for six full hours and my shit never went limp."
"I doubt that." I chided.
"No shit. I like when people watch. Plus I got a big dick."
"Really? Get it hard right now."
"What?!" He laughed, faking disbelief at what was being said.
"Get it hard. If it's all that you say it is what do you have to be a shamed of?"
He said something to the effect that he couldn't get it up in front of a guy, yet proceeded to stick his hands down his shorts and rub him self. The sex talk continued and he started to beat it faster. He whipped it out and showed it to me. Gotta be at least seven inches, perfectly straight, circumcised, but beautiful balls. It was going limp again. He apologized.
"Do you need a helping hand?" I joked, twiddling my fingers.
"Sure." He whispered, face blank and when I touched his dick he jumped a little but then relaxed. I stroked it for awhile, but he stayed only semi-erect. "If you suck it, I will get really hard." He said dreamily, looking out into the darkness.
I put his warm penis into my mouth and began blowing him. His penis got rock hard. His breathing began to rise, he asked me to stop. "Hey, dude, let me jack it off for a bit." He started masturbating wildly and after a few minutes he grunted, "Where do ya want me to cum." I put my lips to his ear and whispered, "In my mouth." He stroked crazily for a little more then breathed, "I'm really close." I slid his penis' head between my lips and then deepthroated the whole shaft as his hot spurts flowed into the back of my throat. His breathed rapidly.
As I sat back up, he smiled, "So, ya think I got what it takes to be a Rent Boy?" I agreed and we laughed and talked of other things and then went to bed. Not together, unfortunately.
The following day, Jason got up early and said that he had to run some errands for his mother downtown and if I'd like to come. I said sure and we went to the mall. Words can not do justice at how beautiful this boy is and the fact that many a girls wanted to talk to him and smiled as he walked by. Some of his girls tried to scam on me but I just looked at them like they weren't there. Out on the main street, we walked and looked into some shops and I was happily amazed that they had a Porno Theater. A freakin' Pussycat Theater, at that! I asked Jason if he'd ever been in one and he said, "Shit no, I'm too young. But I'd like to. I bet there are all kinda bitches finger bangin' each other in there, right?"
"Right." I said walking across the street to it. With the greatest luck in the world, without batting an eye, the guy in the box office sold me two tickets and let us in. (Thank you, Baby Jesus!) Except for one old black guy and a middle aged Mexican, we were the only others in the large theater. And of all movies they were playing Cafe Flesh, one of my favorites. We sat in the back row, next to each other. As soon as I sex scene started, Jason looked down and smiled, "I'm awake."
Unzipping his jeans, digging through his basketball shorts, then his boxers, I began stroking his erection. He stretched his legs out and said, "Why don'tcha blow me." Dropping to my knees, I sucked that boy like a champ and within a few minutes I was swallowing his semen. I sat back up next to him, stroking the back of his neck and ears. Fingering that young and tender flesh. "Does that bother you?"
"No. If it did, I'd tell you."
Another sex scene started and I asked if he wanted another one. "It's asleep." He whispered, but when I put my hand on it, his penis sprung to life. This time he dropped his pants and shorts to his ankles and gave me full reign. I kneeled in front of him and looking into his eyes and that made his cock rock hard as I sucked it. He liked being deep throated while squeezing his balls and as this old man sat on the other end of the aisle to watch us, Jason squirmed and moaned as I blew him. He moaned a little louder as he shot a second load into me.
As soon as he fastened his belt, he said let's go. Typical straight boy, I joked, you get your nut and your out the door. He chuckled. Once out side, his cell phone rang and it was his girlfriend Stacey. Jason told me that he had to go meet her at school.
"Right now?" I asked.
"Yeah. I can't hang with you all day. I not queer." He said as he walked away.
Ever got punched in the stomach? That's what it felt like. Sad and depressed, I returned to the house and typed this shit out. I think I am in love with him. Is it wrong? I'm only twenty-eight. Am I a pervert? But it is so good and consensual.
Queer life sucks.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

High School Confidential.

This morning, I walked downstairs to fix me a cuppa Joe, when all alone in the living room was Skippy's younger brother and teenage heartthrob, Jason, curled up on the couch. He was covered by a thin pink blanket and the freakin' teenybopper had a damn hard on. After I made my coffee, I stood there in the kitchen's door way, slurping at my java, scrutinizing his lithe form; me vibrating with torn lust. I scraped a chair noisily across the floor and woke him up. He rolled onto his side and stretched and good mornings were exchanged. I sat across from him in the chair about a foot away, legs crossed and gulping coffee. Jason rolled onto his back and that erection, that beautiful stiff cock jutted northward.
"Woah!," I said jokingly, putting my hand up to it. "You're gonna put my eye out."
He started laughing in embarrassment, "Watta ya starin at my dick for?" Covering it with his two hands. "Sorry, man, you know, mornin wood."
He rolled back onto his side and yawned. We talked a bit of his lacrosse game next week until Mother and Sister came downstairs and told Jason to hurry up and get ready for school. There was about thirty minutes of family chaos and then the three went out of the house to school and/or work.
Was left alone in the House of Skippy and bored outta my mind. So, I woulda done what ever any weird homo woulda done and snuck into Jason's room. I found his porn (A well used Hustler.) and his Yugi-O cards and then I found a notebook. Not just any notebook, but his private journal. Yeah, I read it. It was mostly High School crap...bitching about school, homework, wondering if he is ever gonna pass English Lit, his rivalry with some guy named Roger and his lacrosse matches. And "I love you, Stacey!" Written all over the place. Then an innerestin passage, dated just last week, Tuesday to be exact and he told Momma that he went to the movies with his schoolmate Rodney. Here it is word verbatim exactis pronto from the mouth of a 16 year old jock:
Tuesday October 4, 2005
God, I love you so much, Stacey! You are the most beautiful girl i ever seen you have the perfect smile and body i asked her out and she said yes! we had a dinner at micky dees and a movie and she invited me inside to her house. At first we both were nervous our hearts were racing and i was sweating like a pig she had on nothing but a skirt and a tank top while i had on my casual jeans and punk rock t-shirt.
We both sat there until she asked me to make love to her Right then i wanted to scream and run because she looked like an angel of beauty begging me to take her virginity she then inch next to me and started kissing me on the neck then she started to sucking on my neck to the point i moan with pleasure
Something inside of me wanted to say we cant do this the other part wanted me to fuck the shit out of her right then and there i took my second choice and i pushed her down on the couch and started to kiss her softly on the lips then i slowly took my hand and put it up her skirt she then made a soft sigh She started to grab my hair and taking off my shirt I then started to take off her shirt then i kissed and suck her up and down She started moaning and saying fuck me baby
My pulse was racing she was telling me to bite her and fuck her hard I picked her up and she drew her legs around me she then started to whisper take me baby just take me I sworn i could have fell right then and there so i layed her down on the couch and grabbed her hair and bite her neck and started to kiss her forcefully she then started to sway her head back so that i can get a better coverage of her neck I grabbed her and whisper that shes a naughty girl and she started to make these sounds and then started to kiss me on my chest I slowly unclapsed her bra and took one of her firm breast in my hand I heard nothing but a sigh from her lips.
She slowly kissed me and started nibbling on her lip I then took one of her breast in my mouth it felt like the greatest feeling in the world she then slowly buckled under me she then unclipped my buckle and pushed my jeans down she slowly pushed my spongebob boxers down and took hold of my manhood i slowly buckled and whisper to her that she was going to get it
We slowly kissed and then i stared into those brown eyes and i knew right then and there i was in love I took off her skirt and slowly eased down her painties and whisper in her ears that it wont hurt She looked at me as if i was her knight in shiny armor I slowly eased into her to only hear a cry escaped from her juicy lips she then begged me to go faster and so i did I slowly eased into her and then i withdrew (The handwriting is becoming more scribbled and chaotic.*D.A.) and then started a rhythm that we both can move too I move faster and faster and as i kept pounding into her she was screaming out oh jason oh baby fuck me fuck me I kept going faster and faster and faster and i knew i was closed to bust a nut i felt the come tingling in my nuts and she was so wet She was biting and moaning for me to go faster and so i did My muscles tightened and i screamed out with frustration until we both reached our climax She then started to kiss me softly on the lips and she whispered the words that i thought she would never say I LOVE YOU and i froze because i didnt know what to say so i eased out of her and we layed there in a tight embrace i love her so much i can hold her forever.
Jumpin' jigglin' Jesus! I have never been so turned on by reading something. Jason is so freakin hot and having him spill his soul out like this is just too much. For almost over a month I have been deprived of sex and reading this has made me dangerously horny. And, I'm outta cigarettes....

Monday, October 10, 2005

Saint Skippy.

The week in review...
Okay, Richard started acting like a real asshole. He began to deteriorate into a sniveling, self centered little punk. But, I was a guest in this house and I had to tolerate his little tantrums. Living with his family he was the typical spoiled brat. Almost every night at the dinner table, Richard and his father would have screaming matches. I would sit in silence as the mother sobbed, pleading with them to stop. Ah, yes...reminded me of my home life when I was a kid. So, to ease matters we both got a job at the Wal-Mart. Yes...Wal-Mart, the Evil Empire, itself. The White Trash Mall. My plan was to save some money and move back to Mexico. I've set my sights on Matamorros. Brownsville, its sister city is as far south and remote as I can get. I would gaze at a map, eyes shrink wrapped in tears and picture the palm trees and balmy beaches. And the best thing...nobody knows me there. I can start totally from scratch and build a good life for myself. Not that I am running from anything or anybody in particular, I just want to check out some new digs. Somewheres cheap ands gotta beach.
Anyhoo, back to this Wal-Mart shenanigan. Richard got the job as a box boy (typical, such a lazy idiot.) and I worked the check out line. The only bad thing was that it was the graveyard shift and there was hardly a soul that usually shopped in at that time. This one cool guy named Charles and I hooked up and became good friends. He's a tall and lanky goateed student with frizzy red hair that attends the State University in Oneonta. I explained to him how I got to this little town and my plans for leaving. He thought it was cool that I just get up and travel, something he said he'd never have the ball's for. I thought it was hilarious that he preferred to go by his nickname "Skippy". His friends and family called him Skippy. It was even on his nametag. Heh...Skippy.
Life at the O'Herly residence became unbearable, especially after I found out that Richard's mom and dad---are you ready for this---are brother and sister! Did my best Keanu Reaves Waoh to this one. Christ beaming at me from every angle and these fuckers are incestuous!? Jerry Springer save my soul! So I moved out and shacked up with Ralph. That in itself was a horrible experience. The trailer stank like shit and all that wrestling crap gave me the horrors. Richard was mad because I moved out and left him with his...ugh... parents. One night as I lay on the couch, Richard and Ralph was in the other room, whispering. Richard convinced that fucking moron that I was in trouble with the law and was just all around bad news. So, Ralph asked me to leave. In a fit of rage, I grabbed a broomstick and beat the living shit out of Richard. I went at him like Obi-wan to Annikin. Stomping out of the trailer, I marched over to the corner gas station and called Skippy and told him the news, he asked me to come and live with him up in Cooperstown, which was about forty five-minutes north of Oneanta. I told him the street corner I was on and awaited him and his lil' Fiat.
Skippy lives in a great big three story Victorian house not unlike the Addams families house. Creaky and old. The small city of Cooperstown is a rustic little place where the sport of baseball was born. It's just like that town out of It's a Wonderful Life; old wood houses covered in multicolored leaves of fall. Old timey street lamps. There is a city square with a white and red gazebo and a red bricked city hall with a huge bell that rang out the hour. Front yards lined with fallen leaves and kids sliding down grey hills on snowboards. Families rushing to and fro with Christmas packages piled in their arms. Wreaths hung in black windows as carols filled the air.
Now, Skippy's mother didn't mind me staying there, but she did give me a time limit of a month to save some cash and get my own place. Skippy lived with his mother and younger sister, a spoilt sulky little blond with braces and brother named Jason, a teenage blond jock who looked alot adolescent Eminem. Mother was kind of a wispy ex-hippy and very patient...a well balanced fatherless household. And they have a freakin' computer with DSL!! Apart from work Skippy and I hung around together. We'd go to the movies (Saw Corpse Bride---fabulous!) or lay around and play his Playstation.
It seems that life in this town is going to get a little more interesting now that Desolation Angel has swooped in from the void!

Monday, October 03, 2005

Wolf Girl.

Richards’s dad kept bugging us to get a job. I agreed that I would be happy to find one however everything was so spread out and there was no public transportation that this became a problem. Grudgingly, Richards’s mom, who still eyed me like I was Satan, would drive us the forty-five minutes into town and we would look for work. But, instead of looking for work, we would spend hours at the university campus computer room talking in chat lines on the Internet.
I met some of the really kooky friends of Richard when we walked around town looking for stuff to do. The bloated pedophile with the Chihuahua, The Purple Lady, and Mr. Pickles. The town was small and old. Everything was red bricked buildings and rusted signs. Little old ladies in sensible shoes and old grey haired men with horned rimmed glasses stare as we walk by. Can't find a fucking store that sells Lucky Strikes! Had to settle for Camels. Blech. Mostly burnt out hippie college students and street performers prowling the main drag and loitering in the Plaza. Found a little book shop and bought Hubert Shelby Jr.'s Last Exit To Brooklyn; an old fav.
The most bizarre of Richard's friends was a retard named Ralph, a lanky goofball with a shock of red hair, scraggly red beard and googly eyes. And I mean fucking bugged out Cookie Monster eyes! He lived in a ratty and rusted trailer alone, was legally blind, and watched WWF Smackdown on his television. His trailer was a shrine dedicated to his heroes of the Wrestling Federation. Posters, t-shirts, action figures, dirty underwear, and piles of filthy dishes cluttered the ugly powder blue trailer. There was this mongoloid girl that was in love with Ralph and stalked him. Wore a powder blue baby doll dress and had a forehead like a skillet.
Last Friday, Richard and I went up to the State University to crash a few parties. Chatted with some interesting college kids. They said there were little parties going on all around campus. Lotta hot jock eye candy. Not one for the white boys but some heated me pants as they walked by. One party was held in the Union Hall, a kind of free for all dance with a lot of ugly people. A couple of hot jocks, but no one that I was interested in. Except this handsome little Filipino, who kept staring at me. (I have this secret thing for Filipino guys, goes back to my first experience with homosex.) But, this seems a fairly homophobic town, so I'm keeping my cool. The DJ would play anything you asked for and I requested The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show and I got to dance the Time Warp with about sixty co-eds. But it’s the pelvic thrust!
We hung around the campus and dug the festivities. One black fraternity took over the campus cafĂ© and did “stepping” all night. A dance style that consisted of eight to ten guys connected by a rope and moved in perfect rhythm without music. It was pretty impressive. It was the shizzle, yo. Again, eyes met with this grr-jess black guy with amber eyes and built like a brick house. Homina homina! Ran out into the cold darkness to cool off. Richard ogled at all the girls. Perhaps it's time to drop the fag bomb on him. Perhaps not.
Then we cruised down to Ralph’s trailer to drink. When we got there Ralph was already wasted. He was sitting in the hall in his underwear beating on a tin bucket with a spoon to the rhythm of Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison that was blaring on the radio.
Around 3:30 a.m., there were a series of vicious knocks on the door. Bleary eyed and incoherent, Ralph wobbled over to the door in a Stone Cold Steve Austin T-shirt and saggy dirty underwear. He swung open the door to find a teenage girl wearing a powder blue baby doll dress, white stockings, black patent leather shoes, and a werewolf mask.
“Trick or treat!” she screeched.
“Uh, like…It's not Halloween, yet.”
Grrr."
“I don’t have any candy.”
Grrrr!”
“I have nothing!.”
GRRRRR!!!!!”
“Okay, okay…just a minute!”
Ralph clumped into the kitchen and when he returned he slam-dunked two canned soups and a frozen potpie into wolf girl’s bag. Then he slammed the door in her face.
“Stupid ass bitch.”
Crashed on the couch drunk from 212 and Richard's mother picked us up the following morning.