"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." - Cyril Connolly
It's Going To Cost You
It's Going To Cost You
an excert from Dark is the Night
“My name’s Johnny. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you.” Johnny smiled at the bloated American.
Johnny slithered closer to the tourist, twisting seductively on the bar stool. In his mind, Johnny was recoiling in disgust. The old, white haired man smelled of acrid sweat and cheap aftershave. Beads of sweat formed on his ruddy, glistening face. His large, bulbous gut hung over the ample waist, khaki cargo pants tight to the point of bursting like a can of biscuits. Thinning, silver hair combed over a red, pumpkinish head.
Johnny placed a slender, brown hand onto the tourist’s green polo shirt, slowly gliding over his ample, sweating moobs.
“So, what brings you to Tijuana?” Johnny smiled, grabbing the cold beer placed onto the counter by the hostile looking lesbian tending the bar. Johnny took a sip, coyly returned to the tourist.
“Just visiting. Looking for some fun, you know?” The tourist slurred.
Johnny saw that he was already inebriated and decided to take full advantage of the situation.
The tourist belched - the immediate air wafted of stale tacos and salsa.
Johnny kept up the smile, scooching his barstool closer. “Well, I can find all kinds of fun for you baby - anything you want.”
He slid his hand across the folds of fat on the tourists neck, felt the stubble of a new cut, read the moles like Braille.
The tourist grinned, looking Johnny over. His thin, tall frame. The tank top that accentuated wiry muscles, the dark jeans that fit long legs. The tussle of jet black, wavy hair, the pencil-thin mustache over thick lips that he guessed must have sucked a million cocks. It was his eyes that the tourist liked - large amber eyes nestled in thick eyelashes, those fat, black eyebrows. Johnny was very handsome and couldn’t be more than twenty-two years old.
Johnny continued his slithering massage of the tourists anatomy. “I know of a cheap place around the corner where we can have all sorts of fun.” he ended fun with a slight brush of his crotch, wherein the tourist noticed the stiffening of Johnny’s long organ.
“Whoa.” The tourist chuckled. “You’re definitely hot. So forward.”
“It’s all for you, baby.” Johnny breathed.
The tourists face went blank as a poker dealers - gazed out into the bar. “How much you want?”
Johnny put on his little hurt boy look, “Oh, don’t say it like that, baby. I’m not a whore. I just want to spend time with you. I really like you.”
The fact was, the obese, squat American made Johnny sick.
The tourist turned more red, the lights beaming off his ample forehead. He sputtered, lifting his beer to his fat lips, “Oh…oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I think you are hot. So, adorable. So, beautiful. I meant, I want to be with you, too.”
“I know.” Johnny said, continuing the rub down. “Let’s go get a room, baby. I want to show you how much I like you.”
The two walked out of the bar into the warm night and around the corner to a hotel that you reached climbing a set of worn, wooden stairs. Hotel Independencia glowed from a dusty lit, plastic marquee.
The tourist took out his wallet to pay an old man behind a metal grate. Johnny got a glimpse of the contents of the wallet - bulging with twenty dollar bills. The old man gave the tourist a key attached to a huge plastic pad.
“Checkout is at eleven o’clock manana.” The receptionist said in broken English.
Johnny led the tourist down a dank hall and opened the door. The room was small and dingy. The sagging bed took up most of it. There was a dresser and a chair.
“Hold up, I gotta take a piss.” The tourist slurred and entered the filthy bathroom. Johnny heard him take a long, loud piss.
Johnny sat on the chair and looked around the room. The tourist returned and sat on the bed.
In one lithe movement, Johnny stood up and pulled down his jeans and white and blue striped briefs. His long, uncircumcised penis swung free. He sat back in the chair.
“You like this?” Johnny asked coyly as he stroked his stiffening organ.
The old tourist blubbered, “Oh, baby - you got a nice dick.”
Johnny laughed, “What’s so nice about it?” Johnny spat, a little too curt.
The tourist fumbled uncomfortably, he didn’t expect that remark. He just sat there, staring at the eight inches of erection being waved in his direction. The smooth shaft, the glistening mushroom tip. Johnny seductively worked the foreskin back and forth over the head, devishly looking up at the tourist who wheezed in mounting excitement.
“I’m so hot.” Johnny sighed. “Why don’t you come over here and do something about it?”
The tourist stared at the undulating erection - hypnotized over it, as Johnny smoothly swayed it back and forth.
Like a fat kid in a candy store, the tourist dropped to his knees in front of Johnny and gobbled his hard on. Loud sucking noises as the tourist sucked and slurped up and down his cock. Though Johnny had his legs spread wide open, he could still feel the tourist obscene stomach rubbing against both his inner thighs.
God, please hurry up and cum, Johnny thought, I need to get the fuck away from this gross gringo.
Johnny reputedly held the back of the tourist greasy head as finally in a matter of short, merciful minutes, Johnny felt the surge of an orgasm and squirt his semen into the tourists mouth. The fat, old man leaned over and spat the matter onto the wooden floor.
Gasping, the tourist looked up to Johnny and breathed, “Oh, baby - that was good.”
“It was hot, baby.” Johnny said coldly, pulling up and fastening his pants.
As the tourist stood up, Johnny stood too and blurted, “Hey, you think you can help me with twenty dollars? I need to pay my electric bill and I am low on money this week.”
“Don’t you work?” The tourist asked, snidely.
“Yes. But, they don’t pay much and I just paid rent.” Johnny stood firmly.
The tourist reached and pulled out his wallet, placing a twenty dollar bill in Johnny’s thin hand.
“Can I have twenty more? I have no food.” Johnny smiled that smile.
The tourist exasperated. Faltered putting his wallet away. Johnny saw the glint of fear and distrust of being in a bad part of town, the uncertainty of being in a foreign locale in the eyes of the tourist.
Johnny glared with just the right amount of sexiness and intimidation, “Please?”
“Oh, all right. But, that’s it! I have to get back to the States tomorrow and I can’t spare anymore.” Said the tourist, placing another twenty in Johnny’s hand and then quickly slipping his wallet into his back pocket.
Johnny made for the door, stopped, “You sleeping here tonight?” He pointed abstractly around the squalid room.
Fear was now in the sobering eyes of the tourist, “No. No, I have a room somewhere else. I’m going there, now.”
“All right. I’ll walk you out.”
Once downstairs, they separated on the corner with a handshake. The tourist wobbled to the safety of a taxi as Johnny returned to the shadows of the corner. Several thugs stood in a knot.
A squat, frog faced Mexican stood in white athletic gear and smiled as Johnny approached, “What’s up, Johnny?”
Johnny’s gaze swept up and down the sidewalk, "Nothing, man. Gimme a paper.”
The frog faced Mexican slapped a small, folded paper into Johnny’s hand and Johnny placed a twenty into his.
With that, Johnny returned to the bar and made a direct line to the bathroom. In a stall, he cut three lines of meth out onto the toilet dispenser and snorted it up.
Feeling it, he returned to the bar and stood next to an ancient and tall American tourist. Johnny ordered a beer for himself.
Johnny took a swig and smiled at the old relic. “Hi!”
The old man raised his bottle, clinking it with Johnny’s. “Hello, there. What’s your name?”
“My names Johnny. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you.” Johnny smiled.