He thought that he could keep using me whenever I wanted. I gave into his every whim. I did everything he asked me to do, all because I admired him. He wasn't going to get away with it. He could throw me across the room all he wanted, but there was nothing, nothing more hurtful than a good, well thought out stab in the back.
“I could help you, you know.” I scooted closer to Alan who wrapped his arm around my shoulder softly. Then I turned my head and moved closer to him. I wanted him. I didn't even know how much I wanted him until my lips were close to his and I could smell the scent of caramel on his breath.
“Mmm.” He moaned softly. His eyes, like chocolate kisses met mine and his other hand wrapped around my side. I wanted him to pull me down on top of him while he let his tongue twist around mine.
“Just help me forget.”
“We're drunk.” he laughed awkwardly. “Should get some sleep.”
I slammed my hand down on the couch. “What is wrong with me? I didn't think I'd get turned down twice, especially by a guy like you.”
Alan stopped. His body was frozen while he seemed to drink in my harsh words. Then he turned around and walked out without saying anything.
I got up to begin getting ready for bed. There was nothing else to do. I pushed out the only chance of redeeming myself for the evening and he wasn't coming back. Who could blame him? I was worse than Tyler. I insulted the only person that actually gave a shit, and now I was going to have to deal with the backlash.
I pulled out my toothbrush and began scrubbing manically, reaching into the back to get at my wisdom teeth. As I did, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Every chance that I got, I reminded myself that I was beautiful. I had the right clothes, the right head of thick, curly black hair and the perfect, skinny figure, but I was just deluding myself. In reality, my hair was too tall. I was just another self-indulgent twink with a big ego and too much money. Who would want to spend time with a sour-faced old queen like me? I spat a juicy wad of spit and toothpaste straight onto my reflection and left it there.
Chapter 4
I woke up with the sound of my alarm bashing me in the head, over and over until I snapped it up off the table and threw it against the wall. The crash it made was alike a sledge hammer straight to the temple, and the light. The sharp, needle-point rays moved through the room and rested next to my pillow. It was like having a nail driven straight through my eyeballs.
I deserved it, I decided. That didn't make things any less pleasant. It just meant that I was able to take some sick pleasure out of my own personal suffering. Some benevolent, divine force had taken it upon itself to punish me and I had no right to stop them.
I let myself get like this. People are who they hang out with and I'd just spent the past three years loving an arrogant trust fund baby incapable of seeing past his own nose. I'd become, a shallow member of the fashion elite, turning my powdered nose up at anyone who didn't fit my narrow view of how people should live.
I had no right to judge that man. I should've seen it. Alan sacrificed a good portion of his check just so he could help a nice guy in a bad situation, and all I did was insult him. I never would've done what he did. I was too selfish. But he cared. He was a good man and I wasn't.
I needed to know what it meant to be a real, substantive person, not some over-decorated piece of meat. I wanted something more in my life. He had that something. He cared about people. Why couldn't I do that anymore?
Years of people watching had loosened my tongue. It made me spit out every bit of vitriol I could come up with, because people that look down on other people love nothing more than a good joke at somebody's expense.
I couldn't allow myself to be that person any longer. I decided that I was going to find Alan and give him the apology he deserved, so I waited until later that afternoon when I knew the bar would be open and drove down there.
When I got there, there was one car on the lot, a beat up old truck that looked like it'd been built in the fifties with peeling flame decals on the side. I tried not to laugh when I saw it. I was trying to be a new man, but the thing was ridiculous, and even though I felt terrible about it, it was kind of funny.
The bartender from last night was doing a crossword at the bar while one of the regulars, an elderly tranny, was sitting at the edge of the bar, staring around the room as if she expected prince charming to come in at any moment.
“You look terrible.” The bartender was an awkward blond with a lanky figure and blond hair swept to the side in a pathetic attempt at making himself look fashionable. His sour, glazed eyes were turned on me.
“What?” I sat down.
“I'm just saying, you know if you're having fights like that and you're still drinking...”
“You serve the stuff for a living.” I snapped. “And I didn't ask you for a drink, either.”
“Well if you're not here to drink then why are you here?”
“It's the guy who took me home...”
“Alan?”
“Yeah. I wanted to talk to him.”
“Psht. He's gone. The only person here is Delilah and she's Delilah so she's technically not here.”
Delilah, having heard her name hastily began to fix her bright red, Lucy wig.
“See.” He laughed.
“I wanna talk to him.”
“Ooooh. You do, do you?”
“Come on. “You've gotta have his number.” He turned around and walked back into the office. I took a chance and followed him in. “I know you've got it.”
“You can't be back here.”
“You don't understand. I have to thank him for helping me. I'd feel terrible otherwise.”
“I don't even have his number. He never gave it to us. Look, you're gonna get me into trouble.”
“Then give me his address. I know you have it.”
“It's two years old.” He sighed and stood up to sift through the papers on the top shelf of the desk. “He could've moved.”
“I don't care.”
He pulled the paper out from under the bottom of the stack. “It's on the southside.”
“I—I don't care. Just give me it.”
He handed it to me. “Don't give him any crap and if he asks, you didn't get it from me.”
“I won't say nothing.”
“Good, because if he says something I'm telling him you broke into the office.”
“That's fine.” I left and walked out to my car.
His address wasn't just on the southside but at the heart of all of the crack-headed, homeless, needle-using action. I told myself that I was being tested. I was never going to be able to get past my stuck up attitude if I couldn't walk past a few homeless people sleeping in the park. I might get a lungful of rolled tobacco, but that didn't matter when compared to the grander scheme of things.
Along the way, I watched as the buildings changed from modern stucco to concrete cubes—a little taste of Mexico north of the border with brightly colored signs in both Spanish and English and hobos wandering around the sidewalks.
My goal, when I started walking towards the park across from Alan's building, was to look at this world through a lens of compassion and understanding. But it was hard. The first thing I saw when I walked through the park entrance was a man holding a needle, nodding out on heroin on a park bench.
To me, that was his fault. He shouldn't have taken dope. It was the same thing with the group of ghost white tweekers I saw standing around the dried up fountain in the center of the park. I sat down at the edge if the fountain and pulled out a cigarette. One of them, a young man wearing a pair of sagging jeans started swaggering over with a twisted grin on his freckled face.
“Hey, uh, you wouldn't happen to have an extra cigarette, would you homes?” He waved his hands around like a rapper when he talked.
I picked up the empty pack I had set down next to me and opened it so he could see. “It's my last one, sorry.”
“Man.” He clicked his tongue and stomped his foot. H
is pants fell so low I could see the fly on his boxer shorts. A laugh flew out before I could catch it. “What you think that's funny, huh?” He puffed his tiny chest out like a gorilla. His friends started laughing behind him.
“Hey, yo, it's not fucking funny.”
“It really is.” My nose cracked and I fell back into the fountain with my feet flying up into the air.
“You want to talk to me like that you little fucking punk, huh?” Something slammed into my face. I opened my eyes and saw the tweeker hopping around with his fists up. “Let's go!” His friends were gathered up behind him, most barehanded, but some did have knives, and one had a BB gun pointed at my head.
“What's in your pockets?” A man stepped forward holding a butterfly knife.
“I—
“I SAID what's in your pockets?” He cocked his mangled head to the side. I couldn't help but wonder how fast he could debone a person. He could probably slide the meat right off the bone.
I started to reach back for my wallet. “I'll do whatever you want.”
“Oh, we know. We're gonna make sure of it.”
My hands were fumbling around in my pockets, trying to a get ahold of the smooth leather. My fingers gripped it and I started to pull it out. Then something cracked through the air, like the world had been ripped in half.
“Gun! Go!” The tweekers scattered like cockroaches. That wasn't a BB gun they were firing. No, this person had a real, powerful weapon and I wasn't going to wait around to have it pointed at my head.
Chapter 5
I scrambled up out of the fountain and ran straight into Alan who was running up the sidewalk with a gun on his hip. He grabbed my hand. “We need to go.” He dragged me across the street and threw me into front door of his building.
It was bare, with a shopping cart sitting in front of the elevator and a sign taped on it saying, “Out of order.”
“What are you doing shooting that thing off?” I followed him up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You could've been killed.” We stopped in front of his door.
Now I was on the spot. He was staring at me and I had to say something, but I didn't know what to say. We waited for a moment. Then he opened the door and we walked into his tiny studio. It was clean, with wood floors and good kitchen, but it was only one room.
“What?” He saw me looking around.
I slumped over onto a chair in the corner and let my head fall into my shivering hands. The cold outside was rolling over me, chilling my ears and nose. I couldn't seem to get rid of it. “Last night, when you left I just started thinking about how terrible I was for talking to you like that. You didn't deserve that. You were just trying to help me, and I...”
“It's OK.” He reached over and turned on the gas on his furnace so he could click it to light the pilot. He kept pressing the button, over and over, but the flint must've been old and worn away because nothing happened.
“Here.” I reached into my pocket and handed him a cigarette lighter.
He took it and had to duck down low, near the ground, to get to the pilot.“Merde!” He hissed and dropped the lighter.
“Did you burn yourself?” I asked.
“Yes.” He leaned back. “It's freezing.”
“I know.”
“Have you seen that guy at the bar since?”
“Who? Tyler? No.” I got up and laid down next to him. “He hasn't called.”
“Do you want him to?”
“No. Wasted three years of my life on a man that decided that I was nothing more than a sex doll.”
Alan sat up and stared at me. He really stared at me, with eyes moving down my face, over my neck and my body. Normally, I would've felt violated, but there was something soft and sensual about the way that he stared at me. It hit me deep. I had to put my hands over my crotch to keep him from seeing my boner. He stopped and met my eyes again. “It's better that way. You need somebody that appreciates you.”
“I don't deserve to be appreciated.” I turned away from him. “I'm a terrible person, and I find it hard to believe that you could possibly think anything else after the way I spoke to you last night.” But to feel his touch, to let him press himself inside me...
“You're proud.” He conceded.
“Exactly,” I pouted. Too proud to ask for what I wanted.
“But you're beautiful. You can afford to be proud.” Alan's tone softened. “And I think you should know that.” He sat up and began working on the heater again.
The second the fire burst out, I wrapped my arms around, him pushed him down onto the bed and slammed my lips into his. He twisted his head and dove in, letting out a fiery burst of his peppermint breath. It flew down my face, over my chest and settled deep in my gut where it roiled around, churning though my stomach while my cock jumped with excitement.
Sweet ecstasy, if only for a moment. He pulled away and pushed me back softly. “You don't get it.” He shook his head. “Do you know what happens to people who keep selling themselves short like that? They end up getting beaten and raped by the men they love because they can't love themselves enough to find a man that don't want to hurt them. They don't think they're worthy of love. You don't wanna live like that, do you?”
“That's not what this is.”
He was on me in a second, with his wet lips caressing mine and his warm tongue diving through my mouth, rubbing against my teeth and gums, like flint to steel. The sparks shot out, down my body, fueled by his touch, and the friction he brought. They dug through the icy shell surrounding my body as his hands, roaming down my chest spread the warmth.
I could feel him pressing against me, moving downwards as his kisses erupted out, along with tiny flames that bit into my neck, my chest and down my stomach as he coyly began pulling my shirt up.
“So sexy.” He reared up and let his massive, solid form tower over me while pulled my shirt up over my neck and began, with a coy smile, to lift his own. He met my eyes. Then he looked down towards the patch of bare skin just above his belt line as he raised his shirt higher to reveal a full stomach, toned and beautiful, with a perfectly sculpted washboard, and a thin line of scruff that traveled up to a stretch of smooth, rich chocolate.
I couldn't help it. I had to have him. I needed to feel his cock. It was already bulging against his jeans, just as eager as I was for a taste, just a touch. Every second I waited was another second that that fire burned down. If I didn't feed it, I'd never feel this way again, so I dove in and unbuttoned his pants as I let my lips run over his stomach while and my fingers play over his zipper with a mischievous grin.
“You want to fuck my mouth?” I asked. He drew back his head moaning softly as I rubbed my thumb over the head of his dick through his jeans. Then I let my hand move over the shaft. I'd never seen a cock so big. It was true what they said. He was enormous, and I wanted every bit of it.
I pulled the zipper down just enough to get him excited then I dove my head in with my lips clamped against his head, letting my teeth nibble at it while I slowly pulled the rest of his zipper down. He was breathing heavy, panting. I couldn't take it.
I thrust my hand down my pants and move my palm over my shaft. His dick fell out with one last tug, and my body reacted with a thousand sensations, an outpouring of pleasure that hit me all at once. It threw my head back, and sent jolts of sweet pleasure up and down my shaft. Coupled with the friction of his cock rubbing against my cheek, and my mouth searching desperately for the head, it was a rapturous moment, one worth savoring, but there was no satisfaction in it, not until he fell down on the bed beside me and I descended upon him, letting his cock hit the back of my throat, so deep I could barely take it, but I couldn't help it. I needed it, more than air and water, more than anything else I'd ever wanted, just so I could see the look of pleasure in my face when I twisted my head and allowed him to thrust himself inside me, letting the momentum build as he pushed through me, faster and faster, just taking in my touch. Our bodies were rubb
ing together and our hearts were pounding, building the heat that was flowing between us now, eating away at me.
He pulled back and stood up, giving me a fuel view of his body,. His cock erect and ready, sweat dripping down his chest. He was in the throes of it all, fueled by my touch, and the sight of him, moving his hands up and down his body, I laid back, moaning softly as he began working at my pants. He had a way of touching me without really touching, just mindlessly roaming his fingers over my shaft, coy enough that it seemed to be an accident. It only served to heighten my desire.
I didn't just want more. My whole body was crying out for it, his mouth, his cock, every part of him. I needed him right then and if I didn't get what I wanted, I was going to lose my mind, but he didn't let up. He let his thumb roam over my head while his other hand worked on my zipper.
I felt the hot air rush in as more and more skin was exposed. My cock was bursting out, ready to be touched and loved, but he was going to draw out the moment, every last second. He loved it. He loved the desperation, the tease and that dance between yes and no, satisfaction and desire.
When my zipper was down, he dove his hand in and pulled out my shaft. Then he dipped down and let his tongue play over it, laughing like a voodoo demon as his hand held the base firmly and his lips wrapped around me. He was fire and I was ice, melting at his sweltering, moist touch. It was burning, reeling, throwing itself through. The magnitude of the sensation was overwhelming, but still no satisfaction.
He grabbed the seam of my pants, shoved his head down and let my cock roam through his hot mouth while he whipped down my pants and threw them behind him.
“Ooh, dear Jesus...” My long drawn out moan rolled through me, combining with the fiery slip of his tongue twisting around my cock. He pulled out and a rush of cold air hit me, sending goosebumps up my chest and over my neck. They were met by hot kisses, fiery breath, and the soft fluttering of his fingers playing over my nipples. This time he was rough—biting my lower lip, the side of my mouth and tearing through to all the right places.
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