Bleeding Like Me

by Riley Parks

  “Put on a rubber,” the guy directed as he rose to his feet, rested his hands on the tree, and presented his ass to Evan.

  That ass. It was firm, thick, and fucking perfect; the definition of a bubble butt. Evan had to hold himself back from leaning down and biting one of the fleshy mounds. That ass was the ultimate confirmation that he was having a phenomenal day.

  “Don’t have one,” he stated, grabbing onto his hips with one hand and lining his cock up to his ass with the other.

  “Ain’t going to fuck me without a condom,” Hot Shit scoffed, glaring over his shoulder and giving Evan a look that made him feel like a complete imbecile. Shaking his head with aggravation, Hot Shit bent down to take a condom out of his wallet. It was shoved in there deep, far from anyone’s peeking eyes. Evan wondered if the guy was married, but noticed he didn’t have a ring on his finger.

  Hot Shit tossed Evan the condom, and he quickly ripped open the foil and struggled to slide it over his cock. Once he rolled it down the best he could, he repositioned himself to breach that incredible ass. Though the pleasure of his cocaine high had waned, his body was falling into an even more addictive feeling.

  The guy let out the sexiest breathy grunts as Evan bottomed out. As he began to roll his hips, he couldn’t get his mind off how tight the condom was. Uncomfortably tight. So tight that he thought he was losing blood flow to his dick. “I need a magnum. This thing is strangling me.” He pulled out abruptly, causing the other man to groan at the loss, while he sighed in relief at the release of pressure when he took the condom off. “Do you have one?”

  “Do I look like a fucking drugstore to you?” Hot Shit snapped, hastily pulling up his pants, muttering something about Evan being a “waste of a big fucking dick.”

  “I can give you head,” Evan offered, moderately embarrassed by his performance or lack thereof.

  The guy eyed him down as if he was unsure if he wanted to find a guy who could actually fuck him or if he was all right with blowing his load on Evan. “Fine,” Hot Shit relented, pulling down his pants again, which prompted Evan to get on his knees.

  He sucked him good while he fingered his ready asshole, wishing it was his cock shoved in there instead. With his free hand he tugged on his own dick, thinking that both of his highs had now gotten away from him. When he hooked his fingers and jabbed against Hot Shit’s prostate, the guy spasmed in Evan’s mouth and poured a truckload of jizz down his throat. As Evan licked the guy’s cock soft, Evan shot his own come into the dirt.

  They got dressed quietly, Evan attempting to brush the dirt off his shirt before putting it on.

  “Bring a fucking condom next time,” the guy ordered before walking away.

  Next time.

  6

  Jackson should have been annoyed that he’d gone all the way out to Humboldt to get fucked and didn’t get the full cock ride in his ass. It should have turned him off that the redhead was clearly a dumbass, showing up to a fuck spot without a condom for his huge dick. Jackson should have been doing what he always did: fuck and forget. But for some reason he couldn’t. There was something about the Daywalker that had Jackson not giving a shit about his should-haves and thinking more about what-ifs.

  The last thing he needed was to get involved with some closeted North Side twink who wore maroon collared shirts like it wasn’t a fucking insult, not to mention those goddamn skinny jeans. Dude was probably the male version of Tamara: too good-looking for his own good and needy as hell.

  The fact that Jackson was even considering what the redhead’s personality was like was blowing his mind. Maybe he was hypnotized by that dick. It was perfect: as thick as it was long and straight as an arrow. He loved the way it had lain full and heavy on his tongue while he was giving head and how deliciously it had stretched him during the nanosecond it was in his ass.

  Jackson had never been with a guy so big. As soon as the redhead bottomed out, the tip of his cock had brushed against Jack’s prostate, sending electric shocks through his body. Imagining what it would be like to get thoroughly fucked by that dick was mind-blowing. It had to be the reason why he couldn’t get the dude out of his head. Once they properly fucked, Jackson would be able to move past it the way he had with so many men before. He was sure that it was the anticipation of the fuck that never happened that had him all messed up. So much so, he found all he could focus on, as the L made its way back to the South Side, was the stupid rich kid he had almost banged.

  Of all the shit that went down, the maroon shirt should’ve bothered him the most. On the South Side, if he ran into a guy wearing that color, he’d assume he was a Klown Killer and fuck him up. He wouldn’t give a shit how incredible his cock was. Those motherfuckers were bottom feeders, scavenging around to pick up scraps that Dem Demonz left behind.

  Though the guy had a black eye and some bruises on his torso that made him look like he could’ve been about that life, Jackson was sure he was a college student or a trust fund kid. He’d probably fucked up his daddy’s boat and got a fist to the face or got whacked by a pansy named Thurston in a polo match.

  Jackson had never had respect for people who were born with money, not after he hustled to get where he was.

  Maybe the guy had to keep up appearances and had a girlfriend like Jack did, social pressure forcing him to be somebody he wasn’t. Jackson knew that shit too well. It was how his ass got stuck with Tammy. He sighed at the thought of her and hoped she’d be asleep by the time he got home. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

  “It’s late. Where were you?” she hissed from the couch in the dimly lit living room. Her hair was pulled up in a sloppy topknot and she was wearing one of Jackson’s sleeveless tops, a gesture that he may have found endearing, if he was endeared by her.

  “Why are you wearing my shit?” he grunted, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and placing it on the kitchen counter.

  “Why am I wearing your shit?” she scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Where were you, Jackson?”

  “We’ve been together for six years, Tams, and I haven’t answered that question once,” he stated coolly, looking directly into her glassy eyes. He could tell she was drunk, and he knew that their conversation was seconds away from escalating.

  “Well maybe you should start fucking answering it then,” she screeched, throwing the blanket that was lying over her lap onto the ground before crossing the room and getting into his face. “Where the fuck were you?” she demanded, standing too close to Jackson for his liking. Her warm breath fanned over his skin, getting him more heated by the moment.

  “Back the fuck up, Tamara,” he warned. “I’m not playing with you right now, you better get out of my fucking face.”

  “Or…?” she taunted, closing the mere inches between them so their noses were practically touching. “You going to hit me, Jack? Fucking hit me then. It would hurt less than all the other bullshit you put me through.”

  Jackson closed his eyes and clenched his fists, attempting to steel himself. He’d never hit a woman, but fuck if he didn’t want to sometimes. Tamara knew how to push every single one of his buttons, and though she was often careful not to provoke him, when she was drunk her self-control got away from her. As far as he was concerned she was difficult enough to deal with when she was sober and nearly impossible when she was under the influence.

  “Do you know how badly it embarrasses me when I tell people you’ll be coming through and you never fucking do?” The spray of her spit misted his skin as she grew louder. “Hmm?

  “People probably think I’m fucking pathetic to stay with a guy who clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m fucking pathetic.” She let out a wry laugh and rubbed her forehead. “Am I, Jack? Am I pathetic to stay with you? I mean, you won’t tell me you love me. Six fucking years and you’ve never said the words.” She kept ranting, not noticing that a sleepy Amy had exited her room and was standing by her door, arms crossed over her chest. “We never fuck, like at all, and
you can hardly get it up for me to suck your dick.” She let out a sputtering sigh. “I am. I’m pathetic.”

  “Don’t tell them I’m going to come through,” he suggested, lifting his brows, determined to ignore the rest of her outburst. “Solves the problem, right? Don’t tell them.”

  Tammy’s spray-tanned skin flushed an angry red. “You’re a fucking piece of shit,” she screeched louder, putting both hands on his chest and shoving him back as hard as she could. As soon as she heard the thud of his body hitting the granite counter, the realization of what she’d done shifted her temperament from furious to alarmed. “I’m…”

  “Get out.” His voice became low and deadly. Almost anyone else in the DDz would’ve whaled on the bitch by now, but Jackson had some morals. Not many, but not hitting women was one of them.

  “Jackson, I’m…” She backed away, legs shaking and lips quivering as tears sprung from her terrified eyes. “I shouldn’t have…”

  Standing off in the corner, Amy seemed completely taken aback by the way the scene had unfolded. She was used to being woken by their fighting, but this was the first time Tam had taken it too far. But Amy knew Jackson. He would never lay hands on a woman. She approached him and rested a grounding hand on his shoulder.

  He barely glanced down at his sister before turning to Tammy. “Get your shit and get the fuck out,” he demanded, rage coursing through his veins and hardening his heart as Tammy dropped to her knees in front of him, her face flooded with the evidence of her remorse.

  “Please,” she cried, “I’m sorry. I never should have…”

  Jackson growled, “Did I slur my fucking words?”

  “Where am I supposed to go?” she wailed, running after him as he stormed into the bedroom they shared. He pulled a duffel holding some of his cocaine out of the closet and dumped the baggies onto the floor so he could start throwing Tammy’s shit into it. As she sobbed, he emptied her drawers, shoving some of the contents into the bag that was clearly too small to hold much and tossing the rest into the corner of the room. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Should’ve thought of that before you started acting like a goddamn psychopath, Tamara,” Jackson derided, yanking dresses off hangers and adding them to the pile. “Amy, get me a few garbage bags. Got to take the fucking trash out.”

  Amy did as she was told. She knew Jackson well enough to see he wasn’t going turn back from this long overdue decision. By the time she returned seconds later, Tamara was face down on the bed whimpering and Jackson was in their bathroom tossing all her expensive beauty products into the trash in the bedroom. She looked up when she heard Amy reenter and shrieked at the sight of Jackson unplugging her hair dryer and straightener.

  “Don’t break my SinglePass,” she howled as Jackson took the iron into his hand. “That was three hundred dollars, Jackson.”

  He turned slowly and narrowed his eyes at the mess of a woman crumpled up on the bed. “Excuse me?”

  She rolled her lips in as guilt overtook her face.

  “You spent three hundred dollars on a fucking flatiron?” He balked, pulling his head back and raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

  “It’s a really good one,” Amy stated softly. “They’re hard to find, so they’re pretty expensive.”

  “Want it?” He held the coveted item out to his sister, while Tammy bawled.

  Amy looked at Tamara and then at Jackson before she took the flatiron from his hand as Tammy yelled, “Bitch.”

  “You know what?” Jackson looked at Amy then began rubbing his knuckle against his nostril as he drew in an aggravated inhale. “You’re going to keep all this shit. It’s all mine anyway. Ain’t no reason for Rocky over here to have it.” He dumped all the items out of the duffel, deciding to fill it more strategically with Tamara’s bras, underwear, a few T-shirts, and a pair of shorts. When he moved toward Tammy, she cowered in fear, but he leaned over anyway and carefully removed the oversized gold hoops from her ears and the diamond necklace from her neck.

  “Really, Jackson?” she wept. “One mistake. I made one mistake.”

  “Nah, Tams. I made the mistake. Should’ve done this a long fucking time ago,” he stated, hoisting the bag up and gesturing for Tammy to follow him. “Put on your pants and shoes.”

  She did as she was told, still sobbing as she pulled on jeans and tied her sneakers.

  Jackson opened the front door and tossed the bag into the middle of the hallway, waving for Tammy to follow it.

  “Where am I supposed to go?” she whispered, looking at him with pleading blue eyes.

  Jackson shrugged. “Maybe go stay with those friends that are so concerned about our fucking relationship.” He chuckled. “I don’t know though, might look pathetic.”

  He slammed the door once she exited and turned to his sister, who had an astonished expression on her face.

  “Want some pizza?” he asked, as if the last half hour hadn’t happened. “I’m fucking starving.”

  7

  It had been a week since Evan had become the proud owner of somebody else’s credit card number and he had put it to good use. His bed was now covered in sheets and a comforter, his closet was full of clothes, and the new easel in the corner of his room was holding a canvas that had vibrant acrylic paint brushed across it. With Luis’s guidance, Evan had purchased items with the intention of reselling them for a cheaper price, thus padding his pockets with cash. He used most of his earnings for drugs, remaining loyal to his brother for weed, but going to a few of the Klown Killerz who were higher up in the hierarchy for his coke. He’d learned the hard way that Kane’s shit was cut with baby laxatives. Now that he was able to spend money that wasn’t his own, he’d decided to spring for the good shit.

  During the day he mostly chilled with Luis, Kane, and Jamal, playing video games and getting high, or he hid in his room, lost in the abstract landscapes he created on canvas. Through his art, he constructed a world full of happiness and love, a place so contradictory to what he knew. His paintings allowed him to live unapologetically. To walk down the streets into structures he built, knowing that they’d keep him safe; a dream that had yet to be realized anywhere but in his imagination. He wondered if years of not having a home had inspired him to develop sanctuaries that could hold him, even if only through the paintbrush in his hand.

  Evenings were spent targeting women who were desperate or stupid enough to do things for the set. He’d been able to lock down two girls who, according to the information that was passed down to him from the O-Gs, had already proved to be invaluable. He’d been sent out to tag turf only once, and wielding that can of spray paint had felt like a homecoming.

  With everything else there had been a learning curve, but cloaking himself in the darkness of night and spraying graffiti came easy to him. He was as precise as he was fast, both qualities needed to get the message across without ending up in prison. When he was younger, he’d made the mistake of becoming too wrapped up in the work and not cognizant enough of the ticking clock that began counting down as soon as the paint hit concrete. He’d gotten himself thrown in juvie quite a few times as a kid, but only ended up in jail twice as an adult, which he figured was growth, all things considered.

  Every night after his KKz responsibilities, he made his way to Humboldt Park with several gold foil condoms in his wallet. He sat on the same bench, looking at the same rock, hoping that the same man with the pale blue eyes would show up. He didn’t. Evan regretted not working out a date for their next rendezvous or at least getting the guy’s phone number.

  Evan had never asked a guy for his digits before. Even the concept of doing it seemed incredibly weird and unnatural. The men he’d been with in the past had all chased him. He wasn’t used to having to put in work, and yet he found the anticipation and nervous energy to be quite the aphrodisiac.

  Assuming that he actually saw Blue Eyes again, Evan knew that the sex was going to be amazing, not just because the man was hot as fuck, but because Ev
an had been thinking about how goddamn sexy he was for the past week. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Evan to be horny as fuck, day in and day out. After all, he was a twenty-one-year-old guy. Wanting to bang all the time was pretty much par for the course. But at thought of plowing Hot Shit’s ass, Evan had found he was even more worked up than usual. It felt like he had a perpetual case of blue balls from constantly wondering what could have been if he hadn’t been such an idiot and brought some fucking condoms.

  He was about to jack off for the second time that day, his inspiration seemingly never-ending thanks to the mystery man, when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

  “Come in,” he called, zipping his fly and quickly scooting into a sitting position on his bed.

  “Ready to roll?” Kane asked, coming into the room and looking around. “You have like three more paintings than you had this morning,” he mused, surveying the pieces that were leaning against the wall.

  “I keep starting things and deciding that I need to move onto something else,” Evan stated with a shrug. “I think it’s the excitement of finally painting again. Too much shit in my head that’s trying to get out. It’s hard to focus, I guess.”

  “Well, lucky for you all you got to focus on now is getting a shirt on and coming to Cedric’s. The new member parties are always lit as fuck. I think I’m still drunk from mine.”

  “That was two years ago.” Evan shook his head with a laugh as he pulled on his cobalt blue t-shirt. It was strange to have a wardrobe that only consisted of maroon, blue, and white, but he was getting used to it.

  “I know,” he replied with a smirk. “Can that shirt get any tighter, man?” he questioned as Evan leaned over to tie his shoes. He took a break from tying his laces long enough to give Kane the finger. “It almost looks like you’re getting some of your muscles back.”