by R. P. Lester
It was like watching a grizzly attack a campsite.
Leaning on the armrest at the other end of the couch was a sad Pink Panther doll with a pathetic eye dangling from an empty socket. I peered around Alotta’s hips and sent him an empathetic message. “You’ve seen all this before, haven’t you, old buddy?” He nodded “Yes” in time to our rhythmic boning before dropping unceremoniously to the floor.
That poor, pink bastard.
Alotta started going ass-to-mouth. She’d jump off and blow me through the rubber as Jay jerked his meat for a sec. I’d never had a chick do that before. It was really gross but kinda hot so I was on the fence about it. I got off that picketed motherfucker when Jay gave her a Frencher.
Jay was on the brink of eruption. I was on the verge of revulsion. Seeing him and Alotta share ass goblins made my innards bubble. I couldn’t tell if I was even still aroused. With great amplitude, he yelled that he was about to gush.
My wish to avoid a facial brought me back to focus. The abundance of chemicals ravaging my brain gave me a speech impediment, but I managed to tell him to unload away from my face.
“It’s cool, man! I’m about to show you she does swallow sometimes! Hahaha!”
Yeah, dude. That’s exactly what I’ve been wanting to know.
***
The sounds of a rumbling Corolla in Alotta’s driveway made us freeze in position, Jay’s nuts shrunk in his pelvis, Alotta in mid-thrust on my semi-muddy rod. He jerked out of her mouth and raced to peer through the nicotine-infused blinds. Ballsweat rained on my face, invoking a powerful gag from the bottom of my stomach. Though I wanted to throw up everything since the previous night, I had to maintain. Apparently, we were about to have pressing business.
Jay swiveled his head back and forth between Alotta and the window. “What the fuck, Lotti?! What's Harry doing here?! I thought you said he didn’t know about this place!”
Her ass had a vice grip on my manhood. Alotta bounced off of me so fast she took the Trojan with her, plunging wiry fingers into her cheeks and ripping it out before popping it at the blinds like a rubberband next to Jay’s noggin. She stood in the living room, a white trash Wonder Woman, her spread varicosed legs like maps of California, fists pinned to her bony hips.
“No, Jay. Of course he knows about this place. He pays for it! What I said was, ‘he didn’t know how to sit on my face.’ Not without suffocating me, anyway.” She wagged a gnarled finger at him. “That’s what ya get for trying to talk to me when yer eatin’ ‘shrooms, baby. I can’t help it if ya hear what ya wanna hear!”
“Sonofabitch, Lotti!”
We lunged at the pile of fabric on the floor. Our clothes were thrown in a heap and we ripped through them trying to find our respective duds. The car door slammed. Heavy workboots clomped menacingly up the steps and over the loose boards. I heard the familiar shuck of a 12 gauge followed by a fist beating on the door.
***
Our spines stiffened after the first wallop.
Harry’s bags lay open on the coffee table.
Chemical fury raced through our bodies.
Naked and streaming sweat.
Alotta with matted hair.
Me and Jay with dangling dicks.
Mine smelling kinda really shitty.
Fear gripped my senses.
I peed a little.
***
“Yeeees?” Alotta called out in an innocent tone.
“Alotta! Open the door! My stash was stolen and the neighbors said two dudes with a bunch o’ tattoos was at the house! Said they was drivin’ a cherry red Caddy like the one parked in the driveway!”
Alotta lied her freshly-fucked ass off. “Just a minute, baby! I’m cookin’ a pot roast! Got my hands full! Be right there!”
“A pot roast?! Bitch! Yer lyin’ ass ain’t cooked so much as a pot o’ Ramen noodles since we been married! I know they’re in there! If yer fuckin’ those dickwads, that’s yer business. But if they got my speed, that’s my business! Now open this door or Mr. Mossberg’s gonna turn the knob for me!”
He continued pounding on the door demanding entrance while the three of us tried to get dressed. We were successful in getting our garments tangled but utter failures in getting them on. Alotta kept putting him off with excuses that wore thinner with each passing second.
With the prospect of a double-aught death looming close at hand, Alotta said the best thing for us to do was hide in the broom closet. She’d brew a believable story for Harry and get him to leave once he calmed down. She hastily agreed to the original split, saying we’d part ways afterward. That suited me just fine.
***
Two men with a combined weight of six hundred pounds. Stuffed into a space big enough for a vacuum. Tweaking balls. Trying to keep their junk from touching and falling flat in the endeavor. Swooning from the sweet, overpowering tang of Pine-Sol. Clutching a wad of clothing, unsure if any of it’s theirs. Praying to God that if they get shot through the door of a broom closet, it’s a quick departure from the mortal coil.
Would’ve made for a killer book cover.
***
We heard Alotta open the door. Harry charged in the room.
“Where are they?! Those two motherfuckers ripped me off and they’re fuckin’.....why are ya naked, Alotta? And what’s my shit doin’ on the table? What the fuck is goin’ on here?!”
Alotta cocked her trademark attitude and let the hammer fall. “If you’ll quit screamin’ in my house I’ll tell you what the fuck’s goin’ on here! I took yer junk, ya sonofabitch! Me and Chrissy are goin’ to Sturgis this weekend and we wanted enough to do on the trip. With all the bikers there we thought we’d sell some for ya, too. You was sleepin’ when I went to the house so I decided to take all the bags and bring back what the rally didn’t buy. You ungrateful piece o’ shit!”
“Ya expect me to believe that? Who does the Caddy belong to then?”
“Oh fuck, Harry, that’s Chrissy’s new car. She let me borrow it to get the stuff ‘cause you had the Corolla at home.”
Through the hollow closet door, we heard what sounded like a pistol-grip shotgun being placed on a wooden coffee table.
“But why don’t ya have any clothes on, Alotta?”
She’d filed her edgy timbre. “‘Cause I was sniffin’ a little bit and got hot, asshole. Kept thinkin’ ‘bout that big ole dick o’ yers and figured I’d rub one out on the couch. That alright with you?”
“Well, yeah.” Harry sounded like a child whining about his early bedtime. “But what about the two dudes that Willy and Billy told me about? The twins across the street said they saw a couple o’ guys over there while I’s nappin’. Said two big motherfuckers with tattoos came to the house and-”
“You mean the twins who haven’t been right since they licked those sheets o’ acid five years ago? The ones who also told you they was gonna call Animal Control ‘cause o’ the chickens we was growin’ in our front yard? Ya mean that Willy and Billy, baby?”
Harry’s voice still had a tone of skepticism, only now it was tempered with acceptance. “What the?.....I don’t know if I buy this, Alotta. If all this is true, why didn’t ya just ask me for some?”
She swayed from defensive and rough to coy and pouty. “’Cause I know how ya are with yer stuff, sweetie. You wouldn’t’ve believed me. We were just gonna do a little bit, sell some, and bring the rest back. Honest, Sugar Bear. You know I wouldn’t take anything from ya without a good reason, Crazy Baby.”
Hearing her attach his moniker in such a babydoll fashion sent shivers down my back. What chilled my bones was the ease with which she did it. I’d often wondered how Alotta could stay with a man who was as notorious for smoking people as he was hard drugs. Fact is, after fifteen years, she was used to it. And for a split second I wondered how many times she’d had to placate Crazy Shitz throughout the course of their marriage.
Things fell silent after that. I couldn’t tell if they’d left the room or if Harry was standing on
her neck. If he’d killed Alotta and went searching through the house, it was only a matter of time before he got to the broom closet and filled us full of holes. I felt Jay’s muscles tense. The sentiment carried over to mine.
I spoke so softly in his ear, it wouldn’t even register as a whisper. “What if she took him to another part of the house so we could get out of here?”
The words hung in the air as we heard the gagging gulps of a woman deepthroating a rigid hard-on.
***
I suppose you could chalk it up to Alotta trying to prevent a double-murder in her apartment. Or giving her husband some candy so as not to receive a fist in the mouth for absconding with his methamphetamine. Personally, I like to think she was just a filthy Jezebel who would stop at nothing to get her jollies. Her motivations didn’t matter, though. We were given a small window of retreat and I was going to crash through that shit like a wild pitch in the Special Olympics.
I began to put something on so we wouldn’t get arrested for indecent exposure when we hit the street. It would’ve sucked to achieve a narrow escape from the notorious Harry Shitz only to fall prey to the cops and go to jail naked. It wasn’t easy in the cramped space of the closet, but I didn’t want to be bare-assed when we walked down the hall. Jay, conversely, had other things in mind and wasn’t so quick to embrace our good fortune.
***
I heard a noise coming from his side of our dark, tiny matchbox. Couldn’t place what it was. I thought it was a rat scratching from inside the wall. But the more I listened, the more it sounded like someone tapping a pack of baloney:
(Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.....)
I could feel Jay’s movements. My blood boiled when it hit me.
“Jay! What the fuck are you doing, dude?! Are you serious?!”
“I can’t help it, man. That shit’s hot and I’m still horny.”
(Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.....)
“Jesus Christ! Put that thing down and let’s get the fuck out of here before he shows us what our kidneys look like!”
***
I opened the door and slowly stuck my head between it and the jamb. Harry and Alotta were in a heated sixty-nine on the couch with Alotta claiming the captain’s seat. She was covering Harry’s ears with her thighs, his face smothered by her curdled crotch. She released loud moans that shrouded our movements. We slinked from the closet and started tiptoeing our naked asses down the hall with clumps of cotton over our kibbles. I didn’t know what was ours and what belonged to Alotta, but at that point, I would’ve worn a tutu.
Alotta sent us a wink that said, “See ya later.”
I sent her a finger that said, “Fuck you, you infested, trouble-making whore.”
Before we climbed to freedom through the bathroom window, I heard Harry: ”Damn, girl! Yer ass smells extra shitty today!”
***
Jay had thrown his Caddy in neutral so I could push it out of the driveway. We were on the road headed to my place, nerves still jangled from our recent near-death experience. He’d put the top down and the joint I’d found in his glovebox was slowly taking the edge off the glass. We passed it back and forth in silence, grateful for every breath that didn’t involve an artificial respirator.
Jay had blue balls and felt cheated.
We had nothing to show for our work except a comedown.
I needed to boil my dick.
But we were thankful to be alive.
Sticky summer air lapped our faces like a senile old mutt who’d forgotten who its owner was. Hints of fresh-cut grass settled into the cab of the drop-top. The sunset held sharp hues of orange and vibrant pink and looked like an oil painting hanging in the sky. Leafing through the passing houses, I saw children playing in front yards with attentive parents watching over them, pets walking faithfully next to old people out for an evening stroll, couples staring dreamily into each other’s eyes so deep it made me want to puke.
Suddenly, it hit me how wonderful life is; how much greater it could be without theft and attempted murder.
I turned and looked at Jay.
Hairy, sweaty, half-naked Jay.
The guy who’d lured me in with the promise of stolen narcotics. I knew it wasn’t all his fault, because I was grown. I had made my choice to be there. But I’d willed myself to believe that he knew what he was doing and had almost paid the price for it.
I’d jacked thousands of dollars worth of drugs only to leave them in a hovel with their rightful owner. I’d been balls-deep in a woman so foul she couldn’t tempt a recovering sex addict. And twice in the same day, I’d gotten close to someone else’s gun over some bullshit.
All of that added up to the textbook definition of “buzzkill.” I knew I wouldn’t be hanging out with Jay anymore after that.
***
The weed was superb. I was high as hell and reached for a menthol from the console. It was only then that I noticed what Jay was wearing. After all the shit that’d gone down, I couldn’t resist a jab for the memories he’d given me.
“Hey, Jay?”
“Yeah, man?”
“That really is a cute fishnet thong you have on, Lotti.”
“Blow me, Coxman.”
Coxman’s Log: 5:07 PM
There. I’ve taken my rightful place in front of the toilet. Lord of the clothes hamper. King of the sink. Master of all I survey. Flesh hanging out of my jeans, languishing helplessly over the zipper, both hands cradling the shaft.
A Super Soaker of waste.
Swiveling my hips slowly in a three-sixty. Making circles as if manipulating an invisible hula hoop. A pilgrim come to stand before his sacred porcelain god.
Despite my best efforts, a few droplets of the yellow stream splash into the dark-blue water.
No worries—I’ve hit most of my targets dead-on.
Try not to break them up too fast.
The game must continue.
Gauging my gyrations, I mimic an exotic dancer enticing the men at her feet, commanding attention as she warps the images of their wives. Their mothers. Their sisters. Their-
“Innis, what are you doing?”
“I’m knocking off the chunks stuck to the inside of the bowl. Look! I’ve got almost every piece!”
***
My girlfriend hasn’t looked me in the eye since.
Clearly, she doesn’t support the dream.
Chapter Four
(Man, I Need a Boost.)
Hey You! You’re Fired!
Yeah, just like that, baby.
You like that don’t you, you dirty little bitch?
(Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.....)
You wanna play Massa and Field Slave, huh? I’ll bet you do, you freaky fuckin’ cracka.
You’s can whip me, Miss Marla, if'n you want to. Blackie Coxman be needin’ a good beatin’ sometimes.
(Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.....)
I’m the one who stole that mess o’ biscuits from the kitchen, Miss Marla. You’s gone punish me?
No, no, no! Don’t put the girdle on. Leave it off for a spell, just long enough for me to see them stretch marks.
(Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.....)
Come on, Miss Marla, I’ll let you piss in my hair like I know you like, you scummy fuckin’ snow bunny-
***
“Coxman! What are you doing?! Are you peeping at Marla again? Sweet Jesus on a jellyroll! You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore!”
“I’m sorry, sir. I have this medical condition where I have to release fluids throughout the day or the cartilage in my knees gets backed up. It can be very painful.”
“What.....what the fuck are you talking about, Coxman? There’s no such goddamn ‘medical condition’ and you know it! Look, I’ve already told you, just because there’s a hole in the wall between the bathrooms does not mean you can spy on Marla when she empties her colostomy bag. It’s illegal. And disgusting. Plus it creeps me the hell out. I
should’ve fired you the first time I caught you doing this and I can’t believe I didn’t. You’re really not leaving me much of a choice here, Innis. This has gotten way out of hand.”
“Hahaha! Well played, Mr. Jenkem! You said ‘hand’ while I have my dick in my hand! Good one, sir!”
“Shut the fuck up! Goddammit, Coxman, what the hell is wrong with you? I am so tired of yanking you out of seminal fluid. It’s gross and Accounting is on my ass about the funds spent on toilet paper. You are such a sick fuck, man. Why can’t you just look at Family Guy porn in your cubicle like everybody else?
“That’s it. I’m tired of you walking around the office with sticky hands and stains on your pants. You’re outta here!”
***
No worries. I wasn’t a great telemarketer, anyway. Besides, soliciting money for the Sisters of Clitoral Mercy was a scam.
“Mercy” my creamy, suckable balls. From what I hear those dykes used the cash for the doubleheader models and pounded that shit.
***
Administrator.
Brass Hat.
Slave Driver.
Big Shot.
The Guy Pissing Away Your Retirement Dollars on Portraits of His Favorite Mythological Creature to Hang in His Office (top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Zack).
Your Boss.
Whatever you choose to call the tool preening his coif in the mirror of his company vehicle, he serves a purpose. Who else but your boss would tell you when you’re fucking up a mind-numbing task? Or inform you that you can’t use sick time to attend the Adult Video News Awards out of fear he’ll run into you?