by Jeri Estes
Realizing I was busted, I put my burning and now nearly immobile closed fist on the smooth surface of the bar. As she studied my gross-looking hand, I cockily explained to her what had happened. “It’s nothing, man. I just missed a vein when I was fixing some cooked-up Red Devils, and I got an abscess.”
“Don’t people usually drop Reds? They’re sleeping pills, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but Seconals beat heroin. I’m trying to lose the taste for smack,” I confessed honestly, surprising myself.
Bunny leaned close and said in a soft, sexy, caring voice, “Your hand looks pretty bad. I think you should have it looked at.”
“I was hoping one of those old street whores would be here today to play doctor on me. They’re pretty good when it comes to first aid stuff,” I replied with macho bravado.
Bunny looked at me like I was crazy. “I understand, Jesse, but that sounds a little risky.”
She then gave it to me straight, “Jesse, I’ve been watching you run up and down Alvarado with your speed freak buddy Speedy and that dog of his, selling his cut liquid meth. It is obvious you’re down and out and broke. You walk in here like you own the place, putting your last dime in the jukebox. I must admit you have a lot of chutzpah. Why don’t you let me help you?”
She really got my attention. I hadn’t been spoken to like that since I’d left home. I was confused as I wondered what her motives were. Who was this girl standing in front of me and what did she want?
My experience had taught me you never get something for nothing. Everybody wanted something: your money, your body or your booze. I looked into her inquisitive eyes, and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe she wanted me to fuck her.
I flashed Bunny a cocky smile, exposing my pearly white teeth. I answered in a suave, lust-laden tone, “It’s nice of you to offer. I may need help, but if I go see a doctor, I’ll get busted for tracks.”
Unimpressed, Bunny grabbed my good wrist, holding it down. “Don’t worry, Jesse. I have a john who’s a doctor. His clinic is right down the street.”
Bunny gently turned my injured hand over, exposing my wrist and the small red line going up towards my elbow. “See that red line going up your arm? Jesse, you have blood poisoning. It can travel to your heart and kill you. We need to go now,” she said briskly. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe—he won’t call the heat.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen with Bunny. “I’d rather have the red line kill me than have your big old fucking butch, Tattoo Jean, do me in.”
Bunny’s whole face lit up and she laughed. “Don’t you worry about her either. I’ll handle Jean. Peaches is in the back room. Let me get her up here to cover for me. I’m taking you to Dr. Li.”
As Bunny started toward the back room, she called over her shoulder, “Meet me out back by my Caddy. It’s the pink convertible.”
I walked out into the bright sunlight. The smog and suffocating heat of the day stung my eyes. Squinting, I walked around to the back of the club and spotted the long, elegant convertible. The Cadillac looked like a pink aircraft carrier with white tuck-and-roll leather seats. The wide whitewall tires shouted to the world, “Now, this is a car!”
As I reached the Caddy, the back door of the club slammed. In daylight I was able to get a good look at Bunny. She really was pretty in a fresh, simple, clean-cut way. Short like my mother, she was a stacked bombshell with radiant skin and a dynamite hourglass figure. The simplicity of her clothes and hairdo allowed an observer to focus on the main attraction—her sensuous and voluptuous tits.
Bunny walked to the passenger door and opened it for me. The gallant gesture was not typical for a femme. I normally hated it if a femme opened a door for me, but I let it slide. I gratefully got into the car, willing to risk my life for this newfound feeling of power and strength that the hot little femme ignited in me.
As we roared down the alley, I nodded my head sagely. I could get used to this.
Chapter 4
SOO HAPPY
The breeze hit my face and I experienced a sudden burst of joy, a real L.A. moment. Leaning my head back and feeling the heat of the sun, I closed my eyes and fantasized that we were driving down the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu. Of course, we were really going down a rancid alley behind Alvarado Street, but the little mental trip helped ease my worry about going to a strange doctor.
After several blocks, Bunny pulled up to a large green Dipsy Dumpster and parked. She quickly got out of the car and walked toward the building with a familiarity that let me know she had come here frequently. Meekly, I followed her to a side door and waited as she pounded on the glass door inscribed with the lettering, “Jin Li, M.D.”
In a few moments the door opened. An enormously fat Chinese nurse stood in the doorway smiling at Bunny. I was taken aback by her size, for I had never seen such a fat Chinese. When the Chinese nurse opened her mouth, I had to stop myself from laughing so I wouldn’t embarrass Bunny or the nurse. In the thickest coolie accent imaginable, she said, “Oh soo happy, soo happy to see you. Dr. Jin Li, he soo happy, too. Come, come, I take you in back.”
As we entered the air-conditioned building, the smell of alcohol and disinfectant was overpowering. I got a little paranoid and wondered if this guy really had a medical license or if he had bought some dead guy’s. We followed the colossal nurse down a long, dimly lit hallway toward a bright examination room.
Her huge ass was squeezed into a tent of a dress. The nurse’s hips were so massive that as they swayed, they brushed against the dingy walls. She looked like a celestial body eclipsing the doorway.
She motioned for us to come in and cheerfully said to Bunny, “You sit now and relax.” Then she turned to me and aggressively slapped the white tissue paper on the examination table. “You get on table and wait.” I quickly climbed up on the table and stared down at my feet. The nurse then left, leaving Bunny and I alone in the cold, small room.
Bunny sat below me on a short silver-legged stool. We both waited in silence, listening to the sound of the crinkling tissue paper beneath me as I restlessly tapped my leg.
A thin middle-aged Asian man in a white jacket and a stethoscope around his neck entered the room. Recognizing Bunny, his favorite “patient,” his face lit up. He joyously said to her, “Good to see you. I soo, soo happy. What’s up, Bunny?”
Once again I had to fight the urge to laugh. Why were they always soo, soo happy?
I was shocked into composure when Bunny hugged the doctor tight. I thought it odd to hug a trick.
In her out-of-breath voice, Bunny said, “Well, doc, my friend here has a problem with her arm. Will you take care of her, baby? I’ll take care of you, like I always do.”
She looked at him with such admiration, as if she truly adored the doctor. Watching this pro, it occurred to me that Marilyn had nothing on her.
The cheerful physician’s face broke into a smile, which quickly faded as he came over to me and picked up my hand. He carefully studied it. The doctor’s expression curdled like he was examining a diseased piece of meat. Excruciating pain shot through me as he probed my fingers.
Dr. Li finally let go of my arm. He became extremely animated, throwing his arms like a conductor at the philharmonic. “Most terrible! Pwobabwy staff infection and bwood poisoning! Very dangerous!” Then he stopped shouting and calmly said, “I going to fix your arm right now.”
Opening a drawer, he pulled out a syringe and grabbed a small vial of clear liquid. He stuck the needle into my swollen hand, right between my thumb and forefinger. It hurt like hell, but in a second it was completely numb. The doctor told me firmly, “Don’t move one bit! Don’t look! I going to lance the abscess, okay?”
Eyeing him suspiciously as he picked up a shiny scalpel, I gave him a defiant glare. “Fine, Doc. but I’m lookin’.” Obviously, he didn’t know I grew up watching John Wayne and knew that only chickens didn’t look.
He took the blade and made a fast, deep cut right over my swo
llen vein. Immediately, blood and pus started dripping from the sore. Dr. Li efficiently proceeded to soak up the poison. He kept muttering under his breath, “Very lucky you here. Infection goes to heart. You die. You soooo lucky.”
Once he was done, he proceeded to stitch me up. After pulling each suture through my open wound, he looked at Bunny with a hunger in his eyes for approval. When he was finished, he announced to Bunny proudly, “Your friend, she going to live.”
Watching the dynamics between them was fascinating. The lust-struck doc looked like a puppy begging for a crumb of approval.
Bunny rewarded Dr. Li by reaching over and kissing him on the cheek. It was shocking. This whore in front of me was breaking every cardinal rule of tricking. She hugged and kissed a john, all within one day! What kind of a hooker was she? Obviously she was a very good one because after the kiss, Dr. Li spoke a lot better English.
“Bring her back in three days. I’ll take the stitches out,” he said sweetly. “Okay, honey Bunny?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Bunny said submissively.
The doctor then bandaged my hand and put my arm in a sling.
“You need antibiotics. Stand up and lower your pants. I give you shot!” Dr. Li snapped.
He came toward me with a damn massive syringe. Attentively, Bunny got up, walked over and helped me unbuckle my pants. Bunny lowered my zipper with the expertise and efficiency of a woman experienced in undoing pants.
Dr. Li injected the syringe into my buttocks. With a short, sharp sting, it was all over. The doctor then rubbed the spot vigorously with a cotton swab soaked in alcohol.
Bunny carefully raised my pants for me and started to slowly slide my zipper up. With her head bent down directly beneath my nose as she focused on dressing me, I could smell her hair. I inhaled her clean, fresh scent, like jasmine in springtime. When Bunny finished adjusting my Levi’s and tucking my shirt into my pants, she stepped back to admire her work. Like an attentive mother, she looked me up and down with a critical eye.
Like a devoted wife, she said, “Okay, let’s go, honey.”
I don’t know when I got promoted to “honey.” Maybe it was when I bravely watched while the doctor was cutting me. Whatever the reason, I liked how it sounded. The intimacy in her voice made me feel like a respectable husband. She took physical ownership of me by telling the doctor, “I’ll bring Jesse back in a few days.” Slowly thrusting her tits up like facial expressions, she added, “I’ll come visit real soon. What would I do without you?”
Walking out of the clinic felt a lot better than walking in. I was genuinely happy to see the pink chariot waiting for us.
Once in the car, I told my new friend, “Thanks, Bunny, for taking me to the doctor. I’ll pay you back in a few days.”
Bunny, looking straight ahead down the alley, with her tiny hands lightly gripping the large white steering wheel, didn’t reply. Once again, I nervously told her, “Don’t worry, I’m good for it.”
This time she took her hand off the wheel and laid it on my leg. She tenderly patted my inner thigh. “Jesse, don’t worry about it. Really, think of it as a gift. You need to rest, so I’m going to get you a room.”
Bunny kept her eyes on her driving, not on me. Intuitively, I felt she was trying to protect my pride by not witnessing my confusion. Not knowing what to say, I watched the bums in McArthur Park as we cruised past them. I fought the urge to sink down in the seat. I feared that Tattoo Jean or someone else might spot us together.
“I need to stop and pick up a few things at the store,” Bunny said, pulling into a Ralph’s Market.
When she got out of the car, she asked, “What would you like to drink?”
Bravely, I answered, “Schlitz, Jack Daniel’s, whatever you like.” Less enthusiastically, I added, “Even Red Mountain wine is fine… whatever.”
“Red Mountain wine?” asked Bunny, amused, as she gave me a warm smile. “Plus, you need to eat something.”
“I’m not really hungry. But maybe you could get me some Hostess Cupcakes.”
“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” the friendly hooker said as she opened the car door and stepped out. “We’ll shoot over to Edward’s Steak House and get a bite later.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Nah, I’m cool.”
Bunny studied my face intently. “Sure you’re not hungry?”
I looked away, wounded by her gentleness. “No, its okay, I’m fine.”
Bunny left and walked into the market.
Kicking back on the luxurious leather seat, I checked out the car’s interior. The dashboard was lined with chrome that glinted in the sunlight. “Cadillac” was proudly displayed in handwriting in the center of the console. I pushed in the cigarette lighter, pulled out a Pall Mall and lit up.
Feeling like I had just hit the jackpot, I relaxed and blew small round smoke rings. Suddenly, it hit me that I was sitting in Tattoo Jean’s ride by myself in plain sight. To make matters worse, her old lady was in the market buying me booze.
My survival instincts kicked in, and I wanted to get out of the car and run like hell. I started thinking about Bunny suggesting Edward’s Steak House. What a great idea! I’ll just go over there with Bunny, sit in a big booth in front of everyone and order my last meal.
After a few minutes, Bunny returned with a large bag in her arms and a big smile on her face. She placed the bag on the back seat, hopped in and turned the key. We floated down the street.
Along the intersection of Sunset and Western, newspaper stands and magazine racks fed the hunger of visiting tourists for scandal and stardom. A guy sat in a chair beside a board offering maps to stars’ homes. Neon stardust trailed a brilliant gold star advertising the Starlight Motel. The pink Cadillac drove through its stucco arch.
Towering royal palm trees hinted at the glamour Hollywood once knew. We docked the boat in a stall reserved for guest check-in. Bunny grabbed her purse and refreshed her lipstick.
“Wait here.” With that command, she proceeded into the motel office to check us in.
Again, I obediently said, “Okay.” I sat there, lit up a Pall Mall and scoped out my surroundings.
It occurred to me that she was smart to leave me outside. No reason to let the motel clerk see us together. That way, if Tattoo Jean showed up, she wouldn’t be able to beat the information out of him. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
In my mind’s eye, I saw Tattoo Jean whip out her .45, push it up against the clerk’s head, and yell, “Where the fuck is Bunny and that dyke? What room are they in? Speak up, before I blow your fucking brains out!”
I took a deep drag, shook my head and cancelled that vision. I remembered clearly the first time I saw Tattoo Jean and Bunny together, at the If Club. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that they were a couple. Bunny was petite and adorable. Tattoo Jean, on the other hand, was a walking human refrigerator. She looked like something out of a carnival act.
Jean’s white shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing red, black and blue painted arms. Because she was so heavy, she looked sloppy even though her clothes appeared expensive. Her shirt was wrinkled and ill-fitting over bulging layers of flesh. I was both amazed and appalled at her gargantuan biceps that reminded me of Rosie the Riveter.
I reflected on the sparkle I had seen in Bunny’s eyes as she hugged that animal of a person. The six-foot dyke leaned her three hundred and fifty pounds of undisciplined flesh against the wooden bar. She rested one of her big boots on top of the foot rail. Glued to Jean’s back with her arms snugly around her waist was this petite, pretty femme. Bunny’s manicured hands were clasped together tightly in front of Jean’s mammoth stomach.
Jean’s colorful flesh brought to mind the night my father first saw my tattoo. He had tracked me down to the Camelot Hotel in San Francisco. Unannounced, he knocked on my door and I swung it open. I was wearing a wife-beater t-shirt that exposed a recently inked tattoo on my right arm that said “Jesse.” He saw my tattoo and burst into tears.
/> In between sobs he cried, “How could you have done this to your body! It is so low class. This is going to kill your mother. How are you going to be able to go to the pool at the country club? What if you have children? You have got to be kidding...who the hell is Jesse anyway?”
Judging by my father’s reaction, my inked skin seemed to have endangered all of my family’s dead ancestors.
Once my father stopped shouting, he pleaded, “When are you going to give up this insanity and come home?”
Eventually, my parents accepted that I was gay. They were grateful that I was at least alive. It was awkward for them, but they realized they couldn’t force me to change or come back home. But I vividly remembered the guilt and shame I felt seeing the pain I had caused my father.
Bunny appeared and jolted me from my daydream. “Come on Jesse, I got you a room.”
“Don’t worry about it! I really don’t need a room,” I said, panic-stricken. Bunny didn’t look so adorable anymore. “I’ve thought about it. Maybe you can get your money back.”
Bunny looked at me with confusion. “What do you mean, you don’t need a room? You must be exhausted. Come on, you’ve got to rest.”
“N-n-no,” I replied.
Bunny finally realized the cause of my fear. “Don’t worry about Tattoo Jean! She has no idea where I am. Besides, I know how to deal with her. Let’s get you into your room, okay?”
So I followed behind her, muttering a prayer. “Dear God, please don’t let me get into anything that we can’t get me out of.”
Bunny just chuckled.
While she was opening the motel room door, I thought, “Now its payback time.” I figured I’d probably have to pay with my body for her kindness and generosity. I wondered, “Did she want me to fuck her the minute we got into the room?” It struck me that I wasn’t prepared. I had left my dildo under Speedy’s mom’s couch. I hoped Grady didn’t find it.
As we entered the room, I was beginning to feel performance anxiety. The pain in my arm was back. I was exhausted and dreaded the thought of having sex.