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Feb 22, 2009 19:46 # 46256
This is a work in progress.
Any comments welcomed.
Contains scenes of mature, homosexual content, with images of the abuse of drugs.
As bad as the night before was, it was mild compared to this night’s festivities.
We were awoken by R-., my landlord/roommate/ex-partner, asking for the week’s rent. When K-., wearing only a sheet to hide his exposed body bolted upright, amazingly, R-. didn’t appear shocked, nor surprised, nor mad. He was taking this well, I thought. This can’t be good, but I’ll worry about fallout later. I introduced them by first names. I forgot that I had metioned very little about K-. to R-., so he didn’t understand who he was by name only. At that point, R-. merely thought he was some homeless guy that I’d picked up off the streets after a long night partying.
I couldn’t tell R-. that I didn’t have any money for rent, so I stalled for time while I tried to scramble what to do next.
I texted Cee, a mutual friend, to see if I could barter something, but he was out at the old lady’s, and I had to wait a few. I decided the best thing to do was stall. I had K-. help me grab the returns scattered about my basement. We got all those loaded into my car.
On our back yard walkway, I have been ccurating an art project. It’s fleeting art, like sand sculpture, at the whim of the elements. How this bit of modern art was created was when melting snow water filled up our returns barrel, essentially to the top, with the bottles and cans pleasantly stowed therin. So, when the inevitable freeze came, these bottles, now fully full, or in part filled with said run-off, froze like amberized fossils in a prehistoric glacier. Absolutely wild bit of modern art. So, for about a week this slllloooowly melting sculpture has been revealing more bottles and cans. And that is a good thing—to a point. Many of the bottles, full of water, hit by frigid weather, not only froze into the ice, but have subsequently shattered. That’s not quite accurate, it’s broken into many shards, but still held together by the ice. I had been trying to force the ice to melt. I rolled it directly under the dryer vent, when it was still fully round. It had been gradually melting to reveal more, and more long shards of broken beer bottles. Because the dryer vent is directly at the bottom of the stairs, it becomes a problem as it’s melting. It frozen run-off is bad enough, at the bottom of the stairs, but the now growing pile of glass is the main problem. Because dogs and kids alike use these stairs regularly, it’s important that they be safe.
It was from this frozen bottle sculpture that I liberated a few bottles. I wanted to grab what I could because this was the last day it would be shedding glass onto the walk way.
Everything loaded into the car, we headed over to Cee’s house to grab what few returns he had. K-. got to see the house, although he wasn’t home.
We went for a drive around the old neighborhood, so he could see his old house, and those of our old friends. We talked about all those folks, and what we did with whom, and what not. It was fun, and I was back with the person I remember, and liked so much.
As I pulled up, and dropped him off with our returns, I texted Cee to let him know what we were doing. Told him that we were returning. We made our returns. I decided to get some food while we were there: some seafood salad, tortalini salad, and nachos. A very wise decision, it would turn out later.
We went to the packy, got a few more there. We both got 40s of Schlitz Bull, which is 8.2%, by the way He got a pack of Marlboroughs, cause they happened to be cheapest.
We couldn’t quite go back home at that point because we were missing one item. We needed cups. I stopped into Micky Dee’s to grab two cups o’ water. I dumped mine, he drank his cause he needed it, poor parched bastard. We filled up our cups with the Schlitz, trying not to be seen by the old lady in the next car.
I texted Cee to let him know we were on our way.
We arrived at his house, and had to wait on the porch for a few. It gave me an opportunity to fill him in on the improvements done to his house. I told him the things I did with Cee, such as digging in the basement, and painting, and what not. Told him that a bunch of the crowd that he knew had been over working on the house.
“It would have been nice if you’d worked on it,” I told him.
“ I couldn’t get out here,” was all he said.
Ten minutes or-so waiting, Cee pulls up. We go in, start talking, catching-up, breaking-down the repairs, modifications, etc. We talk about old times, good times, not-so-good times, and whatever else comes to mind. It’s like then again. We’re back to being 16, hanging-in at a friend’s house. This could been 1984. K- offers his experiences with carpentry, and home improvement, and they compares notes. I try not to say too much and interrupt, because K- needs, NEEDS to talk to his old friend right now, this time, this one more time. It’s been 20 years, no contact. The demons and voices raging through his mind need to be fed.
“Dude, you need to check out this stereo.”
“K-, it’s killer. Let’s go in the living room. Sit in that chair.”
“I don’t know what I want to hear.”
I say, “Dude, you gotta pick something. I know you remember some of that shit we used to play.”
“Hmm, yeah, oh, yeah, how about some Rush.”
“Oh, this has to be the song,” Cee says, putting on Tom Sawyer.
“Spot on,” I say.
“Yes that’s the one,” K- says.
“I got one better.”
“This is gonna be good, “ I said.
Cee clicked over in the Media Center to <>Happiest Days Of Our Lives>, by Pink Floyd.
“Oh, man, play <>The Wall>.”
“This is it, this goes into it.”
As I think back on that oh-so fine, yet inadvertant point, it shows indicitive of his world view, at least this weekend: move quickly through the happiest days, straight for the wall.
Sure enough, it comes. We hit “The Wall.
“All in all
“Leave our drinks alone
“All in all
“Fifth in the hall.
“Yeah, That’s how I ‘member it.”
We all laugh, it’s just good fun. We’re groovin’
By this point the Bulls have run thru pamplona, and I’ve been filling his Micky Dee’s Dixie Cup from the never-ending font of Beck’s 12-ers I’m plowing us through. I enable him severely. I don’t care. This is how it was.
A new normal enters the room. Tam has arrived.
Introductions made all around. As a memorable mark of the occasion, I introduce myself, although she already knows me.
One of his more well-know stories is why he got grounded for life. At 16 he took out his mom’s Buick Electra, and crashed it on top of a fire hydrant, and into a light pole. He managed this before his mom and dad ever made it to the airport for their vacation. Maybe in draft 2 I’ll expand on this gem of a story. Suffice to say for now that he wasn’t allowed to go outside the perimeter fence. Many was the days, and evenings we would gather round his fence gate just to talk, cause he couldn’t go past the fence. Even now, he’s still held in check by that invisible chain. Even as we drove past the house, and it no longer has that fence there, a new owner thought better of isolating himself; I can still feel his breath quicken, can still feel his pain, and hurt well up, although he hides it well. I can sense his eyes growing cold, steeled against the new paint and siding, because it all comes back to him. With me, 20 years later, and the love of his life, Cee, standing again at the fence, on the razor’s edge. An now here we are, years removed, nothing is as we thought it would be. I’m here with you now, but it’s too late. I had to be there before we all left, before things all went south, before we all went away, before we were all sent away. Christ, what have we done.
I get up to get us another Beck’s. The never-ending font must not end. We’re not nearly drunk enough.
I go to take a dump. As I’m in there, Cee shows K- picts on his Kodak Easy Share Cam. Bunch of crap on it, I’ve seen it, nothing new to me. But K- hasn’t seen any of these. One is a provocative picture.
K- says, “Go back to that one.”
Tam thinks it’s a chick on the camera, that K- is after….as if Cee would EVER have any other chicks pix on his camera, but of course Tam still hasn’t figured that out, so naturally she’s concluding that K- is straight, as a result of short-circuited logic, fuzzy (non-)logic, as it were. I mean, simply knowing Cee, you could’ve figured out K- was gay, but she missed the cue. It would be later I’d learn of the camera happening.
I get out of the can, after clearing my throat. They all thought I yakked. Not quite, but I wasn’t feeling that great either.
Needed more beer.
I negotiated the funds from Cee, making sure I’d have the rent, as well as some gas to get us back up there, as well as some more booze, and a small donation to his wellness fund. His wellness fund, my I’m-getting-lucky fund.
We say our g’byes, and we get out to the parking lot. For some reason, I grabbed the bag of opened nachos. In the process of moving it, I grabbed the wrong end. It sprayed the nachos bites across every inch of my car. It looked like confetti exploded in my car. Ok, I’m an idiot. Can you help me?
“Oh no, I didn’t do that, “ he says as Cee and Tam come out of the house to leave. They leave, laughing, of course, at the abserdity.
“Yes I know. I did that, could you help me pick-up the nacho bites so we can get outta here?”
“*Sigh* “Dude, could you at least brush off the sea?”
“I don’t want to litter onto the driveway.”
“Dude, that’s not litter. It’s food to feed the birds that will be coming by when we leave. And it’s biodegradable.”
Exasperated, “Dude, just brush them off.”
We make our way out, back to my house to drop off the rent. I catch R- driving, smack in fron of the house. He takes the cash, and says we need to talk later.
“Why for? You can talk now.”
“Oh, don’t forget about the bottles.”
“That’s my art project.”
“It’s not an art project,” he says, dampening my tender spirits.
“Fine, whatever,” I say.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he says driving off.
“He wants to talk to you about having a naked guy in your bed. “
“Yeah, probably. You must have been a shock to him. ”
I pull into the driveway.
“What are we doing here? Didn’t you give him the money?”
“Yeah, but I have some shit to do before I leave. I have to say hello to Mister Scrappy, and I have to take care of the bottles.”
“The bottles? What’s there, like 50 cents? I’ll give you the 50 cents.”
My first thought is: where are you getting 50 cents from?
I say, “Look I promised R- that I would do it.”
“So. I thought you weren’t going out anymore.”
“Yeah. And I’m still going to do what I have to do. Are you going to help me?”
He chose to stay in the car staring at me with cold, distant eyes for having made him wait there.
As if. As if he had anything better to do, than sitting there in the car, as if he’s got something he needs to do except score his next rock, as if, just as if.
I let out Mr. Scrappy, so we can chat a quick minute while I’m working. I dump the now unfrozen, manageable sized art sculpture chunk into a blue plastic recycle bin. So now, as it melts, the pieces are contained. The emergency is now over. I’m now free to unbuckle and roam about the cabin. It was quick and painless, and I managed to cull another 60 cents from the melting mess.
Alright, so even though I’d helped him at his work that small bit, he can’t manage to help me with my small little bit of work I needed to do to get outta there.
But that’s not a problem. Small jobs, I can do them myself, but don’t be mad at me for taking care of my responsibilities.
We take a run to the packy. A pint of 100 proof vodka, and a nip.
We get 10 bucks in gas, leaving
Me 10 to give to him to start his run.
We went back to his home turf. A convenience mart a few miles down the road. He wasn’t there, so it was decided we’d go back to his apartment, basically to see what was still left to liquidate. He wanted to get one of the guys over to take his stereo away, hopefully for a hunj-rok (“hundred rock”).
We have to get into the apt first. Of course, he still doesn’t have his keys. He’s only got the Stop N Shop card, and that’s not working. Gotta use the right stiffness of plastic to do it properly. I find it, cut out a small square, I go up to the door, leaving the car unlocked, the money’s still in the ashtray. I slip it throught the crack, pull it up in a slow deliberate motion to catch the latch, jiggle the handle just a little, and hear that magic
“click.” We’re into the building, with us both giggling like little kids.
It takes me 20 seconds less to get the upstairs one done. Altogether, including the time to cut the tool, get up the stairs, it took us 4 minutes, laughing all the way.
I’m sitting in the chair in front of the door, the front door. I’ve just rolled a dube, but I’m not smoking. This is a votive offering to his man that doesn’t even want to sell 20s. The next guy on the list comes over. Dude gets there about 20 minutes later, comes through the door. He doesn’t want the stereo rack. It looks dissheveled, and the speakers are showing their shabb, useitude.
I offer him the dube I rolled for him. He’s not interested, just wants in and out quick.
“No, man, what else you got?”
He’s thinking, and there’s nothing left to bargain with. It all must go, and it’s mostly gone.
“What about that?” he asks, pointing to a set of computer speakers and sub. He doesn’t want them. No computer, don’t need that, I guess.
“No, how much you got?”
“Money still in the car?”
“Yeah, the ashtray.”
“Here’s the keys. It’s open, so make sure you lock it when it’s done.”
“I need a bag.”
It just so happened that I had the last bag that I bought, emptied. Handed it over, and they were on their way. I closed the door behind them. I start up the dube he didn’t want. I get a few pulls into it, and hear my car. One horn; it’s locked now.
He’s up in a few more minutes, and I let him in.
The chase is on. He’s gotta get his kit, and kibboottle together. The clothes start to come off, just to get comfy.
He sets up the rock by the big chair on the kerosene heater, now end table. At this point, I don’t want to have anything to do with any more rocks. I’d had my yearly fill the day before.
He’s bopping around, and has taken off his clothes. The video is back on.
The hits have instantly transformed him. Completely serious now. It’s back to the blanket archway; back into the kitchen where he’s seeing lights. They’re gonna break in any second. He’s naked, walking about the apartment, servent to his imagination, the illusory voices telling him shit. At a point, I try to remind him that everything’s safe. I’m only successful in that, until he takes the next hit. There was no sound on the video, and we’de essentially stopped talking. Obviously, ANY sounds wwill let them know where we are.
I reminded him that the back door was booby-trapped. I put the 6 foot step ladder up, and a heavy garbage bin in front of it.
He’s sitting in the chair with me, and it reminds me of Mr. Scrappy in heat, and he’s panting, and can’t be cal;mned, nor cooled down.
I try to spend time, with him, rubbing his skin, trying to soothe him.
It works till he goes for another hit. Except that one last little rock is gone. It probably fell off while he was jiggling the papers around. The rooms such a sty it’s gone for good. If, if it was there to begin with, it’s just another rock lost to the sacrifice of the Crack God. He’s baffled by losing that last tiny little bit.
The idea of sex with him tonight is gone. He’s gone. There’s still some booze left. He’s working on the bottle of vodka. He was looking for his smokes. He’s sure that he brought them up.
I had gone down maybe 5 minutes before and thought I saw them when I got the cable wire for the vcr, so we could watch in clear vision some perverted movies.
I put my clothes back on. I went down to my car, and sure enough I was right. Of course, I should’ve know to bring them up to start with, but I assumed he had them with him.
Upstairs again, I take them off, still hoping that that we can fuck. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get him horney again. I want to be inside him, but that won’t happen. All the booze here hasn’t changed the situation. The crack hasn’t made him more horney nor fuckable. It’s become a promise as hollow as that stem.
Ri-. calls. Things are now going to shift gears.
K-. hands me the phone so I can talk to him, and hopefully pick him up.
Very enthusiastic on the phone.
We make small talk, and he tells me he’s from RI.
“So you gonna swing by and pick me up?”
“Sure, why not.”
“THAT’S what I’m talking about, right there!!”
Now I have to round up my friend who is, honestly, in no shape to travel, but we have to go out to get his buddy who wants to hang-out with us now, at 11pm. We were expecting “guests,” so while K- was attempting to put his clothes on, I went around to all the so-called empties, rounded them up. I proceded to dump all of K- urine specimens out the bathroom window, into the snow bank below. I dumped to big vase of piss that we both pissed into yesterday.
I had been pacing myself with beers, one an hour, so I knew that I would be ok. K-. had been swilling of the vodk, doing shots, no chaser—although I bought him one. He was not driving.
On the trip over there hi told me how he wanted to scheme Ri- into having sex with us in some way. Preferably, he wanted to have him by himself, but would let me have in if I could get him to drop trou and pull out his unit. I told him I’d look to see what’s going on, and go from there. I didn’t know this guy, but from what I gather, he was straight, well, married anyway. So, essentially, the trip there was him trying to establish tha he was hot for this dude, and that he wanted us to somehow get him to do something.
I pull up to the driveway, but my ass-end is out in the traffic. I’m not paying attention, this was only supposed to be quick and of course it’s not.
Of course, there’s a cop around when you don’t want one. This one was behind the car which was such had kinda stopped in the middle of the street, like an asshole, instead of just driving aroun us.
As it turns out, in the long run it’s a better thing, because had that car not been there, it would have seen me dumping a bunch of enpties into the trunk to make room for Ri-. That car also hid the Tall Boy empty that dropped right next to me on the ground. I scooped it up quick, and closed the door, and the idiot car behind us could now go by. I was blocking maybe third of the lane, OK, I was wrong, and stupid.
We’re all back in by this point. The lights are flashing.
K- says “I hope this doesn’t wake So-wn.”
So-wn is the owner of the house, and also K-‘s ex-fiance, and also the person that Ri- has to live with, who also happen’s to be his mom’s best friend.
“Do you see her standing on the porch,” Ri- asks.
“Then don’t worry about it.”
A female cop comes up to the door.
She asked,”what’s going on here?”
“Well, K- and I came over to his old house to pick up this guy here, Ri-, who lives here. We were supposed to be doing this quickly, but he couldn’t negotiate the laver on the side. It’s kinda fucked and gets stuck.” I say.
“Do you guys have Ids?” They get them out, hand them to me
“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”
“No,” I replied, handing it all to her.
“you haven’t had any of the beers from this 12 pack in your back seat.”
“Thos arrived with him,” I said
“Sir, I’m gonna ask you one more. Have you had anything to drink tonight?”
“No,” I replied.
“You have to look at me when you talk to me.” Then she shined her bright as light into my face.
“Then how come you’re shaking, and your eyes are dialated?”
“Well, officer, I’m getting very nervous, and upset over this whole situatin. This was only supposed to be a quick thing, and now it’s turned into a huge deal, and this is getting me very upset, when we weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Well, sir,” she quickly counters, “you’re blocking a road way, creating an obstruction, and a list of other things as well.”
I just shrugged the stilted shrug of the defeated.
“Oh, ma’am, do you want me to move my car off the road, so I can be out of the way?”
“No. Stay where you are.”
I forgot to mention something about the lights, to see if she’d turn them off so as not to wake So-wn, but didn’t think of in time.
While we’re waiting in the car, I start practicing my breathing. Deep caling breaths, to soothe and relax.
“Wow, man, that was awesome,” Ri- says. “Dude you came up with some shit I never would have thought of.”
“well, you getta be quick on your toes, dealing with cops. And what I said isn’t that far from the truth. I wasn’t nervous before you got here lady,” I say.
“Yeah man. That was great.”
Of course, K- has only one thing on his mind. Getting out of trouble with cops isn’t something new to K-, so he’s somewhat jaded, but at this point he’s not eveen quite realizing what’s going on.
K- starts to talk about getting the next rock.
You can NOT be serious.
“Dude, how about we focus on getting out of this trouble, before you start figuring out how to get us into more trouble.”
I couldn’t help but shaking my head.
“Yeah, man, you’re right. I should wait till we’re out of this.”
“Oh, you think so,” I say
The Ids all check out, and she comes back.
“Sir, next time you have to do this, I recommend that you get past the shoulder, that while line there, sir,” she said.
“Officer, honestly I should know better,” I said,”I watch enough of the car crash shows and that’s always famous last words…it was supposed to be fast…and then all hell breaks loose.”
“Drive safely sir,” she says, walking away.
I pulled up off the road, so I could now put away my paperwork, get organized. ‘”Wow, that was close,” Ri- said.
“Well, it’s not my first time doing that. You just have to be cool, and kinda go along with it, and stay calm. We weren’t doing anything wrong, you know.”
“Yeah, man, I know.”
“We’re done man, let’s get outta here.”
After things calmed down a little, and K- and he had some small talk over some recent history, Ri- wants to know something important.
“Dude, are you gay?”
I turned onto the main road, not sure exactly what to say.
“I have to ask all of K-‘s friends that.”
“No, that’s not a problem, I’ll tell you. I’m bi.”
“Oh, ok, that makes me feel better. I have to ask all K-s friends that.”
“I understand, It’s not a problem. I’m pretty open with people, and I don’t mind telling anyone that.” I laughed a little bit, continuing, “it helps me get guys.”
“I like women, I enjoy being with them,” I said.
“I hear ya,” he says.
“The only thing is that getting with guys is much easier.”
“In fact, I’ve been with more married guys than gay guys, and women put together. Married guys are easy.”
He laughed a little more, “yeah, you’re right.”
“I mean, in the time it take me to get with one female, I’ve gotten with 20 guys. Or more, depending.”
“Yeah, I hear you man. Chicks are like, yeah, it takes for ever,” he said.
“Right, and with guys its just a matter of rubbin one off with another dude, or just getting a quick bj, or whatever. It’s just a matter of sex, and getting your shit off, and it’s not about love, or any of that shit.”
“Yeah man, I know what you mean.”
“I mean, I’ll do stuff with the guy that his girl won’t do, quite honestly. I don’t mind it. In fact, I love it when the dude tells me about his wife.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, incredulously.
“Yeah, I like both. It’s hot.”
“Wow,” he says.
Throughout the whole exchange, K- didn’t say anything. He just listened. He was willing to follow my lead at this point to get this guy to do what he wants. But to get there, first he has to get the rock.
“Dude, I’m not smokin any of that stuff tonight. I have to go for a drug test next week.”
“Don’t they usually tell you on the spot when you have to take on.”
“Well, they told me it would be next week. They gave me the date I had to go.”
“Wow, that’s crazy. But good too.”
At this point, K-‘s hopes for getting him high to take advantage of him were dashed. But I knew he’d still be making a play, and it wasn’t too much longer before he did not dissappoint in that respect.
It escapes me the quotes, but K- started mentioning about the “gay shit.”
“See, K-, that’s what she was talking about. My wife said that I can’t be friends with a fag, because it’s not about being friends. “
“Well, you are cute.”
“See, when K- starts talkin like that, it just makes her right. I hate that.”
“Well, I think the majority of so-called straight guys are like that at anyway, to some respect. My experience shows me that. Guys are just looking for sex, of some type.”
“Right, but K-‘s like…”
“Yeah he is a little pushy at times.”
We get back to his apartment. We go up the back door because we left that open. It’s all dark untill we get into the living room.
Ri- says,”wow, you’re a big guy. You looked smaller in your car. God.”
I’m not sure what I sensed, but it was a glad surprize for him, unexpected, exciting.
“Probably a good thing when that cop came over.”
“Yeah, I know.”
This is my first chance seeing him. He’s a twink, and he’s cute. I can see why K- is infatuated by this guy. He’s 27, but I call him a boy. We talk, we are getting along well. He’s really starting to warm up to me because I’m not talking “gay” to him, just as a bud to another bud, about common stuff, his wife, his previous life, the new job he’s looking to get. I make jokes, make points, make him laugh, and we slap hands in agreement a few timesw.
“Dude, I like hanging with you.”
“Yeah, you’re cool too.”
“You’re my boy,” he says. We do the knuckle-bump. It is, in point of fact, all good. I think that were there other people to hang-out with, I’d still have hang with him, ‘cause he was a cool dude. It seems we have things in common. One of those things is being, well, kinda offended by K-‘s forcefulness in wanted to get Ri- to take off his clothes, and hopefully give him head. This is not a new thing to their relationship. K- can’t get past his infatuation of the gorgeous twink, and has to get naked with him, and get his cock in his mouth, or something. K- is sick for dick, and his inparticular. While sitting in the chair in front of the door, K- kneels in front of Ri-. Obvious intention.
“Man, that’s not gooing to happen not with you, and not here,” Ri- says.
“It would have to be when I got so drunk I couldn’t remember any of that shit.”
“K-, just chill man. Dude, he’s not interested in that, I mean, not now anyway.”
“You gotta chill, man.”
While I might be inclined to want to do this, it’s clear that this isn’t the time and place for it. Ri- just wants to hang-out as buds. At the very least, he’s looking to get to know me, his new buddy, who’s honestly more interesting than our mutual friend who is really fuuuuuuuukeded-uuuuuup, saying fuuuuuuuukeded-uuuuuup things out of the side of his face. He doesn’t want to just chill, and the apartment, honestly, is in such shambles it’s very difficult to ‘jus chill’ in there.
K- also doesn’t want to simply chill because he’s jealous. It’s obvious that I’m getting along better with his buddy, of about a year now. To me, it’s a simple equation, we’re two “straight guys” talking, because we’re not talking about sex with each other. It’s a little bit of a relief for me too. He’s kinda like an oasis, a lighthouse of sanity, after spending all this time with K- in this condition.
For me this is known territory. I’ve been with a number of married guys, and where they might be inclined to do something with me, there’s still a process, and it takes time for ostensibly straight/married guys to get used to the idea of being with another man. Especially if it’s the first time, you can’t push it. It’s really a lot like fishing, where you have to use the right bait, and the right line. It’s also about being patient, and not rushing into things. I’m not clutchy, nor grabby, nor desperate because I get plenty of sex, and get what I need. That is a chill attitude, and that’s why I can be around a hot guy that I want, and can hang for a while before there’s a hint of attraction. There has to be patience, and understanding. If the guy makes it know that it’s not his thing, just drop it. If the guy is now curious, or whatever, he’ll get in touch with you. The awkward part is over, so now the guys just looking to get down with you.
Some of that I tried to explain to K-, while Ri- was outside.
“Dude, you have to chill, and be patient. He’ll get there, but not if you force the issue.”
At some point K- went beyond simply “being gay/being K-“, into what I would call “extreme watersport play.”
That whole thing started after K- followed Ri- out to take a leak, ostensibly, to watch him pee. A little bit later, Ri- comes in, with K- following him like a lost puppy, and says,”Yo that shit there is just disgusting, yo.”
I look over to Ri-, who explains.”He wants me to piss in his mouth.”
I think: Man you can not be serious. I did not just hear you say, what I thought you just said.
I say, “Uh, excuse me?”
“Yeah, you heard that right, your boy wants me to piss in his mouth, yo.”
I resist the uge to hurl on the spot.
“That’s bad,” I say, still speechless.
I knew after last night in this same apartment that my friend was quite a bit of a freek, but this was, well, beyond that. It took even me by surprised. I explained that this isn’t something “new to me”, having read about shamen of various cultures, and people of OTHER cultures wo do this as a tribal balancing ritual, and also the tradition of so-called “urine therapy” where one will drink their own urine for whatever the purported benefits.
This, was not that. This was extreme waterplay, where, assumedly he would drink all, again all of the stream coming out of his penis. I also gather, his lips wouldn’t necessarily touch his penis either.
So, even though I intellectually know about the shaman, and my gag reflex has been mellowed somewhat, I still have no desire to hear about this, especially coming from the mouth of someone who used to be my best friend, some I finally hooked-up with 20 years gone. This is not the direction I want to take our friendship. I’m revolted by this, and I tell him as much. I tell them both that I think it’s nasty.
Now it’s just crazy talk. I mean honestly, where are you going to clean-up after this fantasy is done?
Ri- is really getting agitated, and angry about the constant pushing to now piss in this mouth.
“Dude, I would never do that, and if I did, it would end the friendship. I could never respect you after that.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t either. I couldn’t see that either man, that’s just nasty. Full of nast.”
He went out to smoke.
I’m in the living room with K-. As he calls another dealer, I leave to take a leak myself. Instead of going to the bathroom, to leak out the window, I went out the back deck. Ri was standing there, and say me, and said, “Oh good, it’s you. I can take a leak now.”
I faced away from him and pissed all over the deck below.
“You know,” I started,”it wouldn’t be so bad if he said, like, piss on my feet.”
“Yeah, right, or piss here with me.”
“Or write our names in the snow.”
“Yeah that would be alright, it might be kinda fun.”
“Or my favorite, piss on my dick.”
“See, that’s what I mean, you’re my boy.”
“Well, you see I keep telling K- that he’s going over the line, and he’s got to know when to say when.”
“Yeah man, we should hang out some time.”
“That would be cool, I’d like to hang with you sometime…and not smoke crakc.”
“Yeah, I prefer smokin herb. I’m only doing this in the mean time so I can pass that test.”
“Sure, we can hang-out and smoke some herb sometime.”
“That would be cool.”
“Ill have to give you my # before we leave.”
We go back in. K- is obviously jealous. He is passive agressively challenging him to a match. He wants to wrestle. Ri- doesn’t want to. K- wants to have his way. We all realize that he is too drunk to wrestle safely at this point, but he still wants to anyway. Even K- knows he’s too drunk, and comments on it, but he still wants to anyway.
“If I win what do I get?”
“Well, you get K- to stop telling you to pee in his mouth. I think that would be a great prize,” I say.
“And what if he wins?”
“Well,” I think out loud “it would almost seem fair for him to actually get you piss in his mouth, as gross as that is.” But then added, “I think that you should also have to piss all over his face and head as well, everywhere,” I said, exhaling that last work as if it was a toke off a fine cigar.
We both laughed, heavily.
“I mean, it is the grand prize, and THAT, indeed, would be quite grand.”
We chuckled some more.
“No, I’m gonna get his phone.”
“That might be worth it. For all his annoying and pestering over something you didn’t want to do to begin with,,,that would about seem fair.”
“Except, you’re gonna have to be the one who calls the dealers for him, like a driver for a handicapped dude, he can’t do it himself cause his phone is in restriction…haha”
“That would teach him a lesson.”
“Oh, I agree.”
He’s looking over the phone, and checks to see if it has a sim card. He’s getting poised to take his phone. K-‘s now up. We’re in the dark kitchen. I hold the prized phone in my hand. I move all furniture to the periphery. Time to set-up the ground rules, hopefully to give K- a more fighting chance. I keep in my mind that I’ve never seen K- actually win a fight, or wrestling match.
“OK, no choking, first off.”
“Ohh,” he says disappoionted. He wanted an easy victory.
“Nope, gotta be clean, and both shoulders have to be pinned. Or, by submission, and he gives.”
They wrestle, and he’s got K- wrapped into a “small package” in a matter of minutes. K- submitts, but not before getting a few feels of Ri-. To me, it looked like that was his whole plan to start with.
He let up K-, who walked immediately into the living room. He kept muttering, “I shouldn’t have done that, man, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, That’s why I put the rules there so you didn’t hurt him. It’s just a spar. K-‘s a roofer, remember? You can hit him with a sledgehammer and can’t knock him over…ever hear him say that?”
He laughed. I guess he’d heard that before.
“Don’t worry, you just pinned him. He’s just mad that he lost,” I said, at a volume K- could hear.
Whispering, I said,”Honestly, I think he really got what he wanted…know what I’m saying?”
I gave him the phone and said, “It’s yours now.”
We walked into the living room. Things are ok; back to a new normal. All we were hoping for is to get K- to stop talking about mouth pissing stuff. Move on to a new topic.
We’re drinking the beers. K-‘s done all the remaining shots of the blue label vodk.
Now he’s started to scheme on the next rok.
He has no money. Ri- only has 6$ in his account.
K- tells the guy that he has a couple hundred for him.
But it’s not in cash. K- is thinking that he can get that for everything in his apartment. Apparently he’s going to try to have a liquidation sale. He’s going back to Florida, so it all must go.
“Uh, K-. I don’t think that you’ve thought this all the way through.”
“Yeah, man they’re not gonna want to do that.”
“That’s ok,” K- says. He picked up a pot lid, mumbling something about “wrapping them up” proceded to bang on the wall.
It was about 12:15 am.
“You have to not do that again, dude. It’s like 1230 in the morning man. And this is after you aready had to ask the guy to let you in. Aren’t we trying to keep a low profile, dude?”
“And no, you’re not gonna beat him up and take anything from him,” Ri says.
As with earlier, K- is on the phone with another dealer, talking about “two hundred.” Except now, he’s serious, and truly fucked-up He’s trying to con them into coming over, and fronting us, basically a 50-rok, or something. He’ll take anything at this point.
“You need to tell them you don’t have cash, man. There’s one person you never beat, and that’s your dealer, man,” I reminded him.
“Yerah, K-, this is fucked up, man, you need to tell them wheat’s going on before they get here.”
I walked into the toilet, and could see the telltale lights of his Mercedes pulling up the street, coming to the front tof the building.
“K-! He’s here. They’re here dude. You gotta tell themn,” I said, stepping out of the bathroom. I left the window open
By the time the man got there, all our beer and booze was gone. All we had to offer him was so herb from my bag.
It’s the guy from the other night who got the computer. He’s here with another guy who I hadn’t seen before. This guy would do most of the talking.
“What do you got?”
He hands a 40-ish rok to K-, who opens it immediately, and starts to break it up. He hasn’t given any money for it yet, and starts smoking it, in front of us all.
“You called me down here with a hundred, and now you don’t even have 20 buck$?”
K- is taking a hit. “You should have just called me and said you needed help, and that you were hurtin. I would’ve worked out something with you, instead of getting me here for nothing.”
“…When I gave him a $400 computer,” K- babbled on, referring to the statement that ‘PuterMan was going “hit off” K- with a little bigger 20 rok..next time he actually BOUGHT a 20, assumedly with ca$h. But he didn’t have ca$h, we’ve clearly established that.
“Dude,” I butt in forcefully, ”That shit was yesterday. Thats a done deal. We’re talking about right now. You wanted this shit, you’re the one smoking it.”
General agreement all around.
“See even your friends are telling you…”
“He came all the way out here to do a service for you, because you asked him to, you called him and told him you had money. Now what do you got for yr man.”
“And you’re smoking it in front of me, which is a slap in my face, man.”
“I mean, what do you got? Got any beers for coming all the way out here?”
“No beer, no booze, nothing for comin out here,” PuterMan says in response.
I suspected this was direction thing would take, so all this while I had been roling up a dude for them. I handed it over.
“This is yours man, it ain’t much but thanks for coming out all this way out here for him.”
They lit it, and smoked it, and went to pass it to me, and I indicated my pipe.
“That’s all yours man. It’s not much, but whatever.”
About this time, one of them noticed the Police hat. It spooked them a bit. I told them, “I gave that to K-, it was from a house we robbed. They had a bunch of fun stuff like that that I grabbed. It’s a joke really. Apparently not a funny one to everyone.”
“We don’t know who’s a cop these days.”
“Well I’m not a cop and I’ll show you. Here’s my phone, you can check it out. I got nothing to hide.
They start flipping through my contacts. Fish Guy amused then. They must’ve assumed that meant looking for fish scales, another name for spread, or powder cocaine. They laughed at some pictures, and handed it back without much comment
“So what you gonna do K-?”
PuterMan’s Helper says that the phone’s probably worth $20. It’s the second time of the night that his phone has been at play for “payment.”
“It would just be a loan for a few days right? I mean like a pawn, right?”
K- has now smoked about half of what was there 5 minutes ago.
They’d smoked my stuff, and called it garbage, but still free garbage is still free. I rolled up another one, just the same. I know since it’s the only thing we got, we gotta give them something for the trip and their time. This was not the kind of conditions I wanted to smoke under.
Especially since Ri- couldn’t smoke. I felt bad about smoking in front of him. Doubly bad because he couldn’t smoke anything, the fifth wheel, odd man out. Were that me, I’d be bummed. It’s not any fun to not play with everyone; understanding why it is only makes it marginally better.
I felt bad cause this is my buddy, and I wanted to smoke with him, but couldn’t.
“So you don’t have anything?”
K- checks his pants. Puterman says,”the chase is on.”
He is now goiong to check his pants for the dozenth time that night, perhaps hoping that an enchanted 20 will have magically appeared since the last time he did the pocket check 15 minutes prior, delivered, I supposed, by the Krak fairy.
I could only shake my head. Something significant started developoing in my head. I started to understand the basic squalor and disshevalment of the krked. It’s not so much that s/he wants to live in the muck of such an apartment, it’s tht all that fallen plaster bits, which look like rok, represent hope. Like the losing lottery ticket that gets saved, it’s believed that the next time it’ll be a winner.
After talking with a friend who himself went through this type of a life said, “Yeah, how come they don’t sweep up all the crap, so that the next time a rok falls, you can see exactly where it landed?”
Krkedz are, indeed, amusing.
The krak was all gone. Booe was all gone. K- had smoked it all by himself as the were all talking.
He didn’t do anything like he normally did. The clothes stayed on. He stayed in the room, almost the entire time, so he could just puff it all, apparently, before they changed their minds and took it back.
I was watching him smoke, back against the wall, eyes steely and lifeless. He was standing comatose, and looked so serious, and sad. It was seeing him standing there like that that made me really sad. At that point, the only thing concerning him was that last hit, and finally taking the last hit of this run. He’d give anything at this point to get another hit.
It was about 2:30 when they left. That did not go smoothly, I thought. I had all my stuff together, and ready to go. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of the night. I’m tired, exhausted for having gone through all this—and I’m not the one running, just passengering.
K- gets on the phone, ans starts the same, exact line of bullshit.
I snapped a few quick pictures of the squyalor, picture-texted Cee, with this caption “Kenny is a full-blown krakhed.”
K- is now off the phone.
I said, “That’s it. This game is over. Ri- I’ll drive you to your house. K- I’ll drop you off where u want to go. I’m leaving in 3 minutes,” I said, putting on my coat.
I was down the back stair, at my car with it started, and Ri- got there.
“Where’s K-?” he asks. “Is he coming?”
“Quite honestly, I’m ready to leave him here, if he’s not down here in a minute.”
30 seconds later, he’s coming down the back steps.
“I’m sorry,” he says, getting into the passenger seat.
I say nothing because I’m not convinced he even knows why he’s apologizing.
I remain silent for a while. I’m tired, cranky, and wasted my money, and time, such as it was, in pursuit of this fantasy; of K- in pursuit of his fantasy. I don’t want to hear anything out of his mouth.
At some point, Ri-, mentioned to K that he should consider selling his truck, the Jeep, the last thing left to negotiate with, that Puterman might potentially be interested in.
He paid $100 for it, so he’s got to at least double his money. Ri- and I both are now egging him on that he can get a whole $300 for it tonight.
“Hey, gotta make it worthwhile to him. It’s late a night man.”
“And besides, you’ve made back double your money, that’s not bad.”
K- calls back Puterman. Tells him that he’s gonna make a deal with his Jeep.
“Yeah, that’s right. $300 for it, tonight.”
“Not with me around,” I said, more to myself than as a proclimation. Part of me actually wanted to see this lousy deal get done.
“He said to call him back in an hour,” K- said, closing the phone.
“Good luck with that,” I said.
“OK, well call him back in a little bit,” Ri- says. Obviously, he wants to see that too.
By now I’m sick of it all, and want the ride to just end. We arrived at So-wn’s house around 3-ish. This time I didn’t make the same mistake, and pulled fully into the driveway.
K- gets out of the passenger seat.
“I guess I’ll have to sleep in my jeep?”
I’m sure you already know.
I didn’t have to tell him: yes, you certainly are.
Ri- got out, and I told him that he had to call me, if he wanted to hang-out again. I wasn’t planning to come back to this house, usnless it was to maybe pick him up, but he’d have to let me know.
“Ok, cool man.”
“Alright, later, man.”
I didn’t bother to say good bye to K-, I was still pissed over the whole thing.
He shut my door. I backed up, then drove away.
The trip home was lonely, and full of thinking. I had to digest the events that I’d just gone through in the last 48 hours: 48 hours of dysfunction.
I got home, around 3:45. My nephew was still up, with his friend, playing on his X-Box. I told him he had to go to bed, cause it’s late. Him mom was out somewhere, so he thought I’d just let him do whatever.
At this point, I wasn’t letting anyone else that night just “do whatever.”
“I don’t see why you’re even…” he started.
“You don’t need to see anything. It’s almost 4 in the morning, and you have to go to bed.”
“My mom didn’t say anything…”
“Oh really, do you want to call her now and ask her if it’s ok to stay up at this time of night?
“Listen, I’ll make this simple for you. The power is going out in 15 minutes. You have that much time to finish your game, and save anything.”
I went into the kitchen and set the timer for 15 minutes. I made sure he could hear the beeps as I set it.
The timer went off, and I brought it around, for them to hear it, so they knew to save anything that was important.
I replaced the timer, and went downstairs to turn off the power to that room.
As soon as I heard the banging of them getting up, and moving around, I turned it back on. The point was made. It’s bed time.
All was now quiet. It was bedtime for me, and I couldn’t sleep. I sat in my cair in front of my keyboard.
I typed notes on the more salient points of the night, hopefully in an attempt to purge them from my mind.
Sunday, February 8, 2009 6:30 PM
how did you make out with your friend?
i did [not] make you mad did I? i hope not
Monday, February 9, 2009 9:37 AM
No, you didn't make me mad.How did it go with my friend? Well, I'll put it to you this way, I'm writing out the story of what happened this weekend. I'm titling it "48 Hours of Insanity". It was a very long, and draining weekend. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, psychically. As it turns out my friend is addicted to crack cocaine. But I didn't realize how much at first. I met up with him at his work after my work on friday, about 4. We were talking and having a good time. Ok, so later that night, he smoked a little bit, but it wasn't too bad. we came back to my place once he had cleared up, and was back to the "normal" guy that I remember. We slep in the same bed, naked, but didn't fuck. He couldn't because of the drugs. His dick couldn't stay hard, he'd lost interest in me fucking him, even though he's a natural bottom. Really, after it was all done, it was aweful. The only bright note out of it was Sat. night meeting one of K-'s friends, a man named R-.. R-. is straight, but sorta-curious. I think I could get him to do some light gay stuff, like pull out his dick so i could see it, or let me stroke him, but nothing more. K-. has a huge crush on him, and he's looking to "soften up" R-, but K-.'s pushing way too hard, too insistent about his gay thing. I'm there simply trying to talk to R-., but K-. was going on about pushing the gay agenda on him. Nothing subtle at all, and Kenny's drinking more vodka. Straight, without a chaser, which he even had. At a certain point in the midst of this growing cesspit of insanity, K-. gets on this bend that he wants R-. to piss in his mouth. From there it got worse. So, that said, Ill let you read the story when it's done. It's sure to be an entertaining, if not an eye-opening ride. how are you doing g-? I hope everythings well. It's nice to be back to my mostly sane, somewhat stable and normal life. Ok, so you have to tell me, how much weight did you actually gain?
--- On Mon, 2/9/09, firstname.lastname@example.org <email@example.com> wrote:
Subject: Re: today
Date: Monday, February 9, 2009, 6:20 PM
what a weekend!! i did [not] know the guy you lifted with was gay. did you end up
having sex? why was it bad?
i am around 260, i was under 200 a year and a half ago. i dont kno[w] really
Monday, February 9, 2009 6:33 PM
From: zenp_theebastardTo: ifctv1
well, at 260, if you stand next to me you'll look small. I'm about 286, as of the last trip to the docs. I know that alot of our self image comes from our size. It is tough to get around that. I know that.
I suspected K-. was gay, or at least bi, he gave off those kind of vibes. he got me hard any way. others knew, but I never found out. I probably wasn't going to easily admit what I knew was the truth.
Well, what was bad...hmmm, hanging out with my very good friend who is no[w] a crack addict. He wanted someone to piss in his mouth...he's living in squalor, totally paranoid, completely tweeked.
Would you want to have sex with someone like that? And, like I said, the drugs would [not] let his cock stay hard. He couldn't perform. Even if he could, his pad was such a sty, no working plumming, toilet doesn't flush......that it's far, far from erotic.
I guess I didn't make that clear enough in my last email.
Re: this weekend
Monday, February 9, 2009 7:04 PM
i guess i took it a different way, sorry
no i wouldnt, sorry about your friend
Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag
Apr 08, 2009 01:42 # 46342
I just finished reading this. I read part one earlier today.
I'm really sorry that your friend k ended up so lost that the person you knew back then was just a great memory and a dream as well.
It's hard to wake up on day and find that things arn't what you've waited for.
It's a really good read. Your a great writer, you have the ablity to let someone else see things through your eyes.
It seemed to me that this story had to be told. I'll say it's one of the most insane things I've gone through in my life...of my recent life.
I think the amazing thing is that my childhood friend had a "decent" upbringing, but he was adopted. Does that prove that it's genetics? Does that even matter?
In my case I had a pretty crappy upbringing, so I'm used to, gravitate towards the above kinds of insanity, or used to anyway. K~ doesn't have that ready-made, built-in kind of excuse. But that didn't stop him from being his family's black sheep back when we were growing up.
I'd say lost really does describe it. But I can't judge. I was there too, stayed there with him long enough to accumulate all this information. I was, at the least complicit with his plans. I was as adrift as he for the better part of this.
Perhaps not, though; because I, at a certain point, say "enough." At a certain point, I could see his drifting on the current of events taking him further out to sea, untill I could only recognize a dim light. At that point, with us no longer together, connected, but apart, we were both truly lost, being alone.
Except I'm not that lost. I made little motions to keep paddling toward the shore, before getting swept into the tidal stream of his addiction.
I appreciate your comments about reading my work. I do appreciate that because I like to write. I treat it as a craft, and am always glad when people enjoy my reading. It lets me know that I've communicated what I was going after.
Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag
Apr 09, 2009 00:00 # 46346