i spent an hour in the hba section of my store putting on eye make up and hair products. beau ushered me to my car. i told him he was a day late and a dollar short. he told me to go to bailey's. he would be up there later.
i smirked and said, "we'll see" and i left in a hurry. i needed a pack of smokes. i bought the cigarettes and held the door for a group of four totally creeped out acid heads wearing hawaiian flower shirts. then i went to bailey's bar. what. i left.
then i was on franklin street looking to get smashed. in my head, i scratched down a list of potential venues for my binge. the cave- no. fuse- no. 506- no. lantern- no. aldkfjaldfjkaldfkj aldfkjaldfkj aldfkjaldfkjladkfjaldkfjalsdkfjaldkfjaldkfjaldfkj da hell- no. and the spotted dog and the ocsc were also no's.
so i went into the cellar. don't ask why. well do. the answer is simple.
i stationed my self near two loud surfer stoner boys. i ordered a stella artois. i lit a cigarette. a travel punk came up to me and we drank and drank and talked. he had stories about hitching and freight hopping. i kept reassessing the fact that he reminded me of goat. he rolled his ciggs. we drank tall boys. a very tan and indecently dressed male approached us with a hundred dollars. he called it a benjamin. 8 or 9 of us then took a nasty shot and then i began an arm wrestle contest. the big tan freak with money and (did i mention a tan) a drunk girl won the contest. she was crying. josh the punk kid got up to use the bathroom and i exited the building to check my voicemail. i came back to the bar, knowing he must've thought i left and then he said, "i was trying to figure out if i had said something wrong or wasn't funny or i was ugly or something..." then i said, "well. you are fine looking. sexy. hilarious. you are a big fat liar, too. you have excellent story-telling technique" he gleamed. he asked me to come over to his friend's house that he was watching.
pause.
(i'm about to get laid. finally.)
so, anyway, we get to his house and one of the stoner bleach blonders was passed out on the couch and then i went into a bedroom and fell onto the mattress and smelled the sheets that were tangled up to use as a pillow. they smelled of sweat and funk and alcohol and hand-rolled cigarettes. they smelled like jacking off.
i immersed myself in the bed. he came in and watched me for a minute. i twisted up into a cocoon in the sheet and he began to undress. he had boundless amounts of twine and metal wrapped around his dark neck. a bottle opener. an engagement ring made out of bronze. his back was muscular, as if he worked in a steel mill or carried a cross for a lifetime. his chest was sparsely covered in brown hair. his eyes were almost asian. his nipple on the left, pierced. his hair was shorter than mine on one side and longer than his shoulders on the other. it was tangled in a tail. the lights went off. he got into bed. slowly, we meshed and i made sure it took the longest of times as i took it all in. months in the waiting. no. more. years. i have never been held the way he touched me. he began to breath on my neck, and with that notion, i braced myself. i had found the one for the moment. the one that doesn't need any direction. that one that can make or break a sex session, all based on the lack or lust of desire. we continued to make out forever, losing thought or emotion or time in each other's tongues and cheeks. our teeth. sweat beads were swimming throughout skin to skin. slowly, he began dry-humping me through underwear. he was still wearing his pants. my bra- asphyxiating my esophagus. he trailed down my bodice and ate my clitoris with his traveling tongue. i began to wonder of his adventures. his explorations.
we fucked and fucked.
in the morning, he made fun of the issue of me snoring in his ear.
i told him he could have hit me.