The Second Coming

 

1999

 

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Past            *

Chapter 2: A New Beginning            *

Chapter 3: Mandatory Party Scene            *

Chapter 4: Delbert Pops A Zit    *

Chapter 5: The Present Disappointment         *

Chapter 6: Bill Gets Tippsy *

Chapter 7: Gaze into Her Eyes    *

Chapter 8: First Impressions, Again  *

Chapter 9: Good-bye Checkout Girl            *

Chapter 10: Bill Takes the Wheel *

Chapter 11: Ritual  *

Chapter 12: Good Morning Lover  *

Chapter 13: Memoirs of a Bowling Alley            *

Chapter 14: A New Ending            *

Chapter 15: Good Morning Lover  *

Chapter 16: Never Mind            *

Epilogue            *

 

 

Chapter 1: The Past

 

"Bill? Can you hear me? Your father is here. Be still. This therapy will help you. Try to remain calm. I want you to bite on this rubber tube. Do you understand? That's it. Bite hard.  You’re safe now and nothing can go wrong. Hold it tight. Here we go!"

 

Bill convulses. Muscles spasm. His back arches into the air.  It hovers for a moment and then snaps violently against the table.

 

Turning and turning consciousness drifts away in this sterile room. Twist the bonds and pull them tight. Help! He's got me... He’s coming closer. Arms outstretched. Metal pins in leather restraints.  Cephalized, insanitized. Electric flames leap from the darkness. The sky opens up. I will leave before the screaming begins. Black as night, black as death, blacker than the foulest breath! Feverish burst of terror. There is no I there is only It. Pound the nails in tight. Drowning in the ocean. No salvation. No forgiveness. Boundaries dissolve in an acid mist of self-contempt. Male nurse. Never wanted this. Face to face. Wicked and fragile words. Here they come. A slow, consuming undertow. Surging... Grinding… Tearing… Words. More Words.

 

"Bite down on this."

 

 

Chapter 2: A New Beginning

 

-six years later-

 

Bill stares at an empty box of Cheerios.

"Billy, are you up yet?"

Startled by his mother's voice, Bill leaps up from the breakfast table. He panics and abandons the bowl of soggy cereal. "Love ya, Ma. See ya later!" He grabs a windbreaker-jacket and dashes out the front door.

The 1989 Toyota starts on the third attempt. Bill puts the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway, stereo cranked to full blast. The road is wet. He instinctively regards the pavement's slick condition. Bill is a safe driver.

************************************************************

Bob is a nervous fellow. He fidgets, lights a pipe and glances at his watch. Friday's first delivery is loaded and ready to roll. Bob can hardly wait to commence the work day. Bob is a workaholic. Bob is an asshole. He is also in charge. Tonight, Holiday Inn will host a 50^th year high school class reunion. The guests hail from a school long since demolished. Bill's job is to deliver and set up the equipment they've requested. Bill enters the company office. Bob re-checks his watch.

"Bill! Right on time. There is a big job ready to go and hot to trot. Hustle up! No time to waste!"

Bill nods. Bob briefs him on mission tactics. Bill punches his time card and untangles a uniform. The manager puffs on his pipe while talking. Bill pulls the tacky red work vest over his wrinkled Iron Maiden concert t-shirt.

"Take Jeff with you, but don't let him touch the wheel. We can't afford another accident. Go get 'em Billy!" Bob hands over the keys.

Bill forces out a timid, "Ok." He shuffles onto the loading dock and finds Jeff leaning against the truck's cab. Jeff is ready to follow orders.

"Heya, Bill!" chirps Jeff.

"G'morning. Is the truck ready?"

"Yop."

"Alrighty then, lets roll."

"Yokay!"

The truck always starts on the first try.

Bill hated driving the truck. At first it was fun. All that heavy steel and sex appeal. After a few months it became routine. Now it was tedious. To make matters worse, Jeff was a particularly poor conversationalist. On any delivery job some social interaction was inevitable. Bill feared the inevitable. The animated verbal exchange was mercifully short. Jeff mentioned that his pet turtle was sick. Bill turned on the radio, thereby negating the need for extended communication.

Bill felt philosophic (whatever that means). Jeff's mundane existence was the last of his concerns, hardly worthy of his probing mental explorations. Bill thought of the future. It looked grim. The more he contemplated, the more meaningless life seemed. His life in particular. He'd graduated from high school five or six years ago. The memory of it was a confusing blur. First he was an eager freshman, ready to face new challenges. Next he was about to graduate and go to college. Then something went terribly wrong and here he was. No college degree. Dead end job. Nothing. He had nothing. What happened in between? All his old friends had graduated from college and had real jobs. Most of his new friends were incredible losers. Bill considered himself somewhere between those extremes.

Bill had once declared to himself that he would rather die than persist in this unsatisfactory state of affairs. But Bill wasn't the type to give up. He was going to change. He would change himself or he would change the world.  He was going to make a difference. But how? At times like this he wasn't sure it mattered. Sometimes he doubted if anything mattered.

"So what if I drive this truck the rest of my life?" Bill wondered. "Who cares if I drive this truck into a wall? Bob wouldn’t be happy.  But Bob is an asshole. It's all so meaningless! I should be happy to have this job. I should be content with what I have. I have a pretty girlfriend. I think she's pretty, sort of. That's all that matters. I make 16 dollars an hour, 500 dollars a week, 2,000 dollars a month, 24,000 dollars a year before taxes. If I live till I'm one-hundred and work 6 days a week, four weeks a month for 12 months per year, I'll make over a million dollars! I'll be rich! (Bill had previously performed calculations to confirm these figures.) Of course, I can't keep more than thirty dollars in my checking account. I don't have any savings, unless you count my music collection. But so what if I piss my money away? Who gives a damn? What else should I do with it? Maybe God cares. Doesn’t it say something in the Bible about… uhm… But is there really a God? And if so, what does God look like? Maybe this is what God wants me to do. How can I know? Maybe good means bad. What should I do? There must be some way to find out!!! Hold on, Bill. Calm down. There's nothing to worry about. If quit... But then what would I do? Maybe Jeff knows... nah. At least I have comprehensive health benefits..."

The truck rolled into the hotel parking lot. Loose gravel crunched under the truck's weight. After a few words with the hotel manager, Bill and Jeff began the tiresome task of setting up another party.

************************************************************

Bill punched out. Co-workers wandered aimlessly about him.

"Billy-Boy! Sup? You look tired! Wanna grab a brewski with the guys?"

Bill looked up to see Norm, who is, in Bill's judgment, a pretty cool dude. "Sure. But I've got to be home by six-thirty." It was 5:49.

"You crashin' Varga's big bash tonight!? Taking that south of the border Mexican babe? You raskly rabbit. Let's chug-a-lug a quickie." Norm made a jerking drink gesture.

"Nuff said!" Bill agrees to the plan. Six thirsty rental equipment delivery men charge across the street to Shooters. After a day of back breaking mental paralysis they enjoy a beer and small talk. At least Bill does.

They cluster around the beer tap. Someone orders a round. They laugh. Bill's attention drifts from the group's endless chatter of work, sports and girls to a couple at a booth. They are engaged in what appears at a distance to be a 'heart to heart' conversation. He guesses her name is Jennifer. "Where did the name ' Jennifer ' come from?" he asks silently. Her pink top is pulled tight over shapely, supple breasts with the prominent outline of hard nipples jutting against expensive fabric. Bill slips quietly into fantasy and temptation. His boisterous friends and the happy couple carry on without him.

Jennifer aims her mysterious gaze into Bill's heart.

"Billy, look into my face." She pleads, "Am I so hideous?" She's a miracle of plastic surgery. Bill wants her, and bad! Wind washes through and evaporates the bar. They stand on a beach at dawn. Bill will have her.

She goes on, "I'll be your mirror. You'll like what you see. It's less painful than you fear. You won't be disappointed. Forget all you know. Accept me. I can be whatever you wish for." Their bodies merge. Souls twist into a fleshy knot.

At last there was silence. Nothing more to say. Bill gazed into her eyes. He saw the warped image of himself within the clean childlike innocence of spring. All is full and new. Their journey skittered along, balanced precariously between an earthly heaven and hell.

"I'm in love," she chirped. "I bear my brain. Divided from its source within this body. I walk with you here, where evil turns to pain. An eye for an eye for all eternity. Thus is the law. Observe with me."

Bill snapped his head forward and re-focused his attention. The bar was the same. Nothing had changed.

"She wanted me. I could have had her. Alison would have been pissed... If she'd found out!" The voice, followed by a roar of laughter, brings reality crashing down. Bill, at the edge of the group, knew he'd missed the joke. If, indeed, there had been one at all. He presses toward the center of verbal action.

Norm holds up his beer mug. "Cheers to Chad, Lady-Killer extrodinare! You crazy son-of-a-bitch! Ha ha." Everyone laughs and drinks. Bill doesn't get it. He laughs. "Party at Dave Varga's place tonight. Who's going?" continues Norm.

Bill shouts, "Yeah, let’s party!" He’s back in the action. Other's banter about watching the Chicago Bull's play the Boston Celtics in a game that may or may not make or break either team. "You can watch the game at the party! Dave's a basketball junkie! He'll have the game on." The nay sayers cease and desist their complaints. "And free beer!!!" A cheer roars though the sparsely decorated bar.

"I get the red heads! Ha Ha!"

"Whatever. They'll all want me."

"Sucks to be you! Ha Ha!!"

"Get me a six of Miller Genuine Draft"

"Six Millers? You light weight!"

"Ted, I'll give you ten points and bet you twenty bucks Da Bull's kick it!"

"You can have the red heads. I'll take the rest!"

"Ain't nothin' stoppin' Da Bulls..."

"If a light weight downs a six in two minutes, color me light."

"No way! She's mine!"

"Da Bulls suck!"

A decrepit bar tender wipes sweat from his brow and clicks on a precariously mounted television set.

"Everyone shut up! Shut up!" Suddenly hypnotized, the group gazes into the tube as the weather man relinquishes the stage to a sports reporter. Trivial statistics detailing factors that might influence various sporting events fill the eyes and ears of all present. Like devout monks, the men sit in meditation, soaking up the sacred teachings.

Bill is released from the trance. He checks his watch. 6:30. "I've got to run. Catch you dudes tonight."

"Ok Billy boy. - See ya! - Rock on! - Catch ya later, dude. - See ya tonight, guy."

************************************************************

Bill dashes across the street and hops into his car. It starts on the second try. He slaps a tape into the stereo and peels out. Bill is fully cognizant of the fastest route between any two given points in the Chicago suburb of Eagle Hills. He reaches his destination before the second song ends.

"I'm home, ma. Got a date. I won't be eating right tonight." Bill trots from the foyer to his room.

"Billy? Is that you?" comes an apprehensive voice from the living room.

Bill unintentionally slams his bedroom door. He immediately activates the stereo. A pink, lipstick smeared envelope lies unnoticed on his desk. He dials Mara's phone number. With each unanswered ring, Bill flips from station to station in search of a rockin' song.

"Hello? Hello! This is Bill. - She's in the bathroom? - No, no That's ok, thanks. I'll wait..." He gives up on the radio and inserts a compact disk.

"Hola?"

"Mara. Hey! It’s Bill. I wanted to let you know I'll be a little late." Bill fast forwards the disk to his favorite song, then realizes he no longer likes it.

"Late?! Aieee, Como? I don’t want to be late to the party, Bill," she whines.

"I won't be very late. I just got off work and I still need to shower."

"Well, hurry up! I’m ready to go!"

"Yeah, OK." Bill could hear Latin music playing in the background over the phone. He hated Latin music. "I'll be over in half an hour."

"Que!? That long!?"

"I’ll hurry, I promise. Bye bye." Bill hangs up the phone and skips to the last song on the album. He strips off work clothes and enters the bathroom. Bill enjoys a hot shower. He could spend hours with a steady stream of hot water pelting his flesh. The bathroom fills with steam. His foot presses down on rubber flowers. The floral display is more than a bland, middle class eye pleaser. Each petal is specially designed for maximum traction on the bathtub floor.

"Oh, me!", Bill smiled.

If there was one place women could love Bill, it was the shower. The things Bill could do with a bar of soap and a shower nozzle were impressive. Sometimes he amazed even himself. Today was no exception.

Suzan's body was hot and fine. Her form was cut and past from the glossy pages of random girlie magazines. Bill knew how to show her a good time. He pulled her close. She squeaked with surprise.

"Be gentle. You know It's my first time..."

Bill kissed her hard and long. His tongue flicked in and out of her pouting lips. With a bar of Dial deodorant soap, he lathered Suzy's voluptuous form. She took it like a woman. With a smile. Bill was happy to see his style right on target. "This has to be a quickie. I've got a big date tonight. Don't want to be late," mumbled Bill to the porcelain.

"Billy!" she sighed. "Ball me senseless!!"

In a position physically impossible from any angle but Bill's, he pumped till she disappeared.

************************************************************

Bill stood before Mara's house and waited for someone to answer the door. A minute and three rings later, Mara's mother peeks out from behind paisley curtains.

"Hola, William! Como esta?. Mara esta en el bano. Uno momento, por favor."

"Gracias," said Bill in a hideous Spanish accent.

"Si, Si! Muy bien!" The old woman smiled and revealed a mess of missing and rotten teeth. She invites Bill in and then scampers off to get Mara.

Bill waits. In an adjacent room a group of large Hispanic men sit on a couch and on the floor. They stare in silence at the television. Bill wonders why none of them bothered to answer the door. He decides to be friendly.

"Hey guys, como estoy?" They ignore him. He tries again. "Watchin the basketball game tonight?" More silence. Seconds turn into minutes and back to seconds and into -

A late summer evening in your parent's kitchen. It smelled of toast and coffee. The lights were out. We stood by the moonlit window. By the sink. Close, to close to resist. I closed my eyes and felt only the warmth of your soul next to mine. Like feathers, soft and light, your lips brushed against my cheek in a kiss. A kiss that was sweet beyond the physical. The purity of its touch and emotion flooded my heart with such intensity; I knew nothing could last forever. For the first time I didn't want it to. Love is but once, which makes it so sweet. I opened my eyes and left you forever, baby. If I could turn back the hands of time. I would be with you tonight.

"Billy, there are a thousand things I can feel for someone again. And a thousand words blind me with your purity. So clear, far to clear for me. Am I addicted? Or just ignorant? I must escape. I fear I would exploit you. Ruin you. Stain you with perversity."

His imagination is aroused by her sweet and shameless expression. He speaks. "I smell you. I taste your endless emotion. I love you. And yet, I fear you like death. To embrace you and all you are would mean to become one with the universe. To lose myself. As I would at death. Dare I? My eyes close to the world. Remember and dream of you, my splendor, my angle of beauty and truth."

She moves on to a summer afternoon before the storm. We were laying on your hardwood floor, not wearing many clothes. With a cold bottle of strawberry wine, it's perspiration dripped down my arm. I spilled it across your pale chest. You closed your eyes and laughed as I kissed and licked it off. Tasting the salt of your sweet liquor sweat. The warmth of your heartbeat between my hands. I listened to your voice and touched your face, feeling your lips, so full and wet like the new summer sun. They opened and took me in slow and hard.

"You held my wrists. I couldn't escape. While thunder and rain began to pound outside your window and the fan blew my hair around your neck. I knew then and forever there would be nothing I could want more. The passion with you, with red eyes popping and bursting like plums. Shaking and spinning in your room and on your bed. My eyes tearing tunnels shooting pictures to my head. You breathing my name. We grab each other's hands and laugh. Oh, how insane this dream and this place. Feels like I've been thrown into outer space. Feels like I've been licked back into place as I sink into your face.

Like ripe fruit. Aggression. Like blood. Like life.

I remember the afterglow. The ocean rippling and rubbing against the night sky. Static electricity culminates and rips a hole through the darkness. A brief and violent event with its strange illumination. Then darkness returns. Never let the ocean know your fear. If it senses panic in your mind it will suck the strength out from your limbs. Rain bleeds through the gapping wound. In that flash of light, just only a second your eyes were no longer grey. I saw a reflection of me. Nothing but blood. Drowning within your sea. Endless reflections of me. Raging waves so beautiful and dangerous. Dreams like water. Colorless, dangerous.  I stare deep into you. I know your name. Bill. The absence of color burns at the fringe of my soul. You laugh into the wind and turn away. Your eyes are icy daggers into my heart. I grow cold in exaggerated youth. Like ripe fruit. Like rotting meat _

"Bill!? Are you ready?"

Bill twirls around to face Mara and her mother. He wipes a bead of perspiration from his forehead. "Ahem. Mara! You look great! Yes, whenever you are."

"Did you meet my brothers? Paco, Jesus, Roger and Chuck."

"Uh, yeah, they’re real cool.  We were just chatting." Bill waved to the ambivalent group in the living room.

"They love la television! We better go before the party ends."

The old woman walked them to the door, "Adios Mara y William! Buenos Noches!"

"Bye!" And they left.

 

 

Chapter 3: Mandatory Party Scene

 

"YEE-HAW!"

Dave's house was action packed. The Hi-Fi stereo system cranked out hip-hop top-40 tunes. People were dancing. People were smoking. People were having fun. A cluster of basketball fans grunted and moaned and shouted with each twist and turn of the game. Three empty kegs were strewn across the front lawn. Four more kegs flowed freely inside. It was almost ten o'clock. Bill sat at the kitchen table with his work buddies. He stared absently at the wall.

She was tired, but she wanted it. He felt old. They sat together on a small blanket. To close to resist. The timing had been carefully arranged. The moment had finally arrived. They were together in the cool night air. They were alone. She reached out and touched him. He followed her motions as if in a dream. Dim city lights and traffic far below lent illumination to their hilltop.

Stars peek through the dull haze far above, one by one. She lights a cigarette. He watches. No words are spoken. They undress each other first with their eyes, then with their hands. The night wraps around them. To tight for escape. The waiting had turned to burning desire and was to be quenched at last. Their bodies glisten against the neon glow of the city. Reflecting off a billion cells. The neon light did not know and the cells did not care. Yet there they were. Naked and alone. Alone yet together on the crazy edge of his dream.

Far off in the woods a dog barks. They lay down on the blanket, both nervous, fearing the inevitable disappointment that awaits us all in the sweet arms of death. Fearing the mundane. The fear of nothing. They are beyond close. They are connected. Made one in the spirit. The universe steps aside for their brief dance. Ideas clash and cells divide. She reaches to the heavens and shouts his name. Cricket-wolves sing a soft reply. On top of the burning hill the two become wild beasts. Bleak, round, and high, by flame-lit height made higher, with nothing on it for the flame to kill. They struggle for supremacy and cling desperately to each other in an effort to shut out the void. A frantic fight with a hopeless cause. The dark circle closes in. The night transforms into a violent love storm and swirls its menacing void around their bodies. Like a dark flower blossoming at the end of autumn.

Grunts and giggles of demons and gods float in a lazy vortex about the hilltop. A neurotic deer springs into dense foliage for cover. She smiles down on him. Such a face. Hazel-green eyes, pale soft skin, full lips. He closes his eyes. She moves with a rhythm close to the earth. The moon spirals above. His hands on her. Her dance. His experience. His memory. Her future. She speaks, words divine.

Her legs wrap around his anger. Descending deeper into the night. Deeper into the fright they hold. Into the fray of madness and desire. Faces of pain, faces of pleasure. The warmth of an embrace. Two bodies in the night, alive or dead? He showed her magic and she believed. This, too, shall pass. The riders of power and glory sink softly to the ground. Without sound. Their giant structures intact. Oh glory, Oh God. I look at myself. I see myself there. Alive on the ground, part of the dirt.

They roll off the blanket. Abandoning control. Shedding inhibitions. The grass tickles her back. He does not listen so she takes command. Pushing him away then pulling him back. Not impossible, this run away reality. An insane thought. All polished and clean. When finally the play came to an end, nothing had changed. Their lives a mere cadenza. One thing is certain. This dance is not finished. Get up.

"Drink it, Bill! You lose. Your turn! Drink up!" slurs an inebriated reveler.

"... Nah, dudes. I've had enough. Besides, I'm a designated driver. I give up. You win." Bill departs the table under a chorus of 'boos' and hisses. He wanders into an adjacent room. Through a haze of smoke he spies Mara. She has merged with a gaggle of girls. They are engaged in giggling conversation. He forges a path though a veritable wall of bodies toward her. Each individual mimics the crowd, dancing like retarded sardines. Each, an obstacle for him to pass. A window opens. Bill stands by his gal.

"Hola!" bubbles Mara.

"Are you having fun?" They drift from the crowded room into a dark hallway.

"Si! All my friends are here! Fiesta!" She was wasted.

"Yeah," Bill says. "Listen, what time do you need to be home? Would you like to spend some time alone? Maybe an early breakfast at Dennies or a drive through the park? Or something? Anything?"

"We're alone now, aren't we?" Mara grins and moves aside for a passing group.

"I suppose…"

"I should be home by one or two. I have to work tomorrow morning." Mara waves to a friend. "Oh! It's Anita! We haven't talked for ages. Get me when you're ready to leave."

Bill smiles, "Sure." But she was already gone. He watches her prance down the hallway. He imagines what the two girls will talk about. Clothes, boys, food, music, movies. Nothing. Same old shit. How pathetic. Bill sighs and meanders toward the TV room.

************************************************************

Luckily, Dave has cable. 85 channels of cheep narcotics. After the basketball game there was no need to panic for lack of entertainment. One can rest assured that at any given moment, somewhere on the face of the planet a sport is being played by well paid professional athletes. At this particular moment it happens to be baseball in Koyoto, Japan. We find Bill on a couch with four guys. All hold can's of Miller Genuine Draft beer. The kegs have run dry. As one of the few remaining sober people, Bill had earlier been elected to make a beer run. He'd performed that duty without flaw.  Meanwhile, Mara chatted endlessly. Bill stares at the television. Into the void. The dead phosphorescent tube stares back.

The thrill of the hunt and game was over. The hunter becomes the hunted.

Back in your room. On your bed. Light spills in from the street lamp outside. Your half open, half shut blinds cast horizontal shadow stripes across your body. The contours of your face, illuminated by sodium fire, glow with secret pleasures. I do not understand. I hear only the sound of my heart and respiration. Basic life functions. You sit next to me. The bed creaks slightly. I feel warmth emanate from within your body. The smell of your flesh. I want to escape this lust, but I can't move. I can't look into your eyes. You are so beautiful. Those all knowing eyes. A car drives past. Snow precipitates from heaven. I'm only half cold. You keep me alive.

The clock on your wall reads 9:20 PM. Time to give in. My shoes fall to the floor. You speak backwards. Hair moves away from my face. You see my every move and take notes for future reference. That's the way you are. I wonder what it would be like to touch your hair, your neck, your strong shoulders. I want to embrace you. To press my face against your chest. Your knee brushes my side. I resist the urge to caress it.

You whisper something low. Why do you talk backwards? The sound of your voice vibrates the length of my spine. My body resonates with your frequency. My heart rate accelerates. I breath deep the darkening night. For an instant, I imagine you inside. Like the stab of a splinter found along the edge of a smooth board. The feeling won't subside. I still feel it burn. I grind my teeth in agony at the pain of this lust.

The cold wind beats its thousand fists on your window shudders. Whatever innocence we had is dying in this silence. This was meant to happen all along. Eat this cancer. Is it an ending or a beginning? We can't turn back. With this subconscious un-realization, I turn and look up at your beautiful face. I've never seen it like this. Finally, we give in. Give up. I feel my life end as my last breath escapes into your lips. Warm, I pull you close. My arms around your waist. Our kiss breaks the silence with a sweet smack. My body presses against yours. We breath as one. I've always wanted you like this. It's worth any pain. My tongue explores your neck. You lay me down. The soft bed sucks me in. Like a dream. I succumb to your pressure.  Trapped under your weight. Trapped.

Bill checks his watch. Twelve-thirty. He tries to stand up from the couch. A big guy slouched next to him slumps onto his shoulder. Bill nudges him.

"Hey, Ted. Wake up man. I gotsta go."

"Huh? What? Oh, dude. Man, I'm so deprep." He tries to drink from an empty beer can. "Nothin' damnit! Empty." He crushes the can on his head and tosses it to the floor.

"What's wrong?"

"Man!" He whines, "My woman dumped on me. Bill, what the hell. I swear. Women, you can't live without em, and uhhh, you can't live without em."

"Yeah, something like that. Sorry to here it, bro. She dumped you?"

"She dumped ON me, man. All over me! You know. Fuck 'em. She thinks she's so fuckin' hot. Fuck her. I'm my own man. I don't need that shit, man. I got my buddies. Friends, a game and some beers keep this guy happy." He thumps his chest.

Bill fakes a smile, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You're great, Bill. I love you, man! I really mean it. I need another beer. Could you make another beer run, dude? I'll give you some cash." He digs though his pocket and finds nothing. "Shit, where's my wallet? Man, I know it's around here somewhere. I think I gave it to Franky. Fuck it. I don't care. What am I gonna do, Bill? How can I get my gal back?"

"I don't know, big Ted. Have you tried talking to her?"

"Everytime I talk ta her, she gets upset 'bout something. You know? I got to show her how I feel. I'm a man of action, not words. I godda do something for her. I dunno, maybe buy her roses." Ted belches.

"Sure, give 'er a try. It can't hurt. They like romantic shit. Hey, Ted. I've got to cruise, ok? Take care man. I'll see you at work." Bill gets up and Ted slouches onto Bill's warm seat.

"Right, Bill. Thanks. Sorry 'bout when I picked you up an' hit your head on the ceiling earlier... Does anybody know where the tortillas are? Dollar-Bill is gonna make another beer run!"

Bill walks out of the TV room and down the hallway. He finds Mara, still gossiping with the same group. They are discussing various aforementioned topics. Mara notices Bill and waves.

"Hi!" she chirps.

"Hey, what's up?"

They drift from the group.

"Oh, we were talking about stuff. You know. Girl talk."

"Ahh, well. Actually, since I'm not a girl, I guess I don't know."

"Sure you are! Hombre," giggles Mara.

"Really? Did anyone say anything about me?"

"I think you're cute!"

"Thanks. It's almost 1 o'clock. We should head out. You think?"

"Time flys. Let me say good-bye."

"Right. I'll meet you at the front door."

Mara touches Bill's arm then returns to her group of friends. Bill drifts further away. He watches ambivalent but annoyed as Mara hugs and exchanges farewells with 2 latino and 5 white latino wanna-be girls. They all look pretty much the same. Little hairy clones. Bill finds himself utterly disgusted. He looks away.

************************************************************

Bill holds Mara's soft hand. They walk under a blue moon. It is a cool summer morning. The stars shine as bright as can be expected this close to Chicago. Bill feels a little sick.

"I hope you enjoyed the party."

Mara nods, "I did. Muchos gracias."

"You sure looked pretty."

"Oh, Bill. You’re such a smooth talker."

"Would you like to do something tomorrow night? I dunno, a movie or something? Dinner at a nice restaurant? Oh wait! We're having a work party tomorrow! They're always a blast. Would you like to go?"

"Si! I'd love to!"

They step onto Mara's front porch. Mara fumbles though her purse for a house key. The door is cracked open and bill can see 2 of her brothers passed out on the couch and 1 more on the floor.

"Are you sure you want to go in? You wouldn't like to have a cup of coffee somewhere or something?"

"I should go. It's late. My mom or brothers might worry and come looking for me. I can’t find my damn keys!"

Bill points out that the door is open.

"Silly, me! Goodnight, Bill." Mara enters her house without further adieu. The door shuts. The front porch light clicks on and Bill is finds himself in the spotlight. He stands, hoping against all odds that she will come back out. He waits for nothing. After a few seconds, Bill returns to his car. It starts on the second try.

There's something odd about driving alone, early on a Saturday morning. The world is dead. No one in the streets. No lights inside any houses. And all the houses... Only at times like this does Bill notice how many there are. Each resembling its neighbor, all lined up in an endless procession. Usually, he's too busy getting somewhere to note the redundancy. All the people. Doing all the same things that people do and think and dream. Bill wasn't in a hurry to get home. He had nothing to do at his own house but sleep. Sleep and escape like all the rest. Bill drove along the desolate but well lit suburban streets. He picks a random route home. Bill wonders why all the people are inside on such a pleasant summer morning. He drove on.

"What ever you would like to do." Maria said with an innocent smile.

We walked along the darkening trail. She brushed back her short blond hair and smiled. I let my hand roam over the broad curve of her buttock, caressing it. She didn't seem to mind. She traced the outline of my rigid cock with her forefinger through the tight fabric of my jeans.

Maria was giving me a gift before I left for college. I'd always wanted her to suck my cock in the great outdoors. As my departure grew near, he seemed eager to try new things, to cement our relationship by indulging my sexual fantasies. Soon I would be off to college building a future for myself. She would remain in her dead end job, shuttling useless items of rental equipment back and forth in eternal torment without Mark, my love.

The fresh scent of mountain pine blew over the deserted football field. In the distance, several hundred yards off, the high school's parking lot was a puddle of light in the black ocean. "Where should we do it?" she whispered, her breath was warm in my ear.

"How about out there, in the open?" I pointed to center of the field.

"No!" I said, surprised by my boldness, but enjoying the image nonetheless. Maria had made the suggestion that we do this tonight. I'd thought about it, but hadn't seriously considered that it might happen! "We could be seen from pretty far off. It should be near the woods."

"Not by the woods." Maria said, casting a glance at the murky line of trees lining the field. "They scare me."

My dick was hot and hard in my jeans. After roaming around the football field for awhile, I stopped caring where we did it. "Here's fine." We were just off a path that ran along the field up to my old high school. It seemed like only yesterday that I'd graduated. Did I graduate? It had been almost six years. I can't remember. Here I was. Middle aged couples routinely walked along this path, but not so late. I no longer cared. Maria's body was all I could focus on. Mostly her mouth.

Maria knelt before me. I unbuttoned my jeans. She pulled down the zipper. I nudged down my underwear, freeing my erect penis. It bobbed inches from her face. She grasped it with soft hands and began to work her magic.

She smiled up at me, "You're ready aren't you!" He opened his mouth. A snake-like tongue darted out and flicked the head of my rigid penis. An electric tingle shivered my spine. Maria licked her hand, and worked the head with her lips, massaging the shaft, jerking me off with a steady concentrated motion. With each stoke she bobbed her head forward and took the tip fully into her mouth.

She paused, "Do you like this?"

"Yeah," I gasped, grabbing her head and forcing it forward. I stopped before she gagged, and pulled back, leaving a glistening trail of saliva on her chin. She glanced up, her lips slightly parted and trembling.

"Do it," I said. "I want you to swallow it."

Maria nodded submissively. She tightened one slick hand around the shaft jerking me off slowly and firmly. Finally, she took it back into her mouth. Mark glanced up at me. Her lips were distorted by my cock, wide open eyes imploring.

She worked it in and out, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I was oblivious to the fact that at any second someone might catch us. I looked down at Maria, this beautiful blonde seventeen year old, working my cock with her mouth and hands. She was doing it because I told him to.

She was mine.

"Come all over me," she whispered, and sped up the pace with both hands. She plunged it back into her mouth and sucked hungrily.

My testicles quivered.

"Unnn huhhh," she grunted around my cock.

As I started to squirt, she pulled it out of her mouth. She milked the jism out, spilling it onto the grass. Her chin glistened with spit and polymer like streamers of cum, which elongated and dripped onto her Chicago Bull's sweat shirt. She gazed at me, her face glittering with satisfaction. Pulling the life and energy out of me. Leaving nothing.

Walking home, she apologized. "I'm sorry I couldn't swallow it all. There was just so much…" she said. I reached over and wiped away a dollop of sperm from her cheek. We kissed, our tongues caressing warmly.

I slipped my hand under the tight waistband of her K-Mart pants, and squeezed a smooth, fleshy buttock. I laughed. She was genuinely sorry that she hadn't been able to drink it all!

"That's all right," I said. "There's always next time." We walked into the night in search of further adventures.

Bill's long route home adds two minutes to his travel time. He pulls into his driveway and kills the car. The house is dark. Careful not to make noise, he unlocks the front door and sneaks in. Inside his room he flips on a dim lamp and the stereo. He adjusts the volume and relaxes. His eyes fix on a dusty stack of high school yearbooks perched high on a shelf above his bed bordered by numerous pictures of old friends and relatives. It's late. He's tired. Bill lets his heavy eyelids fall. Tomorrow he works from ten till five.

 

* _____ * The host asks him if he kissed her. Jamie stared down at him in surprise. Rapids were approaching, shots of whiskey, frozen dinners, your blouse ripped off, exposed chest, hardened nipples, skirt lifted, ankles grabbed, penetration. I could have had her. She had truly gorgeous tits, with large brown nipples. Her cunt and ass could have been mine. She left early in my dream.* _____ *

 

 

Chapter 4: Delbert Pops A Zit

 

"Billy? Are you in there? Are you awake? Is your room clean?"

Bill rub's his eyes and squints at a blinking digital alarm clock. He jumps out of bed, grabs clean clothes and runs into the bathroom. Careful to avoid visual contact with his mother, he steps out with a definitive, "Bye!"

Thanks to his professional driving skills, Bill arrives at work right on the money. Bob greets him with a professional smile and performs the ritual morning pep talk.

"Bill, you're gonna work with a new guy today. Name's Delbert. Nice guy. Learn him the ropes, will ya?"

"Whatever you say, boss."

"He's filling out mandatory insurance forms. Hold off for a few minutes. I'll send him out to the truck when he’s done." Bob lights up his pipe.

"Roger." Bill exits toward the loading dock.

"I like kissing! I'd kiss just about anyone or anything!"

Ecentric, yet normal. This describes persons who occasionally find themselves bored while engaged in a sex act. Considering the futility of daily life and the endless repetition in every aspect of civilization, it is difficult to find true happiness in anything. A man who is happy is a man who is ignorant. Conversely, a man who is ignorant is a man who can never be truely happy. This is not a contradiction, not a Catch-22. Realizing that life sucks is necessary to appreciate it.  And besides, there’s always quality programming on the television.

A kiss

Bill took her hand. She was young. Just a child. So innocent.

"Hello, little girl. Where's your mummy?"

"I don't know. I'm lost. Will you help me find my way?"

  Hey steaming hot pornography!

"Sure! I'll help. But I don't understand."

"You will..."

The child raised her arms to the sky. Her head exploded in a frenzy of sparks. Bill was quite surprised by this spectacle. His skin begins to crawl with a cold sweat. The sky darkens. Ominous clouds approach. It will rain soon. A wish. A wash.

"Hi! I'm self aware!" The high pitched nasal voice surprised Bill.

"Huh?" Bill looked up to find a small shaggy man with intense, sky blue eyes.

Delbert threw a newspaper into the trash. "Every time your face gets printed in one of those damn things it gets thrown away a million times. Let's get to work! I'm ready to earn some bacon!" He held out a hand tattooed with `A = not A'. "My name is Delbert, Delbert Hollingsburth, also known as Hemorrhoy Rogers! Happy to be your pod."

Bill shook the hand. "Bill," he replied, "pod?"

"Yes, yes. I know. Are we ready?"

"Sure, yeah. Hop in."

The truck roared to life under Bill's steady hand.

"Fuck yeah!" howled Delbert. "This is great! Good to be alive! Yes sir!"

"I agree. Where you from, Delbert?"

"Listen, Pod. You hear that?"

Bill perked up his ears. "What?"

"I feel better. I was once like you. Drove a truck, delivered stuff for self-serving mindless parasites. Actually, I wasn't at all like you. But I am a free man! I'm self aware, self existent! I love it! I've been born again! Praise God!"

Bill glanced at Delbert and guessed he was about thirty years old. "Oh yeah? Who did you work for?"

"Work? Keep your eyes on the road, Bill! Unwavering. You've got to be straight as an arrow! Got a girlfriend? Or something?"

"Yeah, Her name’s Maria."

"Tell me about her. What's so great about her?"

Bill hesitated. "Well. Uh. She's special. You know, not like everyone else. She’s got long black hair and her family moved here from Mexico when she was just a kid."

"Just a kid? Lie!!! I can tell. You can't hide a thing from me. I know you're not happy. Thing's are going down the tubes. What’s the problem? She’s chubby to obese, bad body odor or just plain dumb? Ain't putting out? That can’t be it… You know them Latino’s reproduce like rabbits. Let me think... Do all the claims made in advertisements confuse you? Do I?"

"Wait a second!" retorted Bill. "Back up and slow down. What are you talking about? Where do you get off saying that shit?"

"Saying what? I'm the man. I got it in my hand. The whole pathetically predictable world. I can show you the way to heaven or hell. Heh heh..."

Bill made a doubtful sound. "Do you have a gal?"

"Married happily eight years."

"Wow. That's a long time. Do you ever get tired of being with the same person?"

"Not really. We rarely meet. Last I caught wind of her was about 7 months ago."

"Oh. How come you broke up?"

"What!? We ain’t busted up. We're married, remember? We're just living separate lives."

"Why do you bother staying married if you never see each other?"

"Sex."

"But you only see her once or twice a year."

"So?"

"Well, I mean. If you're married for sex, wouldn't you want it more than once or twice a year?"

"No."

"Ahh. I see." But he didn’t.

"It's really good sex. You wouldn't believe the tuna fish casserole she can whip up on short notice!!!" Delbert twitched and rolled his eyes and licked his lips.

"Really. So what does she do?"

"With the tuna fish?"

"No, no. I'm sure that's personal."

"Not really. I'll lend you the recipe if you want it. I'll bet good money you'd lose in a baking contest."

"I meant, what does she do for a living. You delivery rental equipment and she does...?"

"I deliver what!?"

"You work for Eagle Hill Rental. We deliver rental equipment. Remember?" Bill thought, "Touché pussycat!"

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten."

"What!?"

"I'd forgotten why I'm here. I'm new at this. Cut me some slack. My wife works with NASA and the military. She develops non-radioactive nuclear fusion power sources for space platforms. At least that's what she claimed to be involved with before we got married. Most of her work is classified. Her husband would be the LAST person to find out. Trust me."

"Wow! That's heavy shit."

"Shit?"

"Where did you meet her?"

"Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She was an astrophysics postdoc wasting her time on a second doctorate in some arcane computer science area, genetic programming. I was just a retarded graduate student. I can't believe I graduated."

"You went to MIT!?" Bill was covertly impressed.

"Yes. Please, don't remind me."

"Why not?"

Delbert clicked his tongue twice. "Look where it got me."

Bill waited for the rest of the story. Delbert appeared unwilling to divulge further details. "So, uh, what did you study at MIT? What was your major?"

"Nothing." Delbert snickered. "Nothing at all. And nothing has changed. Or has it?"

"So you were a liberal arts major?"

"Heh heh, sort of. If you must know, I was in the, so-called ‘philosophy’ department. God, how degrading. I might as well have gone for a medical degree. Nobody hires philosophers. At least not the kind of philosopher I turned out to be. Besides, it’s not a legitimate trade. Unless you teach snobbish college brats like the kind of person I was. And the last thing I want to do is cater to people like myself. I can hardly stand to look in the mirror. But thank the lord that someone puts up a good fight and faces the void! I mean, we can't just ignore something that’s not there. Can we?"

"I guess not. So, What kind of a philosopher are you?"

"Confused. Or rather, I WAS confused. Philosophers tend to be terminally confused or emotionally dysfunctional. That's what drives them to philosophize, or as I like to say, 'spout shit.' My dissertation was titled Stochastic Teleology of the Void; Saviors, Sinners and My Sinister Shoe." Delbert giggled inwardly. "It was pathetic drivel. I rambled on and on about contradictory tautology webs, the irrationality of Darwinian selection, ectopic cognition and obscure gedanken experiments, most of which involved mentally handicapped children.  The dissertation was six thousand pages long.  I scrawled a smiley face at the end. The whole thing was written with crayons. Purple only. I must have spent $500 on Crayola boxes and always I used only the purple crayon. My apartment was full of Crayola crayon boxes missing the purple crayon. I could never think of anything to do with the other colors. When I ran out of money I started stealing purple crayons. They never caught me. I was quick and practiced at the art of Crayola kleptomania! Do you know how hard it is to keep purple crayon sharp? My advisors thought it was brilliant. They gave me a piece of paper that said 'blah blah blah - Doctor of Philosophy - blah blah blah.'"

"Ahh." Bill didn't have the slightest idea what Delbert was talking about. A jet black Dodge Viper zipped around them on the right. "Check out the Viper! 460 Horses, now that's a fast car."

"Oh My God! OH MY GOD!!!" Delbert was frantic.

"What? What?" Bill panicked.

"At the exact instant you said 'fast car' I was thinking 'Non-Boolean Logic Transformation'!!!"

Bill stuttered, "S-so s-so what?"

"Don't you see!? Two totally unrelated events!"

"Yeah?" said Bill slowly.

"Two totally unrelated events occurred at the same temporal instance and further more at such close spatial proximity! It's a sign of synchronicity!"

"You mean the Police? Sting? They're pretty cool for a classic rock band."

"No! Synchronicity, you twit! Harmonic convergence. Not the silly psuedo-musical group. It almost never happens to me. I can usually guess the next 5-7 words that are going to come out of your mouth. That took me by surprise. Totally! I was positive you'd say 'hot car' or maybe 'bitchen car'. But you didn't! You picked the simpler descriptor, `fast'. And since I was also thinking about Non-Boolean Logic Transformations, that means the likely-hood of those two topics, fast cars and Non-Boolean Logic Transformations, occurring again at the same instant is increased. Speaking of music, do you like music?"

"What!? What are you talking about???"

"Haven't you hoid? It's a new age, peace and love kind of universe. Let me guess. You've never even heard of Carl Jung? He was a fag. Now he’s dead."

"Who?"

Delbert sighed. "Paul Kammerer? Pierre Theilard de Chardin?"

"Unn Unn."

"Prophets of the new age. Heralding in the era of hope founded on hopelessness. Kammerer made half-crazed claims of discovering Lamarckian evolution. He killed himself after his friends convinced him that he was crazy. But before he did that, he invented an alternative 'cause and effect' determinism. 'The Law of Seriality.' It essentially says that when two events happen at the same time, THAT is in itself an explanation of their occurrence, no matter how weird it is! Seems kind of circular, I know. But if you can really think about it, it isn't. Try thinking in terms of the 'conscious third-person' paradox. Quien sabe? You may reach the grand epiphany! But I doubt it. Anyway, Jung took this idea and under Kammerer's guiding hand came up with synchronicity."

Bill hummed along with the radio.

"Theilard de Chardin wrote The Phenomenon of Man. Surely you've heard of that... Bill?"

"Huh? Oh. Phenomenon Man? Nope. Never heard of him. A new Marvel Comic Superhero?"

"It's about you."

"Wow! Hey, my favorite subject."

"It explains why things happen. Do you know why things happen?"

"Cause people are greedy and like to party?"

"Exactly. But the reason events occur is because they can. If it's possible then it's going to happen. Even in a bounded, finite universe. The proofs are rather lengthy so I'll breeze over them and get to the meat of it. You'll have to trust my higher educational background."

"Right. Thanks."

"If there are lots of atoms in the universe then there is a chance that two will collide and become a molecule. Therefore it WILL happen. And so it did! This process continues increasing the potential complexity of the system on and on under all the restraints of natural law, and eventually something happened that Pierre termed 'Hominization.' This in turn results in human culture. You and me. Here we are. This takes us to the next step, as he predicted in the late 1940's, to what he called the 'Noosphere'."

"Noosphere? Cool concept. Sounds like a Smurf invention."

"Yes, it's a lot like the Gaia theory, but concerned mainly with the 'highest form of life'. The whole world dominated by human thought. And why? Because it became a possibility! Because it could happen! If ol' Pierre were alive to see the vast computer networks and armada of telecommunication satellites I bet he'd feel pretty damn content with his predictions. And there's something else. Something beyond the Noosphere. Beyond everything..."

"That's cool. So how did this Krammer dude commit suicide?"

Delbert's face turned a shade darker. He screamed, "Sweet umbrage, burn like a diamond in my soul!!!"

"Hey, man! Chill! Chill..."

"He killed himself to make a point! He sacrificed his life so that others might see. Others like YOU!!! He joined the uncounted ranks of martyrs. Like Plato. Like Martin Luther King. Like Jesus. Like Elvis!"

Bill fidgeted. "Jesus didn't kill himself. He was crucified by Romans."

"By the Romans? Ha! His friends drove the spikes through his flesh! The Romans wanted to set him free! The Romans wanted to crucify Barabbas, a real criminal! Pilate asked, 'What evil has this man done?' and they cried out all the more 'Crucify him!' No questions asked. No reasons given. Nothing. They did it on faith, 'cause faith is all they had. It was the Jewish priesthood that shouted, 'Kill the heretic! Crucify him!' Not the Romans.

"Jesus put himself in the line of fire. No one forced altruism on him as a form of self expression. No one forced him to preach. He did it because he could. He did it because he wanted to. He did it because that's what he did. And when he didn't stop, they killed him. He knew they were going to kill him. By his own inflexibility, Jesus murdered himself. Jesus crucified himself! He bought his ticket. He knew what he was getting into. It was suicide. Self inflicted wounds that led to his demise. If a man fails to get off the railroad tracks to avoid the locomotive, can we condemn the train? No! The man was trespassing on the railroad's property and failed to remove himself from the inevitable and quite obvious danger. That's a good analogy for what happened to Jesus. He tried to impede a process bigger and stronger than himself.

"Hey, I guess Jesus can't go to heaven! Can he? No, he can't according to the Bible! How ironic. And all his followers! Ha! How appropriate. Abandoned by his father. Abandoned by his children. What a loser." Delbert thought for a moment. "But I'm probably boring you. Tell me more about your not-so-special girlfriend."

"What's to tell?" Bill seriously needed to escape this babbling lunatic.

"Ok then! Just you keep us alive." He slapped the dashboard, "Don't let this big rig slam into any highway barriers or nothin! I know you, Bill. I know where you're coming from. I know where you're going. I know it all! Ya see, I've been here before. Go on. Ask me anything. I'll try to respond appropriately."

"Then tell me," insisted Bill. "What should I do? How can I get her to understand how I feel?"

Delbert laughed. "What should you do?" He laughed again. "What should I do. He asks me. What do I do. You do what you do when you do what you did. That is, unless you know what you did before you're gonna do it again. Trouble is you can't know what you did with any certainty. The past is as unknowable as the future. And then there's the problemo that maybe you don't feel anything. And if you don’t, do you really want it to be a topic of discussion?"

"Huh?" Bill lost all interest in the conversation. He concentrated on the road.

"You do the same things over and over. You become a slave. A slave to what you do. The same thing over and over. As the universe expands at an ever-faster rate and neutrinos contribute a non-negligible mass to your mind. Repetition. You sink into unconsciousness. Until there's nothing left. You die! You cease to oscillate. Like Einstein-Bose matter. You've got to live! Jump around and live! You've got to do it different. Better. You got to do it right! Right! You've got to understand the difference between redundancy and repetition. Recursion and iteration. It's all the same, but its vital that you understand the difference! Dig?"

"Yeah, ok. I got you. No prob. Thanks for the advice." Bill turned on the radio.

"My ass, you dig!" Delbert proclaimed over the music, "You've only got one chance. I'm warning you, pod! God ain't no omnipotent head-honcho! Love ain't forever. Now is the only thing that's real. You gotsta get it straight! Damn straight." Delbert lit a joint. "God, I'm so depressed..." He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "So anyway, check this out" Delbert pulled out a tape and popped it into the truck’s AM-FM tape player. "You like music, you’ll love this. It’s my band. Hemorrhoy Rogers and the Whild Rrhoid Boyz. There are over 100 songs on this tape. Everyone of them is about a guy named Hemorrhoy. That’s me."

The radio blurted out poorly recorded, sped up vocals. Delbert sang along with the music, "My name is Hemorrhoy, Hemorrhoy Rogers. And these things, these THINGS are my Rhoid Boyz. Come on feel the rrhoid. Come and enjoy my void. Now listen closely to the Rhoid Boyz…"

Delbert sang on. Bill scanned the horizon for his exit.

"Fuck me, Bill! Fuck me NOW!!!"

Bill threw the girl to his bed like a rag doll. He jumped on top of her and ripped open her silk shirt. She writhed under his weight. Fighting to take off his clothes. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She lifted her body into the air. Bill yanked off her skirt. In a record time of 15 seconds she was nude.

Bill inspected the length of her voluptuous body. She lay in his bed. His bed. Naked girl. The sheets were rumpled against the wall. Hands ruthlessly crept up his thighs. "Do it, now. I need you inside me. Fuck me, Bill. Make me cum," she demanded.

His pants obeyed gravity. Bill was willing to comply with this order. He lodged himself between her sweet honey thighs. A wave of heat rose from the oasis between her legs. She pulled him into her supple bosom. His head nestled in her chest, she began kneading his ass cheeks, dry fucking herself with Bill's limp body. "Do it! Do it now! Hurry, we have little time left."

He couldn't. Bill glanced down at his uncooperative organ. He looked into her pleading face...

Delbert popped a Viagra pill into his mouth and offered one to Bill. "Want one? They give you quite a ride.  Just don’t mix them with hair-regrowth meds.  That’s a major downer."

"No thanks," replied Bill.

Delbert ranted on, "Suit yourself. But keep in mind that everyone wants what they can't have. Everyone gets hit with the hammer. You've got to escape this spin cycle! Like I did! Look at me! Look at these wings!" Delbert flapped his arms. "You can't be afraid! What are you afraid of, pod? I'll tell you what I was afraid of... I was afraid of butt sex... I was horrified. The thought of penetrating another man's anus with my penis repulsed me. Even worse was imagining myself being penetrated!!! Then I realized what a fool I'd been! All my worries were a wasted effort. Praise God! Are you a religious man, Bill? Is anal intercourse what you're afraid of, too? Have you heard of the transparent niche theory? T.N.T.?"

Bill recoiled into the driver-side door. "Christ, man! I don't do that shit!"

"Everyone wants to be what they ain't! Face it! All men instinctively want to suck their own cocks. I know I do! Accept the overwhelming evidence, Bill. You're just like everyone else."

"I am not gay. Never. Come on. You can't be serious... and I despise oral sex. It's so degrading. I -"

"That ain't what I'm talking about. I’m talking about the fear and panic in your mind."

Bill released a tentative sigh of relief. "Good, cause I mean..."

"It goes deeper than that. Let's look at you. What are you, pod?"

Bill hesitated. "A man?"

"There you go! Stop thinkin' like that! You’re beating yourself up.  You ain't a man! You're a woman! The opposite of everything you believe is true. Everything you believe is a lie. Lies, lies, lies. You've got to turn it around. Turn the world inside out. Engage your brain in the exotic and neurotic. It's the only way, pod! The yellow brick road to a vacuous euphoria."

"I dunno. I mean, I understand that it's wise to have an open mind to other opinions and..."

"No no no, cause they're all wrong and tangled up, too! Ya know? It's nothing, nothing at all! And it always will be. Nothing. Just let it ride! You got to let it ride! Act like a lady, pod! Jeez! Don't be such a wimp about it..."

Suddenly, Delbert dozed off. They rode the rest of the way in silence. His face was wrinkled and he looked older, maybe 40. It showed every year of his life. Bill didn't consider Delbert to be his most stable acquaintance. He wondered if Delbert had really gone to MIT or any school at all. Yet, he couldn't help but think. Was he right? Was everything wrong? Would that mean that Delbert was also wrong? What? Bill hummed along with Delbert’s Hemorrhoy Rogers tape. Not a cloud in the sky. Bill felt alive. Maybe Delbert did have something. Or maybe he felt better because Delbert was no longer talking. Either way it didn't really matter.

All the while Hemorrhoy Rogers chirped out, "I can’t go to the bathroom ‘cause I’m already in the bathroom… If you want to go to the bathroom when you’re in the bathroom simply go to another bathroom."

 

Chapter 5: The Present Disappointment

 

"Payday!" announced Norm.

Bill punched out and returned his time card to its proper position.

Norm ripped off his sweat stained shirt and the check out girl condensed from the essence of Bill. Bill looked at his hands. Well manicured, red nails tipped his feminine fingers.

"How 'bout some lovin' for this hard workin' hunk o' man, wild thang?" demanded Norm in a husky voice.

Bill looked up. Norm tugged at his skirt. She instinctively shrunk away from the beast.

"Stop!" squealed Bill. But the tone of her voice said to Norm, "Take me, I’m yours!"

"Oh, baby!" laughed Norm. "I love it when you play hard ta get!"

"What are you talking about?" Bill backed into a corner to regain a respectful distance from Norm. He closed in. "You're invading my personal space!"

Norm chuckled. He faked to the left. Bill jumped away only to find Norm's well muscled arms around him. Bill struggled. He knew this was wrong. New sensations pulsated in his chest and between his thighs.

"Stop! Don't!" screamed Bill!

"My little check out girlie! You belong to me now!" Norm yanked off Bill's sweater. He fought with the bra strap until it ripped free, unleashing Bill's milky white breasts. "Oh yeah! That's what I like! I want it now, babe. Give it to me! Don't make me fight you! You want this, too!"

Bill kicked at the big man's leg. He was helpless. He had been transformed into such a lovely, such a weak creature. Norm would have his way with her. Nothing could stop him.

Norm enveloped the checkout girl. His tongue slid deep into her mouth.

"Bill. It was great workin with ya! Enjoy that pay check! You earned it. Even though you deserve nothing, but who cares?" Delbert burst into a maniacal cackle. "Time for me to ride the whirlwinds of fury!"

Bill gasped for breath. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

"You ok, Bill?" asked Norm. "You look like you’re gunna puke."

Delbert stopped and turned back. "Hey, Bill. About some of those things I said... Well, you know how a guy can get. Just dog talk. Don't base your life on it. Ok?" Delbert continued, "I'm out of here. Catch ya later! Have fun, boys!" He left.

"Take it easy, Delbert," Norm replied. "Bill! Hey, Bill! Earth to Bill... Snap out of it, dude! Geez! What a space case!"

"Sorry. Tough day."

"Yeah, I bet! That Delbert is one kooky dude! He's great." Norm fixed Bill with a steady gaze. "You're going to the work party tonight?"

"I guess. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know... Maybe 'cause it's gonna be the best fuckin' party of the damn year!!!" Norm chuckled. "Besides, we need your skinny ass to bowl. Are you bringing Maria? If you don't can I?"

"Yeah. Har har. She'll be there. With me!"

Norm gave Bill a friendly punch in the gut. "Ok, big guy. Whatever you say. See ya there! Don’t cut yourself on baby's breath." He left.

Bill stood alone. "Huh?"

*************************************************************

"Billy? Is that you?" It was his mother!

Bill made greatest forward speed toward his room. "Yup! I'm home. Tough day. Going out tonight, don't hold dinner for me. Thanks." He shut the door behind him. The mysterious letter on his desk remained untouched. He picked it up and inspected it carefully. Lipstick smeared and no return address. With a distinct aroma of the perfume, Eternity. He opened it.

 

To my love Jason,

Your many wonderful and unique ways

make you one special person, Jason John

You are sexy in every way

There's no one quite like you

Admired by many

Moving through life with ease

All I can say is

You're cool

In the most natural of ways

Being with you

Life seems more colorful and exciting

And I feel more alive

I love being with you

I love sharing life with you

Kim

 

Near the bottom of the page something was scribbled out beyond recognition.

"Odd," thought Bill. He set the letter on his desk and picked up the phone. Maria answered on the eighth ring.

"Hola?"

"Maria! Hey, What's up? I just got out of the shower..."

"That's nice."

"Are you ready to rock the bowling alley? I can pick you up right now."

"Ahem. Bill?"

"Yes?"

"I can't go."

"What?"

"It's not that I don't want to go. But I can't."

"I thought last night you said-"

"I know. I'm sorry. Something came up."

"What?"

"Mama. She needs me home tonight. There's nothing I can do. I'm sorry. I know how important this was to you."

"You really can't go?"

"Sorry. I promise to make it up to you tomorrow night!"

"But the party is tonight!?"

"I'm sorry, Bill. Mama is, uh…  sick and... well... I need to take care of her..."

"What about my work party? It's gonna be a blast!"

"I can only be one place at a time."

"Well... er."

"Listen!" Maria whispered, "I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night. Promise."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

In the background Bill could hear men yelling. Someone kept shouting, "You slackers are a bunch of know-nothin’ pussies! You don’t know shit, pussies!"

"What’s going on there, it sounds like a fight?" asked Bill.

"Nothing, just my brothers and some of their friends having fun. Are we on for tomorrow?" she quickly asked.

"Well, I'm off work early. What time should I pick you up?"

"You don't have to pick me up. We can hang around here for a while. You know? Just relax... Maybe I could fix you dinner... We could watch a movie... Just the two of us... In my room. Alone."

"When should I come over?"

"How about eight o'clock."

"Ok. I guess I'll see you then."

"Good. Have fun at your little party!"

"I'll try."

"Bye!"

The house was quite. Bill's radio turned itself off. He stood and faced the mirror hung from his wall. "Mirror, mirror," he mumbled. Mirror, mirror there's a crack in your lie.

9:20 A.M.

At the corner of Fourth and Gregory sits a fertile young woman dressed in a tacky work uniform. Her name is Heather. She waits for the bus. She missed the 9:00 and will be late to work, again. She works at Super-Walmart, a discount food and department store, mostly as a checkout girl. She is alone.

Tough hombre steps to the plate. She sifts thru her hair looking for split ends. He sits on the bus-stop bench and inspects his cowboy boots. She glances at him. He whistles dixie. She rummages through her purse then sets it on her lap.

"Ever notice how you never want nothin' less it's a bitch to get?" asks the man as if to himself.

"Excuse me?" Heather is confused.

The man turns to her, surprised that he's not alone, "Hello there lil' doll! What cha doing out of bed so early. Why, it can't be past six in the morn'"

"Actually, it's 9:22. The bus is late. So am I. And in more than one way."

"Bust? Slow down! I don't even know your name and I’m certain I don’t catch your drift."

"Heather, and you are?"

"The man sitting next to you!" He smiles, "Let me guess. Hmmm, you're waiting for the bus to take you to your boyfriend's house."

"That's right."

"Ok, let me guess again. You're going to work."

"That's right."

"Would ya like to see my place? Ain't nothin' more than a run down jail cell. But there's plenty o' room ta get busy and I'm in the mood, if you know what I mean. I don't want to be forward or make you feel cheep, but..."

"Do you have nail clippers?"

"Madam, I do."

"Could I borrow them? If you say yes, I'll have sex with you."

"Hmmm, can I tie you up?"

"Yes."

"I reckon so then. Let's go!"

The man stands and offers his hand to Heather. She takes it and walks to his studio. The entrance is located directly behind the bus stop.

Inside the room, we see the man strip down. Heather is nude and strapped to the four corners of a bed. She pulls, tightening the leather knots. Naked, he snatches a large knife off a window ledge. He steps to the bedside and places one knee between her spread legs, the other by her pretty head. Heather forces a nervous smile and glances hungrily at his erect phalus.

The man leans close to her face, holds the knife inches above her smooth stomach and says, "You just tell me when and I'll cut these straps that bind you to life, ya hear?"

Heather nods and wriggles in anticipation. The man stabs his knife into the bed frame. He arranges his knees between her thighs. She emits a soft moan as he begins to caress her love muffin. "Don't forget I'm already late to work," she says in a voice that would melt any man's heart and stiffen his cock.

The man lowers his body over Heather and rubs his chest against her firm breasts. "I'm gonna make you bust those bonds lil' lady!" he whispers in her ear. Heather tests her restraints again.

"Oh! I want to move! I want to feel you so bad!" she shimmers.

The man places strong hands on Heather's face and gently works his way down her body. His tough leathery hands glide over her rib cage. His head hovers inches above her upper torso and nibbles at hard nipples. She squirms. His hand slides between her legs and resumes massaging her soft public mound. It was the softest pubic mound he had ever touched! His fingers separate and he pushes one into Heather. She arches and slowly rests back onto the bed letting him explore. "You're really stewed up!" he says with a grin.

"Fuck me now!" she growls.

He rubs Heather's sex juice around her vaginal port before placing his throbbing muscle against her inner thigh. Careful not to slide the sword inside its scabbard, he puts his face in front of hers, supporting his body with tattooed arms. He slides his dick along her labia without penetrating. This continues for some time until Heather can wait no longer and bucks furiously at her restraints. The man pushes his hard cock into her cunt. It disappears into the orifice and emerges glistening with sex.

"Ride me hard, cowboy man!" Heather bellows.

The man begins to fuck with unchecked passion. Heather's body bounces on the old bed. Her left arm breaks free of it's leather restraint. She wraps it around the middle of the man and pulls him harder into her. Had she not recently clipped and filed her nails she would have scratched him rather severely.

"Oh God!" she wails, "Oh God! Fuck me harder!"

The man holds himself aloft Heather's heat with arms outstretched to support his upper half. His lower half grinds into her again and again. Heather checks her heart rate. She moves her hand away leaving a distinct palm print just above her quivering saline boobs. It quickly flushes red with blood. She grabs his right biceps and oscillates with the violent rhythm the man is possessed by. They are at the verge of mutual climax when the man suddenly stops. He picks the knife up and cuts her legs free.

"Turn over, girl," he says urgently.

She twists over and puts her ass in the air. He reties her left wrist and positions her bottom right where he wants it. With a sturdy grip on her hips he penetrates her again. His steaming love divet makes sparks as it pumps in and out. Heather muffles screams of ecstasy into the mattress as his thick shaft dives further into her body than should be possible.

"You monster! You animal!" exclaims Heather. Then suddenly she pulls her body forward. His penis explodes out of her with an audible 'pop'. Heather had managed to untie herself while the man was busy. She turns around and pushes him onto his back. With lightning fast reflexes she maneuvers the man's dick into her mouth and sucks on it with lingering strength. The man lies on his back. He screams unmentionable curses upon god. His body convulses and he begins to cum in her mouth with out warning. Heather sucks at the fountain trying to capture all the seed. It is to much. Juices dribble from the corners of her mouth and nose and smear her face and hair. He shudders with pleasure. Heather hears the bus outside.

She spits a wad of cum onto his stomach. "It's the bus! I've got to go!" She picks up her pile of clothes and runs out the door.

Bill opened his eyes. Beads of sweat evaporate off his forehead. He gasps to catch his breath. His pants were tangled around the bed post. Splotches of seminal moisture stained his new shirt. As if they were tainted with disease, the clothes quickly found their way into a hamper. Bill threw his body back onto the bed and lay naked.

"Could Delbert be right? Do I really want to suck my own cock?"

He brought his knees to his chest. Then, with a grunt, he lifted his lower body into the air. As he rested precariously on his neck and shoulders, Bill inspected his genitals up close. Close, but not close enough. He bent his back to the limit. Tongue outstretched, he was still hopelessly far from the tip of his still throbbing penis. He flopped back onto the mattress.

"Why would I want something I simply can not do?" Bill asked out loud.

He closed his eyes.

And she appeared.

Kim's body dripped with sweat. She leaned over the railing. He knew this girl. He wanted to know this girl. She stood at the top of a train-signaling tower. Bill was right behind her. She looked down and saw three sets of train tracks 20 meters below. The tower felt as if it were swaying. Bill pawed at her body and tried to undo her bra strap. The heat of the night was almost unbearable. She didn't want it to get any worse, yet she wanted Bill more than she understood. An appetite for destruction. A vengeance born in her past and executed in her remembered present. Reaching behind her back, she unfastened the snap. Her mini skirt hiked up around her hips to reveal a wet snatch, glistening like a midnight mirage.

"Oh my god!" gasped Bill. "You're not wearing underwear!"

"It's to hot!" She leaned over the rail. Bill yanked her back.

"Don't do that! It's a long way down and I don't want to lose you now."

"I bet you don't," laughed Heather. "Why don't you stop worrying and start doing me. Show me what kind of action you got!"

This is not her. Alas.

But Bill is pumped. "Are you serious? Anybody could see us! We're in plain view. This is crazy!"

"To bad you're sane. Do, it." She rubbed her bare ass against his groin.

"Oh my god." Lance fumbled frantically with his pants.

Heather pulled the train tower railing against her stomach. She mounted the edge and put the railing at the level of her ass. With feet latched around support posts and hands clenching the rail, she flaunted her flesh in the face of gravity. Heather's love hole sprouted into view for Lance's convenience. He touched it. She peered down at the train tracks far below. A fall would mean certain death. Her body made a tight right angle, the upper half parallel and legs perpendicular to the earth.

"Oh, my god! Be careful!" Lance grasped at Heather's pelvis. His caution dissolved at the sight of her clit dripping juice down a slender leg. He rubbed his cock in it. Unable to restrain himself for more than a moment, he entered her. His lance was long and hard, but slid easily into Heather's well lubricated orifice. She pushed against the rail, into Lance. It was the best of times.

The pace quickened. Lance pulsated his body against the girl rapidly, almost violently. Heather couldn't hold the rail. He was pushing to hard. Over the edge. Her fragile pelvis grinding into cold steel. She lost control. Her upper body flailed wildly, far above the earth, completely unsupported except for her waist and Lance's rod, which felt to be crammed into her chest cavity.

Heather gazed up in shear ecstasy and horror as a massive freight train approached. It's powerful horn sent a spinal chill through the hot night air. Ceasing his undulations, Lance looked up to see the train draw neigh. "Don't stop now. I want it harder and faster than you've ever given it!" challenged Heather.

He did. Heather let go of the rail posts, letting her legs fly into the air. Lance grabbed her shoulders and pushed her further over the edge. They teetered, bucking at the edge of doom. What a way to die! She wrapped her legs around his back. She would not fall alone. Her hips, supporting all her weight, began to ache. She reached for the railing. Back to the edge. But Lance held her to far gone. His cock moved inside her. She couldn't tell what was real. Sensual overload. Everything at once. A deafening noise roared up at her. Falling. A blinding light burned her retinas. And then nothing. And then... Lance's scream resonated with the clicking of wheels on metal. The world rushed by. A cool breeze flowed past and turned into a strong headwind. Lance pulled her back. They laid down on the metal grated floor of the tower as the tail end of the freight train passed underneath.

The relief Heather felt was intense. Her hips had red marks from the railing. She stretched her body and bumped against Lance. He was warm with the foul odor of labor. She moved away from him.

"That was great!" moaned Lance.

Heather ignored the comment. The wind followed the train into oblivion. Warm semen dribbled out of her and along the folds of her ass. The humid, sticky summer night returned.

Exhausted, Bill drifted off to cucumber-land. Ten minutes latter he awoke with the startling realization that he would be late to the party! "Time to rock and roll! I'm not going to let Maria spoil this for me. No way!"

 

Chapter 6: Bill Gets Tippsy

 

The tiny Toyota peeled out of the White Hen parking lot. Bill fish-tailed the car within inches of a pick-up truck. "Fuck yourself, asshole!" yelled a group of teenagers behind him. Bill shrugged it off. He bopped his head to the post-industrial alternative beat. A street signal turned red. He stopped next to a sports futility vehicle.

&black out&

"Fuck-um," he thought. "The light will turn green. They'll be gone. But I'll live on!" (anticoma imperative) He faced straight ahead to avoid eye contact. A muffled voice called him a fucking dork. (keep your guys on the prize) Bill put in a new tape and cranked the volume to 100%. His thoughts raced. "It's Saturday, Saturday night, man. Saturday fuck-in night!! Who cares!! Assholes. What a bitch." (noble savage)

Aggravated, Bill shook his head and glanced over at a jeep full of chicks who were eyeing him. He felt cool again, and began to smile until he noticed they were laughing and giving him the finger [the middle one]. (what kind of post modernist critical social theory perspective are you trying to foist on an innocent readership? You must be a Libra. Fuck your nails.)

He gasped and looked away. "All damn bitches," he mumbled, thought of Maria and winced. His heart sank. "All a bunch of dumb tight-ass fucking cunts! Fuck um ALL man, who fucking cares!! FUCK YEAH!!!" Bill lunged at his car stereo and turned up the base. (downhill slalom epiphyte) The truck and jeep took off, both still taunting and yelling obscenities. A large yellowish hocker hit his windshield, dead center, and a beer can bounced off his hood. Bill tried to act like he didn't care. His hand shot out as it remembered the cool sixer he'd just purchased at White Hen. (this is awfully lame, even for MTV)

"Fuck um," he thought. He cracked open a beer and slammed the can into his face, splashing liquid over his head and shirt as he gulped. With his other hand he pounded the steering wheel. Someone behind him laid on the horn. Bill was at war with traffic. They were out to get him. They were closing in. Everywhere. Everybody. (looked to me as tho she had been blendered) "Fuck um - fuck um - fuck um..." repeated over and over in his mind at a hyper speed. (patrimony)

"Kill!" Bill shouted with anger in tune with the rock singer. "Your!" He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth with all the aggression he had. "Television! Yeah!" Release came swiftly as he screamed. (member checks - release is always accompanied with television - only preparation-h can spell relief...) Sobbing, he exploded and punched at all reachable areas of his car. From the corner of his eye, he saw a squad car at White Hen. Bill realized the light had been green for a while. (thus conscience doth make cowards of us all)

"Fuck um."

He peeled out.

By the time Bill had evaded the police (high speed car chase) and arrived at the bowling alley parking lot, he was wasted on three beers. (bring the war home; kill your parents) Moreover, he was convinced that he only liked girls and could have any one he choose. (except his dear mother) He finally shook the confused, displaced feeling that had emerged from the talk with Delbert. All the insane talk! It had messed with his mind and disturbed his soul. Bill bitterly thought, (never flush. varf lip smooq me) "If I see that jerk tonight, I'll tell him exactly what I think of his advice and his music and I don't care who its in front of." (a beautiful weekend. my lilies & tulips have unseated the frost) He took a long satisfying chug off his fourth beer, wiping his lip with his sleeve and belching loudly when he was through. "God! That man is out of his head!" Bill stumbled out of the car and looked towards the sky. (participant observation / action research)

The fresh midsummer evening air was warm and kind. Bill's shadow-like figure wavered in the twilight next to the open car door. He stared up at the few glimmering stars (great old ones) in worshipful aw. The tails of his long black trench coat flapped around his legs in a lazy dance. (awk!) (non-linear geometry. cthlulhu ftahgn!!!! Augh!!!!)

"So many worlds," Bill gasped, "so many hells and heavens, saints and sinners. I am a part of it." (help me. please help me. i can't find my shoes.) (deep) A gentle breeze caressed his face. He took in a breath. "God, air is good (food). Thank you. I know what I want and I need what I want. Air is everywhere," he smiled mischievously (Bill Cosby) and closed his eyes. "I want to fly!" (FARP)

Bill let out an 'Umph' (umph) as he threw his can of beer as far as he could. He wondered if he could run and catch it before it hit the ground. Why not?! With that he took off into the night, arms pumping, (I want to hurt myself) wirey legs stroking at maximum potential. (dense chocolate)

"I got legs and I know how to use them! I try to run away but I can’t loose them!" sang Bill. "I want to be free!" His body whirled as adrenaline flowed though his cardio-vascular system. (wavy gravy) "Yes!" he shouted and kicked into overdrive.

Time stood still. He leaped far and long into the air, reveling in the raw pleasure of the wind whipping against his face. (words idol oceanographers institute memorial pile of diving bricks harry stool shtup) He forget about the beer can and left the past 24 hours of confusion far behind him, fleeing back to the cool, witty, alternative, smart guy that he was before. (Prolife! Prolix! Pubie!) (do over)

"Yo! Bill!" Bill was yanked out of this fantasy by a familiar voice in the distance. He stopped abruptly and squinted towards the voice. (who is speaking hear?) Across the parking lot he saw his work buddies silhouetted by the bowling alley entrance. Smoke and rock music spurted from the opening. The guys waited for him. Bill smiled. (antipathy)

"Bill, What are you doin! Did you loose Maria out there or something!" One of the guys made a loud 'Owe!' sound. The others laughed and whistled.

"I'll be right there, dudes!" Bill shouted from across the parking lot. He stumbled over something on the ground. What he saw made him laugh at the amazing prank fate had played on him. The can of beer he threw was right at his feet, gleaming in the moonlight! (glorification of the ordinary - in touch with the mind of the common man and his entity) Bill thoughtfully picked up the can and jogged towards the bowling alley, drinking the beer and laughing all the way. It was coming back together after all.

"So Bill, where's that Oriental chick you keep talking about? Did she find out how small your dick is and ditch you!?" The guys laughed and slapped each other on the back.

“Oriental is a racist term. You’re supposed to call them Asian.”

Norm, captain of the bowling team, with his rough long-haired good-old-boy looks and 699.95$ (under 700$) cowboy boots grabs Bill’s arm. "Silence! You're late. We already started the game.  Hurry up and get your bowling shoes." Norm clumsily slurped beer foam from a plastic cup.

"Hey, I'm drunk already...And Maria ain’t no slope-head. She’s a Latin babe!" Bill started to brag but was interrupted. (Beowulf's #? mom muts Grendel *#4)

"Where's your shirt? It cost the team 50 bucks to make up those shirts and you didn't even wear yours!" Bill glanced around at his team mates. (these people are illiterate morons) Everyone was wearing an official team shirt, either with a big flannel button down over it or some kind of long sleeve thermal thing under it. The team shirts themselves were tye dyed concert tees with 'Hoodlums' in black bulky iron-on lettering under the name 'Grateful Dead'. Their personal nick-names were on the back. The shirt style was actually Bill's idea, and he had paid for them. He picked them up for the team at the last Dead show and got the lettering done at the mall. The guys said they would pay him back once he had them customized. The day he presented the shirts to the team, they simply put them on and didn't pay. No one even spoke of owing money. Not a single one of them had expressed the slightest gratitude. Regardless, thanks to Bill, the Hoodlums had the coolest team shirts in the league. Norm shoved Bill into a bowling ball washing machine.

"Hey!" Bill yelled. Before Bill could kick his ass, Norm went to bowl his shot. STRIKE! Bill took a seat in front of his team's alley. "Sorry I forgot my shirt. I wear it all the time," he apologized to no one in particular. The guys were all busy applauding Norm.

Mike, a short guy with disfigured teeth, spoke up, "Since Bill didn't wear his shirt tonight, he has to drink 3 shots of Jack, chug two 7&7s and one blow job in 15 seconds and buy us all unlimited rounds of beers for the night!" (Lawrence Kohlburg)

"That's cool!" declared Jack, a team mate who had been making out with an unattractive girl on his lap. (rule-based moral moron development hierarchy)

"Yeah!"

"OK!" Bill said and handed Mike two 20's. Mike put the money in his pocket.

"Let's get shit faced, dude!"

"Sweet!" Replied Bill without knowing why. The two walked to the bar.

Bill sat at the bar counter. He prepared to slam shots as the guys picked up their free beers. He started with the blow job (of course) and quickly worked through the 7&7s.

"He's doin' it! Three Jacks to go!" Mike yelled then began to dance to the Grateful Dead song, 'Sugar Magnolia.' Bill rhythmically grabbed at the shots. He finished to a light spattering of applause and realized that deep down he had never, no matter how hard he tried, felt close to these people. He decided to make conversation.

"Hey, Mike. Norm. How long have you guys driven for the rental company, anyway?" He thought they weren't going to answer. They were talking with a group of excited girls about a famous basketball player.

Norm turned his eyes to Bill and began to speak, (petulant urban white loaf) "Bill, I've been driving for Bob’s rental company since I was in high school, and that's a hell of a long time, dude." Norm's voice was low and smooth. He lit a cigarette and leaned back, "I've been laid off three times, walked in union strike marches, and gotten four raises. And throughout it all my bowling average has never fallen below 160." There was silence after Norm spoke. (authenticity of ambiance)

"Really?" Bill was about to politely ask Norm how much money he made. One of the girls asked Norm how old he was.

He blew a stream of smoke into the air and answered, "Twenty-nine and in my prime!" The girls looked at each other in awe then asked him if his name was really Norm.

"My full name is Jacob Matthew. The name Jacob is gay, so people call me Norm ‘cause I ain’t no faggot!" When he finished talking he chugged a beer. The girls gawked.

"Oh." (Oh. I thought this was steam coming off his body)

"I think your name is cool!"

"Yeah, Jacob is a cool name. It's so unusual!"

"Yeah!"

The girls praised Norm and asked if they could touch his hair. (Awesome!)

"Sure, go ahead." Norm shook his head. Bill watched as the girls squealed and commented on how soft it was. Norm left to bowl his shot. The girls and Bill eyed Norm's ass as he walked away. (you pathetic slob)

"Hey, Mike. How long have you been driven, I mean driving?" Bill noticed his words begin to slur. He felt sick. Mike was telling jokes and talking about classic rock with the girls. His cigarette smoke burned Bill's eyes.

"I don't know."

Bill was confused.

"I've been partners with Norm for about a year. Working with him is the best!"

"Yeah!" said one of the girls "I’m sure it is!"

Mike licked his brown teeth and continued, "Every morning, we start off by roasting a big ass fuckin' bong man, passin' it back and forth in the cab until we're both completely baked off our asses! Ha! No one knows cause we don't ever fuck up. In fact we work better that way!"

"Really?" gawked a smiling girl with lipstick on her teeth.

"Wow!" (APA format! Do over)

"I get high," confirmed another.

"Yeah!" Mike continued, "We get so hungry thought, you know, the munchies!" The girls laughed knowingly and nodded their heads, saying that it happens to them, too. Bill felt displaced. (portfolio management priority)

"So then, we go and get a shit load of White Castles and a six pack, park on the side of the road, and get high again!" Mike and the girls erupted in wild laughter.

"Oh my God!" (non canonical!)

"You so crazy!"

"Yep! We are! Our life dream, I mean the best thing that could happen to us, would be a job driving a beer semi! That would rock! We could just pull over, hop in the back, grab some brews for free, we'd always be drunk!"

(Pee Wee Herman)

"No shit! Har Har Har."

"You are always drunk," Bill interjected in a weak attempt to insult Mike. It had the opposite effect.

"You’re absolutely right, dude, I am, indeed!" Mike answered thoughtfully. Again, everyone laughed. "I got some weed… If you ladies want to get high?"

Short pause. "Sure." (shocking violent stupidity)

"Cool! We'll meet in the hall, by the bathroom. I'll get the other guys."

Annoyed, Bill tried again to break into the conversation to insult Mike. "Oh! I get it! That must be why your cab is full of empty Preparation-H tubes. I've heard what White Castles do to a person! That must really suck!" (no, use a spoon)

Mike and the girls ignored Bill and left.

They didn't really know him. Tonight should be a night where everyone came together and communicated on a basic level. Who was he kidding? He didn't give a fuck. (yearning)

"I'm such an asshole," Bill mumbled. He was buzzed. The room began to spin. "She's a nice girl and I treat her like a whore. No wonder."

"What’s your problem, Bill?" Mike was picking up his ninth free beer.

"Ahh, Maria couldn't come. I miss her, too." Bill looked down into his drink and felt sorry for himself.

"Bill, pay the bartender."

Mike left. Bill shook his head back and forth. (i miss you the most when i feel happy) Someone from the back of the bar yelled out, "Hey, I could make her cum for ya, buddy!" A bunch of people were laughing around him, at him. He wondered how loud he was talking. (waffle) Bill got up to rejoin his team by their lane. He missed a step and fell over a waitress. His body felt satisfyingly numb as he laid face down on the cool floor. Laughter roared through his ears. He heard someone mention the name, Delbert Holingsburth. A girl kicked Bill with a pointy shoe in his eye and called him a fucking dork. Bill curled into a fetal position and felt his body sink into the floor. (i have never seen such a trite cliché in my 20 years of study)

The back of Bill's neck ached. He moaned and rubbed it. His head was still spinning. (Aren't you ashamed of yourself?) He uncovered his eyes to find himself in a park on a warm spring day. A giant merry-go-round slowly revolved before him.

"Daddy, my ball. Roger took my ball!"

"Its his ball too, Suzette. Jesus says to share with everyone. Do unto others as you..." The scent of warm dew and freshly cut grass filled his nostrils. Children played. Their parents watched in fear. One little girl pointed at Bill and said, "Look, Mammy! A squirrely!"

For a moment, Bill thought she meant him. He turned and looked directly behind himself and saw a small brown shape dart up a leafy shade tree. The little girl threw a crust of bread at him. Without thinking, Bill ate it. The girl laughed and reached out to touch him.

"No! She might hurt me!" Bill panicked and scurried off the playground ride. (I'll fucking kill you. Kill each and every one of you.)

 

 

Chapter 7: Gaze into Her Eyes

 

"Shit!" Bill hit the breaks hard. Five full bottles of ice cold Miller Genuine Draft crashed to the floor with a shattering sound. A sixth, half empty, was safe in Bill's hand. Bill focused on the traffic light. Green. But was it green the way he wanted it? He looked around. No one. The car lurched forward and stalled.

"Bastards," Bill mumbled. He slammed the rest of his beer in one gulp.

Bill realized he was late to the work party. It was held every weak at a sleazy south side bowling alley / bar. (sweet) To compensate for his tardiness, he decided to make a stop at White Hen and pick up a six pack. (meat) By drinking six beers before arriving, he hoped to be 'up to speed' for his triumphant entrance. (beat) Glass shards sloshed in beer under his seat. This was a minor distraction. (discreet) He was having a hell of a time keeping his car on the road. Thousands of work hours behind the wheel were finally paying off. Or so he believed.

Eventually, he arrived. The car door opened. Bill fell out. He picked himself up. The bottle in his hand was still empty. He looked at it awkwardly, then lifted it to his mouth.

"Damn! I need another beer!" he shouted and threw the bottle into the night. It smashed onto the parking lot pavement some distance away.

Bill glanced nervously around. A neon sign buzzed bright green letters above the main entrance. Bill gawked at it and read out loud, "B. O. W. L." Saccadic twitch. His head swiveled around. Adjacent to the bowling alley was a deserted lot. Light reflected off the shards of a thousand broken beer bottles. "More beer!"

Bill left his car door ajar and ran into the field of debris. An incredible sensation overtook him. The wind blew against his face. It felt, unexplainable. He was determined to never stop! Faster and faster he ran. He forgot about the beer and sprinted across the lot. He tripped on a curb and fell into the street.

It was a warm October evening in the park on Saturday night. In the distance you could hear the busy cars and people talking and laughing loudly (city sounds). The glow of the city lights illuminated Josh's taught, ebony face. They were sitting in a deep cove within the park, away from everyone and everything, where all was still. They could be together without guilt or persecution (dirty faggots). No fighting to defend their love, only the enjoyment of these moments few and far between. Cherished like a golden ring worn by a queen.

"I love you," Mark whispered. He shook his head slowly back and forth, taken back by Josh's beauty. "Sometimes, when I'm around you, I feel as if I'm not man enough for you. Not hot enough or, well, big enough. I mean, compared to yours. And you've had so many others..."

A deep heart-filled soulful laugh rose from within Josh's chest and exploded from his mouth as he raised his head toward the sky, catching moon beams with his strong teeth, and star dust in his tight, shiny afro. A small moan escaped from Mark's lips at this sight.

"Mark," the mighty black man said to the fat, bald, short, pathetic, gay-because-no-woman-would-ever-want-him, middle aged white man, "You are exactly what I want. You please me, and satisfy me fully! When you get hot, you're hot man!"

"Hey," the other faggot said, "you're not so bad yourself."

Bill was OK. He pulled himself out of the gutter, brushed at his jeans and combed back his hair. Time to party! He still needed that second beer! He carefully picked his way back toward the bowling alley. Inside, he was instantly greeted by familiar faces.

"Bill! You made it! We thought you'd blown us off for some bitch! All right! Grab a brewski! Let's bowl!!"

Norm saddled up to Bill. "Bill, are you alright? You look tired. Where's Maria?"

"She couldn't make it. Fuck her. Let's party!"

"That's the spirit! You're on my team. It's league night, and we’re trying to make it into finals." Norm led Bill to their alley.

Bill sat next to a Mexican guy wearing oversized snakeskin cowboy boots. Bill gawked at the boots. They looked alive. Norm introduced Bill to the Mexican guy. Bill instantly forgot the name.

"What's up?" offered Bill.

The Mexican glanced at Bill then left to bowl. Bill watched his ass. He had a funny walk. It appeared as if he'd been knifed in the spine. Suddenly, Bill became fashion conscious. He noticed that all the dudes in the bowling alley / bar were wearing bowling shoes or cowboy boots; snap-on-tool belts or baseball hats; and Grateful Dead t-shirts or fake mustaches. Bill looked at his own feet. He was surprised to find bowling shoes neatly tied in double bow knots.

Some one yelled his name.

Bill walked to the bowling lane and picked up a random ball. It was heavy. He was positive the bowling ball in his hands weighed at least a hundred pounds. He felt powerful wielding that massive, black sphere. Time to knock the shit out of some pins. Bill bowled. The ball slammed into the gutter.

"Shit! I need a beer." Bill skipped his second shot and went to the bar. He returned with a thick-bottom mug of foamy brew. The Mexican guy was talking.

"Man!!! My babe loves to watch herself get banged. I mean it, dudes, my hot tamale of a girlfriend is a Mexican mama with an appetite for seeing her chocha getting porked on videotape! Cool news for me, ay?"

No one appeared to be listening. Bill sat down and sipped at his beverage. The Mexican spotted Bill as a potential audience and focused his verbal delivery accordingly.

He continued, "Hey man! I tell you. It all started when me and Rita rented a porn flick and proceeded to fuck like banshees. I'd never seen my little muchacha so horny, so I asked her about it. I'm a sensitive guy, all right? Don't laugh, it works. 'The camera, I like,' Rita articulated eloquently."

"Eloquent?" thought Bill.

Norm grabbed Bill by the shoulders and began massaging tight muscles. "You're up, Bill. See if you can manage a little better than last time. We're loosing."

"Elohim? Quently?" Bill slurred. He stumbled to the alley and bowled two more gutter balls.

"Bill!" moaned his teammates. Bill apologized and found a seat far removed from the Mexican. Someone in the next lane was yelling at him.

"Pussies!" came the voice. Bill looked over to see a man in his late thirties. The guy yelled 'pussies' a few more times then bowled a strike.

Norm sat down next to Bill. "Ignore him. He's an asshole."

"Who is he?"

"His name's Derkin. His buddies call him Derk. He's a regular. Acts like he owns the place. I think he drives a truck for Wonder Bread."

Bill cast his gaze toward Derkin. He had rugged good looks and wore a red and black flannel shirt. "He's an asshole?" Bill thought Derkin's ass was OK.

"Yeah. Dude, how do I put this politely? Would you mind not bowling? No offense, but you really suck tonight! Go waste time at the bar or play darts or hit on chicks or something until you can do better than a gutter ball."

"That’s cool man. I could use another beer."

Norm gave Bill another quick neck massage then left.

The Mexican guy loomed close. Bill ducked. Abandoning his nearly full beer, he returned to the bar for another. He slapped money down and was promptly served.

Bill took a tiny sip. Then it hit him like a bag of armchairs. Across the bar, at the furthest stool sat a girl. Not just any girl. She was beautiful. She was THE ONE! Bill drooled into his beer. She was writing something. Locks of platinum blond hair draped splendidly over her leather jacket. On her hands were jet-black gloves. A pearl in the slime. He was amazed. Could this be a dream? She glanced up.

Bill jerked his beer toward his face. It sloshed all over his pants. Bill was desperate not to blow this. He didn't want to look like a fool. He ran back to his bowling buddies and hid.

"OK. Calm down." He thought, "That was an angel. She was to good to be real. I've got to meet her. She's the only one that can keep me from loosing my mind. She's so fine! She's got to be mine..." Bill giggled to himself.

The Mexican guy slid next to him and continued his tale, "Being no fool, I played the role of a good brainwashed American consumer and bought a video camera at the local mall. Rita got wet just thinking about what was in store for her Latin labia. Yeah, a Goddamn spectacle for sure."

Bill nodded and tried to ignore him. -How can I get her attention without making myself look like an ass? First I've got to wait for this beer to dry. Maybe If I bowl a strike? What am I thinking!? That's a horrible idea! I should just go up to her and ask her out. No. That's to blatant. I need something original. Chicks dig that. Yeah.-

"We fucked, sucked and ducked in front of the camera's eye. Rita was on my dick like rice on beans and I was not complaining. Just wait you fuckhead, that wasn't the good part. Yeah, it gets better!"

Bill excused himself and headed for the rest rooms. The men's room was filled with pot smoke. Through the haze he could make out a group of four or five guys huddled together in a circle. Bill hit the stainless steel ignition button of the hand drier. Luke-warm air blasted out. Bill strained to lift his beer soaked pants to the nozzle.

"Mike! That's some fine weed, man!" exclaimed someone over the drone of the air drier.

"Hey, check it out! Bill is rapnig the blow dryer! Hahahaha"

Ten minutes later Bill left the bathroom, confident that he didn't look like he'd wet his pants. He was feeling pretty sober. He glanced to the bar. There she was. Still writing. "One round at bowling, then I'm going over there," determined Bill.

He approached his group. "Norm! I feel stable. Mind if I get back in the game?"

Norm didn’t mind, but gave Bill a doubtful look. Bill took his turn. He bowled a gutter ball. People laughed. It was OK. He had another shot. He could salvage this frame. A spare would save face. The automatic-ball-return fed him the ammo. Bill assumed a rigid bowling stance. The building fell silent. He started hard at each pin. All eyes were on Bill. No pressure. His body went into motion. He stepped on his untied shoelace and tripped, fell into the lane and set off foul alarms. The ball rolled into the gutter. This was outrageous, even for Bill and EVERYONE laughed.

Bill rolled into the gutter.

Norm picked Bill off the floor and sat him down in front of the lane. Bill was in a drunken stupor. His head rolled from side to side and his mouth hung open. (she can turn a phrase) Bill laughed to himself and mumbled something. Someone asked him to bowl their shot. Bill answered, "Sure, dude!" (intrepid)

Bill's trench coat was twisted around his legs. He struggled with it for a moment until he noticed he was wearing combat boots on the lane. He pretended to wipe his feet. Everyone laughed. A stupid noise came out of him. He saw girls laughing and felt cool. (inevitable) All eyes were on Bill. He picked up the ball, assumed the position, and shot it down the lane. The ball hit the gutter so hard that it jumped into the