Monday, November 30, 2009

Psychic Worms.

Tecato Gusano
Reading I-Jest with my fully blaring Masta Killa in the Macbook foreground is like Gregorian Munkdom for Idiots—it don’t work so good. But I’m doing it anyways. Punishing myself. Counting down to my alone time, peeking at the sweet sin sophomore I’m staying with, Leila, as she slips into a black bra and a black cashmere dress. She’s got heathered charcoal hosiery on under the light thing. She makes a static sound around the place as she walks around. She’s got one of those tiny bodies that still has hips. Jittery. Some of those C-cup things that defy gravity. Gingerly. We’re talking about Paul Anka’s wife, Anna Anka, the Swede, the slut. AA thinks blowing Paul each morning is just all part of the contract, part of making sure he sticks around. I laugh. I tell her that sounds really awful. What’s Your Fantasy comes on. She puts her cleavage down on DFW and puts three of my fingers in her mouth. She looks in my eyes. She does it good. She giggles and heads out the door. Head to toes. Then I’m alone. I’m farting a lot and can feel a Nescafé miracle materializing down below. Haven’t gotten work done in a few days, but today feels good. I read on.

Micranots’ Illegal Business bashes through China White and Special K around page 200. Reading now feels like trying to rock a mean down tempo Freddie Freeloader pastiche on Ukelele to the sounds of 200 decibels of 21st Century Schizoid Man, or like Enter Sandman, Girl Talk style. Sugar and caffeine follow the K somewhere down the list. There is none in this little sweetheart’s house. No sugar. Only instant coffee and bio honey and no fat milk. My dump finally can’t wait any longer and I take it. I want to shower really bad, get myself all clean afterwards, but she’s taken the keys to the shower. She doesn’t like me using it, getting comfy, while she’s out. I am the lo-fi kept man. I don’t mind too bad. I move onto 202. Put on my Pleasure Palace shirt. I pop my collar. Pull on my American Apparel Classic Girl thermal tights. I ride it out.

“White people have a house, why don’t I get a house”. I’ve only stayed with girls over here. Girls just wanna help. They see the sickness, they see my own not-too-square one meal a day plan and man they just really wanna help, they want to feed me Turkish coffee, and cucumbers and goat cheese, Swedish bread (aka crackers) and caviar. Swedish caviar is like a granulous lox simili that comes out of a metal tube. They wanna set me up with a ‘buddy’ system. They want me to get out and feel it up, live! Rise! Tare it up with them. Ratchet to the Death. They want to make sure I get off on the right foot, preferably in the mid-morning. They give me blue balls and nights of the softest legs. Have me just lock the door when I leave. Text them at 3. TTYL. Right now it’s noon and I’m feeling the shakes and the last of yesterday’s wine is gone. Leila’s got a picture of her she’s been hauling around for 23 years. It ignores me, sipping on black licorice tea across from me. I fathom that I make out a deviated septum. “Big Girl” comes on. I pop some Ibuprofen.

I meet her later at her best friend’s house. I’ve got all my stuff in my bag, though I don’t tell her. My dump was a little rough and I can’t take my eyes off the shower, down the hall. We talk shit, this and that, London, internships, Berlin ticket checkers, punks. We talk Dizzee for a while. My girl in the black dress needs to take a call from home, takes it in the hall. Her hand leaves the nape of my neck and she smiles at me on her way out. Her friend gives me a sweet smile. She’s nice. Nessa. High waisted pleated skirt and burgundy Docs. We talk Love Will Tell Us Apart. Leila pops back in and puts her boots on. She’s gotta go for about an hour or so. I got everything in my bag, I tell her I’ll be fine. She comes over and pops her tiny red-haired body in my lap and gives me a wet, darting kiss, a little slap. Her friend smiles, looking away. And she prances off.

Nessa makes us some coffee, says she’ll make us some late lunch. I follow her into the kitchen. I sit on the counter, in front of her, on the cutting board. She waves a knife in my face. I’m gonna flippin’ kill you she says. Flippin’.  I tell her I’ll give her head if she lets me take a shower. She smiles. I take the shower first. I write a poem in my little notebook. I tie a little bag of potpourri I find in the bathroom around my dick. There’s some kind of door in the floor in there, which interests me for a moment. I can imagine wormy things crawling around in there I do a little mock krumping in the mirror to make sure my gear is all comfy. I pop some Dizzee on the ipod speakers in there. I come out smiling. She smiles too.

Later on we’re at some burlesque show the girls wanted to see. Something in the poor part of town, somewhere they can kind of slum it. Cover is cheap and drinks aren’t. We’re watching an Asian girl getting out of a suitcase ass first. It’s not bad at all and we all just mostly watch. Meanwhile Leila is acting like a girl out with friends and the new boyfriend for the first time. She puts her lips on my back. Nessa just smiles. Girlfriends. They brought along their other BFF, who is even prettier than they are. Her name’s Lena. Lena used to date a guy who slapped her around once in a while. She spoke to him the other day, speaks fondly of him now. Lena is a terribly well made girl. You can always count on the really really pretty one’s to put up with that type of stuff. I wonder why they do. I used to sleep with a girl who liked it, but that was different. That girl could’ve probably kicked my ass. Lena doesn’t have a mark on her face now. I give her a kind, honest smile. She sips on ten Euro Vodka Redbull and lets me drink half of it. She’s a sweetheart.

Later we’re out around the corner having a drink. Nessa and Leila are fucking hungry, so I tell them they should go down to the McDs around the corner or get a kebab or something. Me and Lena aren’t too hungry though, we’d rather just sit here and drink. So the two head off, and Nessa gives me a knowing smile, though I don’t think she knows anything. Lena gives me one of those too. She asks me where I’m sleeping tonight. I tell her I don’t know. She tells me she likes having a guy slap her around sometimes, whilst they fuck. Though she says Do It, not Fuck. I tell her I like doing the slapping sometimes. She orders us two more drinks. She has a sip, and I suck a bit of mine back. She’s got good leg and shows some of them. The corner we’re in is dark. She tells me she’s going to the men’s room. I suck on my drink some more. The waitress gives me a look I don’t appreciate. I take a trip to the men’s room.

Lena’s cheeks and neck are a little overly red and she’s just kind of laughing at the sight of it in the mirror. This girl is a good kind of crazy, I think. She let’s me at it with her compact and I fix it all up. I give her a long wet kiss. I give her my number. I like this one. When we get back to the table, the girls are back and they’ve got this look. I know that look. They brought us some fries. I lean in and grab my highball, get it down fast. They all exchange loud words in German that let’s me in on different levels of indignation and anger. Lena doesn’t seem too mad though. The girls keep yelling, but I can’t help but not really care. Still, I keep my eyes on Lena, feeling a little bad for her. I can hear the two getting up and I’m still looking at Lena, who is kind of trying to not look at me. And then one of the two slaps me. And Lena gives me a look. And I kind of ask if like she’ll still have me, without saying it. And she just gives a look that’s all wishes and glitter and a plea that says she just can’t. I can’t blame her.

Finally they’re gone, and I’ve got three drinks in my hands that I take to an empty stool at the bar. I go back to the table for my bag and I see Lena’s left a pack of Menthol Pall Malls and I grab those. I light one and suck on it, sitting down at the bar by the knowing waitress. She’s off now, tallying her cash, but I can tell she’s thinking something as I sit down. I give a sigh and push a drink over to her. She looks up and I just look back. I think a bit about Lena. I don’t feel too great, but, you know, I don’t mind too bad. The waitress finally gives me a little I-know-buddy type of shrug. I swivel around towards the bar. She orders us a couple of shots. Chartreuse. We suck them down. She orders another round. We let them sit. I get out I-Jest.

We get another round as the bar finally empties. I offer to pay, but she says she’s all good, these are her promos for the night. I work in bars back home and I let them know, tell the bartender I can do all the bottles. He says that’d be great and pours me another, pours himself one too and asks about my tattoo. I tell him my girlfriend did it, no compromise, I ask about his. We have another. She hands me a pile of twenties to recount for her. I do. Hand it back. I get done with the bottles and she asks if I’ve got any place to stay tonight. I tell her I don’t know. I check my cellphone. I got a new email from my girlfriend, back home. I write her back. The waitress is done, finally, and so is the bartender. They tell me to grab my stuff and follow them. We head down the street to their place. It’s not very nice, but better than I’ve seen in the past. Her name’s Becky she says. His name is Mort. I say Mort, and he says I know. We have a bit a chuckle and he asks if I want a beer and I say yaah sure. I sit on the couch and he hands me one and the three of us just sit around drinking, barely talking. Finally Mort gets up and says goodnight and heads to his room. Becky asks what the deal was with the whole night and I tell her. She gets it, I think. She gets a couple more beers and sits next to me. We drink for a little while longer. Finally she says her bed is big enough for two, but I can’t try any shit. I say that’s fine. I don’t mind. She’s not bad looking at all. She reminds me of someone. I tell her I’m tired, and we head into bed, get down to our undies and get in. I make a bit of a joke, I don’t really remember what, but it goes over well. She leans over me, all this reddish hair in my face, and turns the light off. We fall asleep in 5. I dream of tropics and cancer. Everyone dies in the dream.

I wake up around 4 and she’s right up on me. Her cold butt pressing up against my hip. I say Becky and she turns over closer, mouth right on my neck. I say Becky again and she gives a slow licking kiss, gives it a suck with a slight pop. My dick starts to rise. She folds one of my legs between hers and we kiss. She kind of smells like my girlfriend. My dick keeps rising. And I just take it from there. Keep on with it.

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