| “Naw, you don’t want to go in there,” Wes said. “That’s one of the roughest bars in Dallas. Mostly pimps and cutthroats.” I’ve always figured my cousin as a straight-up-the-middle kind of guy, so the little dive he described across the street from the boring bar we were leaving sounded like it belonged on the tour. Glad I was driving. As a time traveler from 1978 Fort Worth I was looking for anything exciting in Big D, and with Wes as a tour guide for Steve and I, my sights were set on the superlative. It had all been a disappointment with the three or four bars that came before, no ravishing beauties declaring their accessibility, no hot scene, and even in that last ominous den not even the threat of violence from the disco dragons. Blues. In those days I was always out to bust some new cherry, because it still wasn’t weird enough for me. I’d gladly try just about anything, short of homosexuality (I tried to think about it once, but it didn’t appeal to me) and heroin (accidentally smoked some – but who likes to puke?). There wasn’t a whole lot I hadn’t dipped into by then, so I became miserably bored quite easily and was always wanting to move on and check out some place else. The biggest problem was that as I was getting bored I drank more than I should, sometimes ending up drunk, stupid and bored. Even then, sometimes luck would run with you. Wes was a real blade then in his younger days, before he turned into a serial househusband and gardener. When closing time came at yet another dance hall, he had talked some little gal into splitting with us, or him, actually, back to his place. She sat between Wes and I up front while Steve faded out in the back seat. The girl had been draining hurricanes at the bar and was as lit as you’d want any strange bar pickup to be. I think her name was Pam, anyway, she was laughing and pecking on Wes, who naturally was goading her on, and Pam began stripping off her blouse and bra. Now I was cheering her on, but future stick-in-the-mud Wes worried those clothes back onto her. Aw, come on, man, I told him, if the girl wants to get naked let’s not get in her way. But Wes always liked to eat his pie behind closed doors, and it was his tongue in her ear, so a red flag was thrown on that play. Just you wait, Wes. Back at my cousin’s apartment, a change of plans awaited his notice. Wes’ live-in girlfriend, whom he thought was away visiting family, was in fact under a blanket on his couch being consoled by a male friend. Leaving their four visitors in the living room, Wes and his old lady played a furious match of “Who the hell is that?!” which ended with the departure of her friend and the introduction of the bar pickup as my date. Before the dust had settled, Wes excused himself and his lady for the night, leaving the living room to the three of us, still blinking our eyes. A survivalist, my first instinct led me to plop out on the only couch in the room. I was too spent to drive back to Fort Worth, and I sure didn’t want to drive the chick somewhere across town at that hour. Steve laid himself down on the floor without a fuss and was out like a light. I watched the girl circle the room a bit before she lay down on the floor looking lost and exhausted. I let her toss and turn on the hard floor for a while, then graciously offered to share the sofa with her, my sly reason for grabbing the couch in the first place. Without saying much more than a grumble, Pam reluctantly crawled in beside me and endured the narrow space-necessitated position of lying with her head on my arm. Her body language told me she had no romantic interest in me whatsoever, so I just closed my eyes and went to sleep. It didn’t matter to me, I was tired anyways. I don’t know how much later it was, but I was awakened by the little lady’s fist slamming into my chest. Wonderful, I thought, she was slugging me in her sleep. “Wake up, wake up,” I said, shaking her. “You’re dreaming ... and hurting me with it.” Pam mumbled a half-awake apology and went back to sleep. I drowsed off also, only to wake up again for round two of the same bout. “C’mon,” I said. “You’re safe. I’m just trying to sleep here, so give it a rest.” More of her mumbles followed by silence, I’m drifting away, and the damn bell rings again. Pulling her fist away from my face, it occurred to me that most likely it was the girl’s subconscious defense system punching and pushing at the stranger lying so close to her, and that she couldn’t sleep peacefully without feeling comfortable and safe beside me. In other words, she required intimacy. It was too early in the morning to begin a bonding conversation with her, and I wasn’t about to give up the couch, so when I arrested her fist and woke her up the third time I told her softly, “It’s all right, you’re safe with me,” and started balling her. When I rolled on top of her and put my lips on hers, she at first was tense and frowning, letting me know that she was pissed by the whole equation, but she needed it more than she didn’t want it and let go completely. Silently I removed her pants, then stirred her with my fingers for a while. Then I rose and stood by her head, happy to find she would be cooperative, sucking what I put in her mouth. I knew there was nothing personal about this sex, that she rejected me in spirit if not body, and that it was no more than an attempt to establish a make-believe level of intimacy that would permit sleep for the both of us. But I had to keep things righteous in my own mind, according to my code of ethics, so I positioned her face down and tail up, the least intimate of positions, then worked her generic hole with mean strokes, At first I tried to be quiet about it, stopping at times to stare at Steve across the room and wonder if he was awake and watching us – not that it really mattered – but as my distaste with the situation grew and I dealt out more brutality with the thrusts of my hips, the couch began to rock and squeak then bang loudly against the wall as Pam started moaning like a she-wolf. I was sure the noise awakened Wes and informed him that his new friend had found someone else to play with, and that gave me a feeling as warm as her hostile juices running down my thighs. Once I soaked her we settled down, curled up and slept the sleep of angels. There weren’t any more blows springing from her side of the couch, only an easy snore and content smacking of the lips. Morning came with Wes’ housemate bustling about in the kitchen, asking Pam and I if we wanted biscuits with our breakfast. My couch partner and I awoke intertwined and naked, although someone had thrown a blanket over us. Hangovers all around, thick, sticky morning breath, thick, sticky crotches. Pam put on a most casual front, in fact she wouldn’t speak to me, hell, she didn’t even really acknowledge that I was sitting next to her, naked with her cum crusting up my pubic hairs. I asked for biscuits with my eggs. |
| Poemission |
| Beat Me, Screw Me, Let Me Sleep |