It Begins. . . .

It begins with awareness. I think, therefore…a quick slide down a knife-edge gleam of moonlight and splash, we’ll enter this world together. Easy-like. A long moment of queasy disorientation as the lights swim in my vision and come into focus.

I touch down, crouched on all fours in a puddle of oily muck at the ass-end of an alley that stinks to high-heaven of piss and rotting vegetables. Like backpacks always seem to do, mine rolls right off my shoulder smashing my hand and splashing my face with dank and foul-smelling water. Fuck,fuck,fukfukfukohfuk. At the alley proper, the lone streetlight bronzes the brick alley wall. Massaging my aching lower back, my breath fogging in the cold November air, I shoulder my dripping backpack and pick my way towards the street, emerging from around a pile of sodden pallets. In the coppery glow of the streetlights, the street is a million miles of emptiness stretching out in either direction. I got a ticket to….

“Broadway”

That’s what the battered streetsign says as I come up to the nearest cross street. I can’t tell what street I am on now, that half of the cross is a rusty, gnarled-up remnant that’s probably been there since the Holy Roman Empire. But I know where Broadway is (every city in America’s gotta have a Broadway) and approximately where I am now. At least I stayed in the right city. The ride all the way back from Portland (friggin, fucking Portland I tripped to, the first time…can you believe that?) took forever.

“Caution…caution…caution”, the yellow stoplight blinks its warning. Think about what you’re doing, going to do, did. I dunno….shit. I must do this if only to end the pain even though I will have never done it. That’s paradox for you baby. Charge of the Lightning Brigade and all that rot.

Speakin o’ which, I’d best be getting a move on if I’m gonna make this work. The clock on the wall of the dry cleaners winds its way past 3 AM. Soon, my love, soon. Gotta get a chariot, man. Got to break a trail across this slumbering city. I turn right along Broadway and start walking. Gotta get a car and I’m looking. I have removed my gun from the backpack and it’s shoved down the waistband of my pants. I can feel its cold, blue hardness through my tidy-whities and its (TRUE LOVE) time has come at last.

That poor black man driving the Buick has no idea (not a clue, but sane people don’t do this kind of shit) but he should have locked his car doors. He slows to a stop at the intersection, and the flickering red, green, and purple neon from the pawn shop window across the street lights up his face. I see it a fat, tired old man’s face reflecting the ghastly grey-greenness. CU-See me. Not. He doesn’t see me until I step forward from the shadows of the doorway and then it’s too late.

Jumping right in. Yep, just opening the door and hopping right in. One minute, darkness and some quiet R&B on the radio, next minute…skinny little white boy with a gun sittin in the passenger seat.

“Drive!” I shout, brandishing the gun at him and slamming the door shut. “Drive, goddammit, drive.” He stays frozen just a few more seconds, eyes wide with shock, mouth a small O of surprise. But then he romps on the pedal and the Buick roars to life, a screamin demon o’ Detroit steel and we are…..OFF!

(27 seconds pass)

“Slow down!” I scream over and over, madly, desperately, “Jesus Christ, slow the fuck down! I’m not gonna kill you, all right? I just need you to take me somewhere. You have to take me to the Interstate. That’s all I ask, all right? Just drop me off where I tell you and I won’t kill you. Just need to borrow your time for a while”.

He slows down to about 40 mph. “That’s better, “ I say. “Thank you. Just drive me to the Interstate and drop me off where I tell you.” He nods, eyes flicking towards me.

“Tell me your name,” I say.

He snorted a sharp, bitter sound and growls out “Walter.”

“Walter What?”

“Walter….Geisling.”

“Thank you, Walter Geisling, for driving me to the Interstate. It is a necessary thing that I must take you at gunpoint like this, for I must not, cannot fail in what I must do. The life of my beloved depends on you now, Walter.”

It is then that I notice he is drunk and we are weaving ever so slightly between ye old yellow lines. Well, who else is out on the road at 3:30 in the morning? And don’t the gods watch out for drunks and fools? Christ, I hope so…just this one night. Please tonight. We roll on and on into the night, the engine purring and eating up the pavement. The drunk and the fool side by side. Hmmm, you know the Fool is in both a pack of Bicycle and the Rider-Waite. The Fool, the Joker, is Fated, man.

*.*;* (wildcard)

Something bumps against my leg. I look down at my feet to discover a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. Pulling it out of the bag, I hold it up for inspection. It is only about one-third full of some clear brown liquid.

“What’s in the bottle?”

“Whiskey, boy.” Walter frowns at I unscrew the cap and take a swig. Blue fire burns down my throat as the good cheap whiskey goes down.

“Aaah. That’s good,” I croak, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. I motion to him with my gun, “Want some?” He nods, taking the bottle from me.

“Walter,” I say as we start down the ramp onto the interstate highway, “Do you believe in true love?”

“Well,” He has calmed down a little since we first met, “Mebbe so, there is such a thing, bud I ain’t been the one to find it. “

“Listen now, Walter, for I have a strange tale to tell you…just to pass the time-like and maybe you’ll understand why I have, um, retained your services, so to speak.” (Here is where the real story begins).

“The first time I actually, really saw (I know that now) my beloved was on television. Just a 10-second flash of a photograph someone had taken of her at a Christmas Party. Hell, her eyes were even red. But she was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, not in a fashion model sort of way, but in the way that some women are vessels of such raw primal femininity: Lilith. A woman like that has the power to burn a man’s heart to ashes with desire. That’s old power, Walter, and it comes thundering out at you from the sweat of their skin, the depths of their eyes, the shadows curling around the nape of their necks…it’s source lies hot and tight and dark up in their bellies and in the pounding pulse of their blood.”

“These are women, who when they join to a man, make him a better man than he could ever be alone. Lift him up; guide him that they together may create something entirely new and wonderful upon the face of the Earth. Really big stuff…y,know like civilization, the pyramids, and three-year olds that lick popcicles.”

Walter glanced over at me. “Ayup, my mama was somethin like that, she was a good woman….”

I rushed on, “All of this I saw in a window of 10 seconds in window of a news report. A small sound byte of a story of a woman who had been found dead in her car along the interstate. She had apparently skidded off the road and down the embankment into the brush, which had concealed her car for four days before some passing motorist, perhaps glimpsing a flash of chrome, had thought enough to stop and investigate. Although suffering severe injures in the crash, the medical examiner determined that she had died of exposure while trapped in her car. A sad tragic item in every respect. Why had it taken four days before she turned up? Why hadn’t anyone reported her missing? She was alone in the world, no close friends or family in the city. She lived by herself in a third-floor apartment with only her cat for company (a fat-ass, lazy tabby tom as I found out but I’ll get to that). She had no one to report her missing. Tragedy compounded upon tragedy.

It was one of those stories that bring home one of the first lessons you learn as an adult: life is not fair and God is unjust. She did not deserve such a fate but there was nothing that I could do about it, however much I might want to. Perhaps, though, in the way that a single rock tumbling down from a craggy precipice triggers a rockslide large enough to bury the village below, events can combine to reach a state where the rules can be bent a little. Her name I whispered reverently, ‘ (MY BELOVED) Tina.’

Tina. Just an ordinary American name for a woman, one part steel rebar, one part raw naked lust and one part honeybear sweetness. If I wasn’t certifiable before that, I really was after seeing Tina’s picture right up on that there old Mitsubishi SpectroMax, pilgrim. Especially, given the context of the news item.

“Walter, I might have been sane before seeing Tina on TV. But after seeing her for the first time, first time mind you, I was started upon a path that I can see now was quite irrevocable. By that, I mean that I had no more control over the events occurring in my life than that pebble did in it’s path down the mountain.”

“See, suddenly I had a whole complete set of memories of sharing my life with Tina. Of being totally, deeply head-over-heels in love with her. Now, Walter, imagine all that kind of splendidly happy shit coexisting with my real day-to-day scratch-your-hairy-ass-and-make-the-coffee-yourself-in-the-morning existence of squalid bachelorhood. Some sort of leaked out my ears. And my eyes. And my nose. And my mouth, which really got me in trouble.”

“See, I could remember the details of intimate life together with Tina…everything…the circumstances under which we first met, what her favorite pair of shoes was, how many steps it was up to her third-floor apartment, how she always looked coming out of the shower with that towel wrapped JUST-SO…”

“I remember our first time,” I said with a wistful smile.

(the first time)

Once Tina got out of the hospital we started dating and had been for about four months, just casually at first but then more seriously and exclusively. We went through all the “first” stages that all couples go through (some couples go through ‘em A LOT QUICKER than we did). First kiss, first base, all that complicated week-n-month anniversary stuff (where you better buy her those flowers if you aren’t sure, buddy), and that date that turns into the first time.

We were sitting at a table near the back of Newbury’s, drinkin’ beer an’ watching this halfway decent bar-band (Iggy’s House or something) rattle and hum their way through some old U2. Just talking and kind of relaxing. Tina got up to go pee and leaning back bit, I watched her go. Now, I’m an assman. Tits, I can take ‘em or leave ‘em, but a nice firm heart-shaped ass almost gives me a lump in my throat. Watching the barlights glinting off the shiny fabric of her mini-skirt silhouetting those firm, twin globes beneath: aye, tis a great thing of beauty. Made my blood quickened and ran hot. My cock surged up, emphatically agreeing. I sighed, it had been more than a few months now and I had begun to despair of ever sampling Tina’s untold treasures.

Tina returned and sat down across from me. She ordered another beer and when it arrived, we talked some more. She started playing with the ashtray, spinning this way and that and rolling it around on the table and eventually dropped it down under the table. Chiding her severely, I bent under the table to retrieve the damn thing.

While I was down there, groping amongst the cigarette butts, dirt, bottlecaps, and dried up gum, Tina shifted her legs apart just a bit. Right up the curves of her legs did my eyes follow, ever upwards into that dark triangle wherein lays all salvation and damnation. And lo, it lay open for my wandering eye to see (and for anyone else 3 ft. tall). A dark fur softly covered two gently curving labia from which peeked her clit and delicate lips. My beloved’s pussy lay in plain view.

The realization that Tina wasn’t wearing any underwear was processed suddenly and violently as I attempted to sit bolt upright while still underneath the table. A loud “Thud” rocked the table above me and I saw stars. The spilt beer pouring down my back helped immediately clear my vision, though.

“Yah, UM, Jeez Ow!” I sputtered. “Honey, you might have warned me” I managed weakly at last, rubbing my throbbing head. Tina was leaning over, her head in her hands, sobbing with laughter. Beer was everywhere. I got up to get a towel from the bartender.

“I hope you wet your pants,” I said, sulking.

That only brought on fresh sobs of laughter. “I can’t!”

Oh. Yeah. That’s. Right. The little man who pedals the bicycle inside my head which powers the lightbulb, got back up, dusted his knees off and gave it another go. There, um, was, um, Tina was sure acting funny today. The lightbulb glowed a little brighter. Hurry back with that towel, pilgrim. When I got back, she laid the towel down on the table.

“C’mon, lets dance,” she said softly. Holding my fingers, she led me out onto the dance floor. No, I ‘m no great shakes in the Fred Astaire department, but I lack in style, I make up in effort. I was out there boogeying it up. Tina’s every bump, every wiggle, and every delicious jiggle made my heart beat faster and faster…..a mighty buffalo of love.

The band, seeing the atrocities I was committing on the dance floor, mercifully brought it down a few notches with nice, long, slow song. I reached for Tina and we drew together. I could smell her perfume, mixed with her sweat and that clean catholic scent of soap. I pressed her to me, feeling the strands of her damp hair, which hung down along the back of the neck. Her breasts pressed against my shirt, nipples shoving forward, boring their way into my chest. Deep down, underneath that sensation, I could feel her heart thumping wildly, like a small bird trapped in her chest.

Her hands slid down the small of my back and rested on my hips and we danced and it was so nice. I love, absolutely love the way her brown hair falls off her shoulders. Silky, feathery, the tips brush my fingers and I can sit and run my fingers through her hair for hours. Which she is kind enough to tolerate (will be kind enough to tolerate).

Eventually, we left the bar, and goddamn, I was so horny, the creases in my jeans hurt me as I eased into the front seat. Tina didn’t help matters much; she leaned over and gave me a wet, nasty kiss. Her tongue sliding up against my palate, tasting wonderfully of beer and spit. Her nose bumping mine, we kissed for a few minutes, her wonderful hair tickling my face.

She pulled back and looked at me. She smiled softly and said, “Let’s go home.”

Oh Yeah, chika…chika…..I felt so Ferris Bueller. Keys in the ignition, foot on the gas, “Radar Love” on the radio. Sometimes the right things happen at the right time. We get to her apartment.

She fumbled in her purse for her keys. I came up behind her and placed my hands on her hips. I drew her towards me, and brushing her hair aside, I started kissing her neck, she likes that, but not hickeys. (But I don’t really know that, not really). She inhaled slightly and leaned into me. Kissing me again, her tongue entwining with mine. Raw naked lust roaring through my veins, leaving my knees weak, my stomach clenching. I had to have her now, right now, Judge.

Finally, she got the door open and we half fell, half staggered into her apartment. Giggling, she led me into her home. Pushing her up against the wall, my hands on her breasts, her back, her ass. She dropped her purse, pulling me forward in passionate embrace. We became a kiss. Oh God, the taste of her, the smell of her hair, driving my wild. Pushing me away, she closed the door. She led me to her bedroom and pushed me down.

“Wait here.”

A request, a command, a plea? I waited. Tina went into the bathroom and closed the door. I heard the sound of her urinating and that careful ripping sound that toilet paper makes as you tear it off the roll. The faucet ran, and things clanked and rattled on her sink. I sat on the bedspread, heart in mouth, hands in pockets. My cock a hot uncomfortable bulge in my pants.

She came out of the bathroom and walked over to the bed. Putting her legs around me, she sat on my lap and kissed me. Hard. Tongues lashing and twisting, we fell back across the bed. My hands roved everywhere, her breasts, riding up her skirt, feeling the warm dampness there.

“Ha,ha,ha” she laughed, “Find something you want?”

“Oh yes” I breathed, “Oh God, yes!”

She looked down at me and smiled. Fingers fumbling, I lifted her shirt and bra off, getting them all tangled in her elbows and arms. At last they came free, exposing her breasts. Her breasts, two points up high and tight. I nuzzled them, the cleft between them, the rock-hard nipples tasting faintly of soap and perfume on my tongue. I lay her back upon the bedspread, and she reached back to unzip her miniskirt. I slowly slid the smooth black fabric of her skirt down a pair of flawless legs. A black triangle of neatly trimmed pubic hair disappearing between her thighs.

Quickly, I stood up to doff my own clothes. There is nothing sexy about an ordinary man stripping. Off comes the jacket and the shirt, then the shoes and pants and the man is left standing there in his socks and underwear. And believe me, you never look so ridiculous as when you are standing there in your socks and underwear. I didn’t bother to remove my socks.

I eased down on the bed next to her, my fingers entwining in hers, kissing her fiercely yet again. Slowly I explored her body, feeling the silkiness of her hair, the curves and angles defining her neck, tasting the warm smooth skin of her neck. Delicately, I stroked her nipples, tiny buds erect and hard beneath my palms. The round softness of her breasts against my wrists. Trailing downward, ever downward, feeling her quicken as I touched her pussy. Gently stroking, fingers parting flesh, probing…invading. Her thighs tightening under my touch. Tina moaned and sighed in pleasure.

I moved to kneel between her thighs, her black curly pubes tickling my nose and face. I tasted her sweet moisture, tongue lapping between the folds and lingering on her clit. Tracing the space between her pussy and rosebud. Eagerly, greed for the pleasure, she gripped my head with both hands. Her thighs squeezing me tightly, she bucked against me groaning in ecstasy, her pelvis rocking as the spasms of her orgasm took hold of her. She relaxed and a few minutes later, yet again her body arched, racked with pleasure.

Finally I could no longer lick. Plain as that. I sat back and beheld the face of an angel, Tina lay there, all damp and sweaty. She reached up for me and pulling me forward, whispered “Come, I want you inside me.”

Face to face, sharing the taste of her juices on my tongue, I reached down to guide myself inside her, and pushing forward slowly, I eased my rock-hard cock (which desperately needed relief) into her pussy. It felt as though I were encased in warm, slick velvet, the walls of her vagina pressing in all around my cock. As always, I marveled at just how actually hot she felt. Slowly I began thrusting in and out again, all the way in and almost all the way out in long fluid strokes. Tina began moving her hips to match mine and soon she was moaning and sighing as we thrust against each other. Oh yes, this as close to heaven as I’ll ever get, I thought.

Soon, I felt the tingling and the pressure signaling my own release building up. Faster and faster I thrust madly into the welcoming depths of her pussy. And all of a sudden, I noticed that her pussy was making these little fart noises with every thrust and I stopped. She looked up at me, “What?”

We both burst out laughing and I collapsed on top of her.

“It’s not that funny,” she protested between giggles and wrapped her legs tighter around my hips. I got back to business. Soon I felt the rising urge to cum again, inhaling sharply, my thrusts ever wilder, ever deeper as if I was trying to fit more of my self inside of her.