No Satisfaction

The tension in the little apartment was thick enough to slice. When she was done stacking the dishes, she turned and walked to the bathroom, hugging herself awkwardly, so as to hide her breasts from me.

I certainly didn't feel proud of having lustful thoughts about my own sister. They fucking freaked me out, to tell the truth. But I rationalized that it was only a physiological reaction and didn't mean anything. After all, eight months in lockup can make a guy as horny as hell. Particularly a teenager who'd never so much as kissed a girl. Back in high school, I was too concerned with personal survival to give much thought to girls. But my roommate in juvie talked about sex non-stop. He'd apparently been a bit of a lady's man. We'd lay in our bunks and he'd talk about all the pussy he'd had and all the pussy he was gonna have once he got out. I don't know if he was full or shit or not, but all those stories really did a number on me. When they released me on my eighteenth birthday, I had only one thing on my mind: pussy.

They gave me money to get started on a new life, but the first thing I did was take a bus to the worst area in Pittsburgh, looking for a hooker. The only one I could afford was a slinky little African American crack whore who disappeared with my money the moment I gave it to her. Damn. I'd really wanted to fuck her too. She was so cute, even without all her teeth. But the bitch left me broke and more frustrated than I'd ever been in my life. I spent two freezing weeks on the street, begging for dimes, and desperately flirting with homeless chicks and shop girls. But I knew shit about flirtation, and the desperate look in my eye made me come off like a pervy creep, which I guess I was. My prospects for pussy were bleak and I knew it.

I listened breathlessly as Becky took her shower. I couldn't get the image of her naked body out of my mind. The water running down her pale flesh. Her little hands spreading foamy soap all over her tits and between her legs. I toyed with the crazy idea of walking in there, saying, "Hey, we're on a budget. Let's conserve water by showering together." I grinned wickedly at the thought, then once again felt disgust with myself. I am my father's son.

When she was done, Becky said, "Shit!" Then a minute later she said, "Wyatt? Uh... I forgot to bring my clothes to change into. I guess I'm not used to visitors."

"Okay. I'll go outside."

"No, don't be silly. Just close your eyes. It'll only take a sec."

"'Kay."

I stared at the TV while she came out of the bathroom behind me. The image on the screen was relatively dark, so I could see a tiny little Becky reflected in it. She was wearing the bra and pink thong that I'd cum into the night before, but nothing else. She scampered over to her chest of drawers and rummaged through it as I checked out the distorted image of her pale ass. Then the image on the screen got too bright for me to see her, so I turned my head to sneak a peek. Shit... her bare butt cheeks looked so creamy and perfect. The smoldering embers of lust inside me suddenly burst into an inferno. I stared back at the TV, sweat popping out of every pore, and cock throbbing to full attention. What the fuck? She's my fucking sister!

She scampered back into the bathroom with her clothes. The instant she closed the door I whipped out my cock and started jerking it. Pre-cum was welling out of the tip like a temperamental volcano. I jacked off like crazy, listening to her brush her teeth. I knew she'd be coming out again any second, but I kept jacking until the last possible instant. Then I flipped the bottom of my sweatshirt down to hide my throbbing cock, and leaned toward the television to cover it as she came out of the bathroom. I was almost blind with lust. It was scary.

After bustling about for a while, she sat in the nearby chair. My cock was as hard as ever. I was wickedly tempted to lean back and let her see it. Fuck... that would really freak her out... to know what a sick pervert her little brother has become. But maybe she'd be happy to see it. Maybe she's lonely too. Maybe she needs cock as much as I need pussy. But who the fuck cares what that bitch needs? I should just fuck her. She owes me. She fucking owes me. Oh shit. Oh shit, what the fuck's wrong with me? I'm a fucking sicko!

I was afraid to look at her. I was worried that she'd dolled herself up to look all sexy and shit for her job at the club. With the way I felt right then, I was afraid that if she had any cleavage on display, I was gonna have no choice but to jump up and shove my cock right into her surprised mouth, shouting, "Eat it you fucking abandoning bitch!"

But when I looked, she was wearing a heavy sweater and a pair of frumpy bellbottom jeans. And her hair was up in two loose ponytails. She pulled her skinny legs up onto her chair and sat cross-legged, then looked at me and smiled. Shit, she was my sister. My big sister. I felt a teeny little bit of childish love come into my heart for the first time since she'd run away. A shadow of a memory of a reminder of how we used to be. My boner diminished and retreated back into my jeans. I took that opportunity to go to the bathroom and take a shower of my own. I ran it cold, until I was shivering like a wet puppy. By the time I emerged I felt like Becky's little brother again. I even felt a tiny bit of affection for her, a feeling I was certain I'd lost forever. It was a huge relief not to have those violent and incestuous thoughts rolling around inside my noggin.

We watched TV for hours, as each of us waited for the other to break the silence. I should have told her how betrayed I felt by her abandonment. She should have apologized. We should have shared our dark stories, and worked through the painful memories together. But neither of us said a thing. Our parents had instilled a conspiracy of silence that left us helpless and isolated in our own worlds, where I wallowed in bitterness, and she wallowed in regret.

Finally, it was getting near the time for me to report to work. "Well... I guess I better go catch the bus. I'm working the late shift. It goes from three pm to midnight."

She said, "Really? That's late! Where are you going? Do you know the way?"

I dug the directions out of my pocket and she looked them over.

She didn't look very happy. "That's... wow, that's a weird area. That's on the waterfront... the old steel mills. Those places have been abandoned for... I don't know... since the late sixties. Hey, you must be working on one of those renovation projects."

"I don't know. They didn't say."

"They're converting some of those old factories into high-end lofts. I read about it in the paper. There's a bit of a scandal, I think. The mob's involved in some way. Corruption... kickbacks... stuff like that. Anyway, the area is practically deserted at night. I doubt you'll be able to find a bus anywhere near there after midnight."

"I hadn't thought of that. No wonder the contractor said, 'provide your own transportation.'"

Becky looked thoughtful. "Well... if I didn't have to work until 3 am, I'd pick you up."

"No, you don't have to. If there aren't busses there, I'll just walk to where they're still running."

"Well, don't walk alone. There must be other guys working with you. Just follow them. There's gotta be all-night busses downtown. That's not too far from the waterfront. But I'll be happy to drop you off at work and show you how to get downtown if you need to."

"Well..."

"I insist." There was a look on her face... a weird happy look, and it pissed me off. As if dropping me off at work would make up for abandoning me and leaving me for dead. But I thanked her and accepted the offer. I was a lazy punk. I'd had my fill of walking around the city.

We piled into her rattletrap car, and she drove into one of the creepiest areas I've ever seen. It could have been the set for a post-apocalyptic movie. The whole district was nothing but miles and miles of closed factories and steel mills, separated by crumbling streets, and populated by nothing but junkies and rats. There were no businesses anywhere. Not even a hot dog stand.

She drove me up to this huge brick building, which was blackened with a century of soot. The address was prominently displayed over the giant, imposing doors. Huge letters read, Angelburne Steelworks, 1912.

I got out and said, "Well... bye."

She leaned forward. "Hey, I forgot. I don't have a spare key to the apartment. I'll leave it unlocked for you."

"No, I'll just wait outside till you get home."

She shook her head. "Don't be silly. I don't have anything in there worth stealing."

I shrugged. If she wanted to leave her door unlocked, who was I to complain?

After she pulled away, I walked up to the huge door and discovered it was locked. I banged on it, but was greeted with hollow silence. I peered through the dusty windows. There was a cavernous factory floor inside, strewn with junk and garbage. Homeless people must have slept in there from time to time, because there was a ratty mattress in the center of the dusty, wooden floor. There wasn't a soul in sight. Just massive machines looming off into the murky darkness. It was a great location for a horror movie.

"Shit. Fucking great."

I looked around. The street was totally empty, except for a single rat running along one of the wires stretched between buildings. Now what?

There were no other doors on the front of the building so I just waited around. After about ten minutes a city bus pulled to a stop down at the corner. Fifteen burly guys with lunch pails and hard hats got out. They didn't walk up to the main door where I was standing, but went down a narrow alleyway at the end of the building. I followed them, figuring to let the herd lead me to water.

The narrow alley twisted and turned between two huge brick buildings. The area stank of garbage and rot. The actual entrance to the jobsite was on the backside of the building, next to the train tracks. All the guys dispersed, obviously knowing where their jobs were. I could hear them working, but I had no idea where I was supposed to go. So I waited by the entrance, wondering what to do now. I should have asked one of the guys, but honestly, they were huge and scary... and covered with prison tattoos. Becky was probably right that this job was run by the mob.

Eventually a hulking guy with a hard hat came in and yelled at me for being late, as if I was supposed to somehow magically know that foreman's trailer was located on the far side of the train tracks. His name was Mr. Schmidt. He was a surly, fat bastard, and I hated him instantly. But I kept my tongue and gave him the fake 'contrite' expression that I'd learned under Mom's insane tutelage.

Then Schmidt growled, "Where's your fucking hard hat?"

"Nobody told me to bring one. I'm sorry."

"Stupid and useless! Why the fuck do I hire you worthless juvie punks. Don't know nothin about nothin."

I nodded and smiled stupidly. I knew how to shine folks on, so after a few more insults, he decided not to fire me and lent me an extra hard hat (which he had at least a dozen of). Then he called over a skinny black dude and told him to show me the ropes.

The guy was named Tojee, or something like that. I'm not sure how he spelled it, but that's what it sounded like. He was from some other country, and although his accent was so thick that I could barely understand a word he was saying, he was all smiles and laughs. He took me to the area where the paint equipment was stored and we collected a bunch of paint cans, brushes and rollers.

Then I followed Tojee through a crazy job site. It was noisy and chaotic. Huge, burly guys with hardhats were working everywhere... hammering, sawing, welding... you name it. Tojee came to a halt near the stairwell. He put his finger to his lips and quietly crept past this huge, bald guy who was knocking down a brick partition with a sledgehammer. He was seven feet tall, and swung that thing around as if it were as light as a feather. Tojee was obviously terrified of him, which wasn't surprising. The guy had a swastika tattooed on the back of his big, bald head. Tojee whispered "You stay way from dat man. Bad. Very bad." I nodded, but I'd already figured that much out.

We lugged our shit up four floors, but at least the top floor was relatively quiet. Tojee explained that the drywallers had just finished the previous day, and the two of us were expected to paint the whole floor by midnight. It was crazy. There must have been fifteen apartments, each a different size and shape, and super tall. But there was only me and Tojee, without a single ladder, only long sticks to tape our rollers to. Somehow I knew that Mr. Schmidt wasn't going to be happy with our progress by the end of the night.

Oh well, a job's a job. I figured, how hard could it be? Well... it was fucking hard. I hated it. Tojee worked like a madman and within minutes his nice personality faded away as he discovered his new partner was a slacker. I'd been sitting on my ass in a cell for eight months. I was weak and lazy. If I hadn't been so desperate, I probably would have quit.

After an hour or two, a handsome guy named Barry came to help us. He was my age, and though he had a healthy glow about him, he was every bit as much a slacker as me. Barry liked to talk instead of work, which really annoyed Tojee, but Tojee kept his mouth screwed shut. Actually, he seemed a bit intimidated by the guy.

When we took a break, Barry looked me up and down and said, "You look a bit young to be an ex-con."

"Well... I just got out of juvie."

"Oh. I didn't know Uncle Paul hired delinquents too."

"Uncle Paul?"

He laughed, "Yeah. Mr. Schmidt's my uncle. Step-uncle actually. One of these days I'm gonna be the boss, but for now I'm just learning how the construction business works until I get my business degree. I'm in my second year over at Pitt. I spent all last week with the demolition crew. Goddamn, that's some hard work. I'm glad to take a break from real work." He said this as he lazily painted the same two by two section of wall again and again. His novelty of doing this 'easy work' wore off quickly though. After half an hour he said, "I don't know how you guys can stand to do this sissy job. I'm bored outa my gourd."

I saw Tojee stiffen with the insult, but he kept his tongue. Must be nice to be the boss's nephew. Something about Barry's entitled attitude spurred me to prove I was better than him, so I buckled down and within the hour I was working almost as hard as Tojee, though with much less skill. Still, I could tell that Tojee was impressed. Barry just kept yammering away, bragging about college, and how he was going to buy a convertible as soon as he had enough money saved up. By this time, he'd stopped doing any work at all, and just sat on the paint cans and watched us hustling about.

Finally Tojee worked up the gumption to say to Barry, "I tink you learn all you need to learn from me, boy. Why don you go ask you uncle to give you anudda job."

A cold look crossed Barry's face. Then he smiled and said, "Sure. Whatever you say, boss."

After he was gone, Tojee said, "He love to talk, dat one." I laughed. Then he said to me, "You doin good." He was a man of few words, but I felt a flush of pride. I realized quite suddenly that I loved this job. We worked on, wordlessly figuring out the most efficient way to work together. I'd slop the paint on the walls and he'd do all the lining. I simply didn't have the control to do it without putting down masking tape. But Tojee wielded that lining brush like a surgeon with a scalpel. Still, in spite of our efforts, we only managed to paint two apartments by dinner break. I'd forgotten to bring any food, so Tojee let me have a few bites of a nasty stew his wife had made for him. Afterward Mr. Schmidt came around and saw how little progress we'd made and yelled at Tojee, who then yelled at me. After he left, Tojee smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I shook my head. It was just so confusing.

After dinner break, Mr. Schmidt came back around and said Tojee needed to go work on another project for the rest of the evening, so I was on my own. Tojee told me to paint the walls, but to leave the lining for him to finish the next day. After he left I fished my MP3 player out of my pocket and listened to acid rock as I worked.

Maybe it was the driving beat in my ears, or the paint fumes, I don't know, but I started to detach. I mean... my body was working harder and faster, but my mind was growing quieter and farther away. I wasn't thinking about anything... not Becky or Dad or Jasmina or Mom... I wasn't hearing screams and slamming doors... I wasn't choking down cocks... or feeling high heels piercing my anus... I was just silent inside.

It was almost as if I was dead. It was wonderful. But I totally lost track of time.

If the battery on my player hadn't run low, I might have worked until sunup. But a song suddenly stopped right in the middle of a roaring guitar riff and I snapped out of my reverie. I looked around in amazement. I'd painted five entire rooms all on autopilot. Then I noticed the silence.

The distant sound of hammers and saws was gone. What time is it? I looked at my watch. It was 1:30 A.M. "Fuck!" My voice echoed through the building. I walked out to the stairwell. Everything appeared dark below my floor. I went down a ways but couldn't figure out how to turn any of the lights on down there. Luckily there was a skylight at the top of the stairs, and a full moon above, so I had just enough light to make my way down with my rollers and brushes. As I cleaned the brushes out in the sink in near total darkness, I felt myself getting angrier and angrier. Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me it was quitting time? Why didn't they come check on me? Shitheads! Assholes!

But after a while, I calmed down. So I get home late. Big deal. It's not like Mom's waiting there to punish me.

When I was finished with the long chore of washing out the rollers and brushes, I went over to the door I'd entered through earlier in the day. It was locked. Chained shut from the outside.

"Fuck me!!!"

I tried every door I could find. They were all chained shut. I suddenly felt like a trapped rat. I started toying with the idea of breaking open one of the heavy windows. But they were criss-crossed with wire, so I doubt I could have broken them. Then I remembered that the great big door on the front of the building didn't have a chain on it, so it was probably locked from the inside. If I could find it, maybe I get out that way.

Only... it was dark. There must have been a main electrical panel somewhere, but fuck if I could find it. So I started to make my way into the main part of the building. The workers were right in the midst of renovations, so walls and hallways were being erected all over the place. Drywall hadn't been put up yet, so all I saw was a maze of metal stud walls that went off into the impenetrable blackness. It would have been bad enough to navigate if the place had been clean, but there were piles of trash and construction supplies everywhere... booby traps for the blind.

I bonked my head and bashed my knees and twisted my ankles a dozen times as I made my may through the maze of walls and hallways in pitch darkness. If not for the hard hat I would probably have knocked myself out once or twice. The only light I had was the feeble glow of my watch, but it was only bright enough to show me that the time was now a quarter after two. At this rate Becky would probably make it home before me.

I almost fell down into a pit, catching myself on an electrical wire just in time. "Shit, fuck!"