The Restroom Deity

Everyone in this story is over 21

***

TOMMY, TOILET BOY

I'm Tommy. I hang out in the rest area-the bathrooms-at Lennox National Park. Not the john where the families and nice people go to, but the other one, near the highway.

The rangers call our toilet "The Place Where Time Forgot". They don't even bother to police it no more. It's like faggot heaven, you know?

They says I'm good looking, I take care of myself, got a few muscles. Not that tall, five ten, but I can handle myself. My ma gots the big C, you know, and can't work much.

And I hate work. I'm twenty-one, and I'm not much good at doing stuff. I did time in jail and time in the service, and didn't learn much either place.

So I come down here to the toilets, couple times a week. Keeps me and Mom in French Fries, you know?

Yesterday morning, around ten, I came by, and went in to sit on the sink. Smoking. I only smoke a pack a day, I might go to half a pack soon.

First one who comes in is Father Egan. Egan's a bald little bastard, kind of sweats on the top of his head when he kneels, blowing me. I watch it all stream around his dome like pre-cum on a penis, you know?

"Thomas, good to see you, my son." Egan says. I grew up in Egan's parish, got kicked out of Our Lady of Lourdes for pissing in the holy water. Egan goes on from the pulpit about how it's bad to beat your meat, whatever.

Gives us hell in Confession about it, too. Fuck, man. It' s 1965. Don't he know that people know better? Sure, when I was a punk, I used to worry I was going to go blind, go to hell, whatever.

And then when I started up with the skirts, I hadda tell myself, AND her we wasn't going to no Hell.

That's what I like about guys. They don't sweat that stuff so much. Also, there's more you can do with a guy, right?

Now, Father Egan smiles at me. "Did you find a job yet, Thomas? Congenial work is good for the spirit."

You know what my job is, you old fudge packer.

Jesus, you should see how he looks at me, his eyes up and down my shoulders, my arms, he thinks my nipples are incredible.

But you know, Fletch-he hustles here, too- he told me that if you buy rattlesnake poison suction cups, that people use to pull poison out of them (they sell these at the park) you can put them on your nipples to make them bigger when you take your shirt off.

This drives faggots WILD.

Had one guy, father of three in Cromartie, told me that my nipples were a gift from friggin' God. He would beg on his knees to suck them-we made it a big production of it. For a fin, right?

He'd pull his dick out his pants and jerk it while I parade around in front of him, calling him queer and tellin him he ain't going to touch my diamond hard nipples.

He wrote the script, but hey, for ten bucks, right?

Now, Egan spends a few minutes tellin me I got to come back to church, you know how that is.

My eyes kind of go narrow at him, though, and he sighs and gets his wallet out. He never wears the dog collar here at the john. No one is supposed to know he's a goddamn priest.

It doesn't last long, Egan. He sucks hard and fast, and then he likes for me to pull out and spooge on his face. Then our great Father gets up off his goddamn knees and goes and looks at himself in the fuckin lavatory mirror.

All the jizz on his face.

Twenty bucks a time. Where's he get it, the collection plate?

Still, it's money. I tell Ma that I am a car park or some shit. She is so proud. Blow her mind if she knew that her goddamn spiritual advisor is a well-never mind.

But hey, we get the money back that she and Granny threw in that poor-box.

Egan leaves and I lean against the sink and smoke again. Gotta get the juices running down there, right? While I was in the Marines I got a little tattoo before they booted me for fighting.

I flex my arm in the mirror and watch the mermaid bounce. Don't give me shit about it. It's a great tattoo and a great arm.

There's one faggot who calls me at night-gave him my number-and I go over there and he has me put a glove on and shove my goddam fist up his ass. In and out.

Sometimes the guy wants me to hit his bare ass with a belt and tell him he's a bad boy. I only get a sawbuck from him, but he ain't as loathsome as Father Egan.

John door opens again. Park ranger is here. That goddamn Ianucci. Ianucci doesn't stay too long, he tells me that I am a degenerate and everyone here is. He tells me how we are "besmirching" the goddamn park.

The other ranger, Hurst, his name is, asks for a five-spot to let it all happen, but Ianucci, who of course is a saint, right, after he reads me the riot act, I gotta give him his bribe.

Ianucci always tells me that this is the last time, and he's gonna throw us out the bathroom, or get us arrested. And then he goes into the stall and gets on HIS goddamn knees.

While he's blowin me, he like, cries, and stops sucking once in a while to mumble about his immortal soul. I should get him together with Father Egan, they could blow each other and talk about how they're goin to hell.

Ianucci leaves, not before givin me a dirty look (I'm so sinful, right?) and I sit back on the sink, flexin my mermaid...

I got a big cock and lots to do with it.

The guys are gonna sneak away from Jane and the kids (It's a Saturday) and come see Tommy, do a little sausage worship, right?

It's going to be a long day.

And so I smoke.