A) Sad Faces On A Lonely Street

Sad Faces On A Lonely Street By Rusty Haight

I'm looking down at the floor now and I'm aware of a couple of things.
Firstly that I'm sitting in the passenger seat of a late model Lincoln
town-car with grey interior and lastly that I am getting a blowjob from
a man in his mid to late fifties. I don't feel right. My stomach hurts.
I'm not sure how I'm managing to stay hard exactly.
It's strange how in the midst of a haze there'll suddenly be a moment
of intense clarity. It's a shame now that this one has had to come
about while I have my cock in an old man's mouth. But you can't pick
and choose. I feel a great sadness. It's early in the morning and I'm
all alone. I don't know if I can come or not. It's been ages, maybe
I've dried up. Maybe I've forgotten how to feel that way altogether and
it'll just come out and I won't feel a thing. It's been an incredibly
long time now since I've felt anything at all, let alone from another
human being.
At first it seems like people use drugs to get high and maybe escape
reality or more appropriately, the reality of the way that they're
feeling. After awhile they just need them to feel normal or whatever
normal is in the reality they're created for themselves. Maybe I've
stopped making sense but the clock on the dashboard says it's 3:17 in
the morning, which means I've been here for only eight minutes but it
seems like much, much longer. It feels like I was born here. Cold sweat
is dripping through my shirt.
I've done things like this a few times in order to feed my habit,
things most people would probably regret. I don't believe in regret.
It's essentially useless. It's an emotion that serves no purpose. I
could feel bad about the choices I've made all day but soon enough this
will all be over and I'll have what I want and I won't have to think
about it for a little while. I won't have to think about this poor sap
coming home to his wife or his empty house and saying to himself "boy
that personell meeting was really great. And that junkies cock I sucked
for twenty dollars in the parking lot afterward really hit the spot."
I'll go on living. Who's to be ashamed here?
I wonder how much this guy's carrying around in his pants pockets
alone. Look at those cuff-links. Christ. I could just slit his throat
and take everything he has. Alas I'm in a vulnerable position and he
could just as easily castrate me with his teeth. It's a no-win
situation.
All of a sudden, as soon as my moment of clarity has come, it goes
again. And it's all a jumble. Trying to think warm, relaxed, comforting
thoughts. Trying not to concentrate on the fact that this is the worst
head I've ever gotten in my life. Trying to let it all slip away.
There's a man across the street digging through the trash, looking for
bottles and cans or cigarettes or something. It's raining and I can see
the rain drops dribble a crooked path down the windshield and collect
near the wipers. I'm looking at the rings on this guy's fingers. I
start to chew my thumb-nail. Hurry up, goddamnit, this is taking
forever. Try to think about soft,white titties and Playboy magazine.
Wish that fucking bum would stop digging through the trash he's making
me soft. Please jesus and god make his hurry up.
I start to move my hand up and down in rhythm with his mouth. He
doesn't seem to mind. At least it's wet. That's something. Quit picking
through that fucking garbage. I'm starting to shake. Hurry up and gimme
my fucking money.
My life is passing before my eyes in real-time this is taking so long.
Look, there's me being born. Hurry up and fucking come. God damn,
godamn. Starting at the top each rain drop branches off in it's own
direction and crawls across the windshield. Look at them go, it's a
fucking race. Look at his lips bobbing. He sucks dick like he was
eating corn on the cob. Hurry up old man. My fist is hitting him in the
mouth as I struggle to jack off. I grab his head and start to push it
up and down. He makes a little gurgling noise. The street lights are
reflecting in the pools of water sliding across the windshield wipers.
Look at them. Which drop won anyways? The bums wiping his nose on his
sleeve. I'm muttering between clenched teeth. "You fuck, you
fuck."
Wham against the esophagus. Faster faster, finally. Aaaaah. Thank you
very much.
Transaction complete. I feel like I'm going to throw up . I put the
twenty in my pocket, bolt out the door and pitch my last buck to the
bum on the corner. Life is good. I can get back to where I want to be,
forget what I feel like forgetting, remember what may not actually be
the truth. Or whatever I can get for twenty bucks.