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Red and I stared at the closed door in silence. “It’s not gonna work.” He said to me.
“Ya a fucking idiot.”
We just let the realization that my life had taken a turn for the worst. We were soulmates, Natasha and I, that were destined to become soulless.
“Lets go burn down the city.” The right words I wanted to hear.
Bar Kiss Me is a low down dirty Filipino bar/strip club at the edge of town. Owned by four Filipino women who, if you get them drunk enough, will strip down to their panties and hand out kisses to everyone in the bar. It’s a favorite local spot for horny lost military men who like to lose their heads and hard-earned cash on cheap beer and worn out cunts. If they are lucky enough, those kisses turn into something sloppy somewhere behind a bathroom stall or behind the bar by the dumpster.
We hit the bar.
It was a cock fest. But we didn’t give a shit because the bar offered cheap beer and cheap shots. The music was hood rap and ear-splitting. Two of the Filipino buy-me-drink girls had their bras off. On the way to the bar, I told Red about the new passion in my life, my Foxy.
“So you wanna add the bitch to ya book huh?” Red asked.
We sat on a dirty couch holding a lit cigar in our hand. One of the Filipino bar girl placed fifty shots of vodka, that Red order with the money he won from his fight, on the table right in front of us. As she walked off, Red did not miss the chance to slap her ass. The mood was chaos and sin and so much hunger and thirst drenched the air. I felt the temptation to grab one of the buy-me-drink Filipinos bitches and fuck them like nasty sluts, right in front of everyone, RAW!
“I.. I just don’t know man… when I saw you… the fight, I was inspired.”
“Yeh mayne. I wanted to write and fuck her at the same time.”
“She that bad bruh?”
“Bro. She bad.”
“And now… I just don’t know anymore.”
“How’d my old man do it?”
“He’s a god, that’s how.”
“I have to be better.”
We took several shots. Smoked. Took more shots. Talked about the past bitches we used to fuck. And laughed at the stupid military men who tried very hard to act tough. Angie, the owner of Bar Kiss Me, jumped on the bar table and juggled her big boobs in the air. Everyone shouted with ecstasy. We all wanted to suck those tits and at that moment, I forgot my problems. Life felt good.
Then Red told me of his bright idea, for my novel.
He said, “Listen bro, this is awesome. Dirty Noir. You take Foxy. Right. With her perfect tits and hardbody and nice ass, she… she works as a stripper. The lawyer represents her boss. Right so check it. I needa drink.” He grabbed two vodka shots. Killed both. I admit I was enthralled by his set-up. “Anyways this bitch Foxy, looking sexy as hell, knows the lawyer is out to get her. So she gets her friend and her to fuck this lawyer. This lawyer, I mean the friend… stripper friend, she got great tits, pierced nipples, a nice ass and a fucking mouth that swallows dick like nothing… like a fucking vacuum cleaner. Then this is where it gets good.” He leaned in with a fat ass grin. My mind went dumb, trapped in his story. I wanted to masturbate. “While on all fours Foxy gives this lawyer head like her fucking life depends on it bro. While she gets her ass licked by her stripper friend. Cunts dripping wet. They tag team the lawyers balls sucking and slurping, and spit is dripping from their mouths, like lava. Their pussy is wet and… and…”
I was at the edge of my seat.
“Hold on.” He got up, reached across the bar, while the bar girls were not looking, and stole himself a few shots.
“Bro we have our own shots!”
“Why you steal them?”
He shrugs innocently, and continues with his story. “Anyways this lawyer is nutting like a fucking geyser. And while his unloads his cums all over the bitches’ faces, with his eyes close, thinking he’s a fucking god, naw greater than god… and they… they…” Red grins at me, and smokes his fucking cigar which annoys me. “Foxy chops off his dick.”
I was pissed off.
I googled Foxy’s name. Red’s story had me a bit jealous. I thought it was fucking good, no, a fucking great story. Reminded me of my old man’s novels. And it took him only five minutes to work something out. While I was struggling with mine. I googled her name on my cell phone, in desperation, not wanting to wait a month to see her on trial.
I wanted to see her. By any means necessary. Even if it meant I had to point a gun at God’s head demanding that he brought her to me. I did not like the fact that he made me suffer. I did not like the fact that he made it easy for Red.
An article about Foxy and the trial appeared on my phone. I was way too drunk to read it. It was on the Woodlands news website. Natasha texted me. I dismissed it and drank more vodka. I did not want to feel any emotions. Just darkness and nothing more. The military men were everywhere. I was living in a world full of broken hearts and wandering souls.
Two bar girls were French-kissing each other hard on the mouth like sex-craved sluts.
I tried to join them, but they slapped me. I found Red in the back, behind the counter, fingering one of the Filipino bar girl’s pussy with his tongue down her throat. He was more like my father than I ever was, and he didn’t have to try. I wanted to hurt him. My jealously was getting me a lot crazier. A lot bolder. I grabbed Angela. I wanted to contribute to the chaos. I asked her if she wanted to fuck.
“I’m married.” Her answer surprised me. The bitch never acted like she was married.
“Never stopped you before.” I pulled her closer. She shoved me away before I could kiss her.
“You don’t do that. I’m married.”
“Fuck marriage. Fuck you.”
“No. We’re fucking. How much.” I was aggressive. Did not care about the consequence, just wanted to see her pussy burn.
“I call cops now.”
“Look!” I screamed pointing at Red.
Red had the bar girl bent over trying insert his dick inside her pussy and destroy her. But he stumbled around trying to hold his dick. The military men shook the room with their laughter. Angela screamed, grabbed a bottle, waved it at Red, threating him.
“BRO!!!!” I grabbed the bottle from her hand and threw it at the wall. It splattered everywhere. Everyone stopped. Even the music.
“Oz!” Red laughed, pulled up his pants, climbed over the bar, and grabbed me. “We gotta go man!”
“I love pussy!!! I love pussy!!!”
“Loves gonna get us killed!!!”
We ran out the bar and jumped inside Red’s car. The night was filled with our laughter and Angela’s yelling. We didn’t give a fuck. Middle fingers in the air, we sped off. Red was feeling tired. He drove us to his apartment. He promised me he would call over some stripper sluts who say they’re about that life but instead the jackass flopped onto his bed and zoned the fuck out without saying a word.
I checked the time. It was only four in the morning. My head was still reeling, and I wanted to do some drugs. My phone vibrated. It was Natasha. She begged me to come home. I begged her to let me stick my dick in her ass, while she eats her friend’s pussy. She did not respond back. I wanted to watch porn. I found Red’s laptop. He had the good shit. I opened it and saw that he already had a pornographic video paused.
God’s slutty angels.
It was open season. Lust was all mine. Seven angel sluts. And the naked devil. The sluts took their turns, praying to the devil’s dick. I felt the holy spirit. The Trinity consumed me. The sluts read the dick like it was the holy bible, using their bodies to perform miracles.
He looked bored.
Which pissed me off. Motherfucker didn’t enjoy his life. Fuck his life. That’s the problem with people who have it all. They suffer because they want more. He doesn’t know that people suffer worst when they lose it. The world is full of suffering. Something reminded me of Foxy. It was probably the bitch with red hair, big tits, and took the dick like a fucking pro.
God bless America, I told myself. God bless the man who devoted his life to porn.
I grabbed a few beers, some paper, and a pen and I got to work.
Dirty Noir. Dirty Noir. Dirty Noir.
I wrote the title down on paper and smiled at it. I wrote it down again. I must have written it about fifty times before I realize what I was doing. I wanted to impress Foxy with it. I wrote a poem about her. I truly believed if I showed her my poem then she would be interested in me and my Dirty Noir.
Their souls licking the cum off each other lips.
Breast rubbing against each other tits.
And the devil looking down with a smile at the most beautiful friendship.
It took me less than a minute to finish the poem.
I reread it. It was foolish. I considered my poem unworthy for Foxy’s eyes. I tore the paper to shreds. I doubted myself and my abilities to become a writer. And for some reason I felt that everyone else I knew doubted me too. People doubt you so much that they punish you for it. They punish you in subtle ways and by doing you dirty.
There was something between me and the world outside.
I sat there, trembling, thinking about my doubts. My old man had no doubts. I remembered one thing my old man told me. Which was another reason why I refused to put the pen down. The night he died, he caught me reading Exotic Monsters. The novel about the Hitman and the Porn star. He told me something. Something that vibrated my soul. He told me that one day, if I keep writing, I’ll be a better writer than he ever was. His words were the fuel to my constant fire that created my throne in hell.
I checked the time. An hour had gone by. I was horny, and depressed, and drunk, and pissed off at the world. I felt my blood boiling through my veins. I had no right to be mad, but everything seemed to piss me off. Red made a sound. I looked over. He had the face of another man. My father’s face and he took it for me. Bitch ass fucker. My jealousy of him, sent me to a place, where the damaged knows how to make hell feel like home.
Why God, why? I begged quietly.
Why give him my old man’s gift? Why do you always make me suffer? I cursed God, Red, and my old man. I cursed them, feverishly, and it was at that time I let the devil inside me loose. I became nude, dancing in the flames, tasting the forbidden apple from the tree of destruction, and surrounding myself with beautiful femmes.
I checked Red’s pocket and retrieved two hundred dollars and his car keys. I took his car and drove back to Telephone rd. I saw a prostitute. She was white and the late night was heavy on her soul. I came to save her. In God’s world, no matter how hard you work, you still end up miserable and six feet under. I pulled up right next to her. Flashed her my money. She smiled. I saw her horrible teeth. I told her to get in anyways.
In the end, we’re all dirty creatures.
“Got any drugs?” The dirty whore asked.
“Sure.” I checked Red’s car hopeful he had some drugs. Anything. Pills. Molly. Weed. Something to get the bitch high.
“Open your window baby. I’m hot.”
“I ain’t yo baby. And go screw yourself.”
“Don’t be evil. I’ll suck your dick for cheap as soon as I get something inside me.”
“I can’t find anything!” I yelled.
“Then roll down the fucking window.”
Feeling angry I turned on the engine and push the button to roll down the windows. As soon as it was low enough a gun was shoved at my face. I could not see the fucking bastard, but his fucking voice boomed at my ears.
“Get the fuck out the car!”
I am no hero. The man pushed me to the side and jumped in the car with his whore. Then they drove off while the sun rose to say hello to the new day. There went Red’s car, my money, and my pride.
Never have I dealt with anything much more difficult than my own soul.
I made it back to my mother’s house.
Minus the details, I made it home, my emotions stripped, my pride forgotten, and no sense of direction. I made it home in one piece, even if I had been shattered, but oddly put back together with my bare hands.
I was alone.
My mother was at church praying to her merciless God and my sister, I believed, was either with her or with her boyfriend. I took in the empty house with a sense of lost desperation. I was a ghost. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be found. Avert thy mortal eyes son of God, because I was a sinner! I had no reason to destroy myself, but held no desires to stop my chaotic drift down life’s wild river, seeking cheap thrills, and endless abominations. But my drift came down to an unbearable coma, drunk on bottomless confused emotions, and what was left inside of me seemed small and insignificant.
Parties, Paranoia, and violence.
1) To destroy oneself is an act of pure hatred towards God, but had to be done, to achieve a status as a great writer, even greater than him.
2) I masturbated, slapping my skin, thinking dirty thoughts of Foxy, and her white teeth, wanting her to pierce my bottom lips, as we French-kissed hard.
I took a shower. Ate some food. It was closer to noon when I received a phone call from Red.
“Oz where da fucks my car!!!”
“What you mean?”
“Where ya at? Where my fucking car?” Again, I told him I had no clue what he was talking about. “My car bro. What happened last night?”
Blending the truth with the lies, I told him exactly what he wanted to hear, as calmly as possible, so he would not be suspicious of my deceit.
“…You took me home, try to hit on my sister. Ass. And left back to yo place.” He was silent. I continued. “You said you fucking some bitches or something. And you wouldn’t share with me.” I sounded a tad bit jealous just to make him feel guilty. He apologized. “It’s cool bro. Just call the cops.”
“Hell naw! I have a bill worth of weed in the back.”
I silently cursed myself for not checking his trunk. “Iono. Sorry.” He was silent on the line and I could tell he was hesitant to believe my story. “I’ll see ya later bro. Gotta work on my book then imma be over at yo place.”
“…Aight…” He slowly whispered. “Bet.”
I quickly ended the call.
I felt bad. My disloyalty had no bounds. I was afraid that I was out of control. I prayed to the God, who never answered my damn prayers, that whoever the asshole was, that fucked me over, was either dead or long gone at Mexico selling the shits for scraps. I fell asleep.