City of Singles (20 page)

Standing up I survey the scene. Liz is covered up and watching, Alicia is under a blanket and now looking at me with nervous excitement. I pull the couch out from the wall and fold down the back rest, converting it into a bed. “Nice trick!” Liz is impressed, whoopie. Offering my naked body to Alicia, she sits up to bend over for me, rubbing her pantied tush against my flaccid cock. Her large, round ass feels so warm, and her narrow waist makes her look ultra-feminine. The familiar rush of blood below the waist, the thick saliva taste in my mouth, both signs of a sex drive signaling that it’s ready to go.

“She’s smiling Dyl, you rubbing her yet?” Liz asks.

My index finger goes down and pulls aside her panties, the head of my cock finding a wet spot. Alicia sits up on her elbow and looks back at me with a smile. “Go gentle ... this is my first,” she whispers. I pause and look at Liz, her mouth wide open in shock.

“What?” we say in unison.

“Yeah,” Alicia looks down and closes her eyes briefly. “I watch a lot of porn and I’ve been on the pill since 16!” she says, perking her head up and opening her eyes.

“I don’t know why I waited, I just did, now I’m wondering why I did?” Alicia smiles and her eyes open wide.

Liz laughs. “Well, that shouldn’t stop you Dyl, what are you waiting for?” Liz sits up and holds Alicia’s hand.

I’m starting to feel like this is really fucked up, but I’m suddenly too horny to really care.

Feeling her tight opening, I slide my cock in her as gently as I can. Dipping it in to make sure it’s wet enough, and just going a little deeper each time, then giving it one hard thrust to pop it and it’s done. I’m buried to the hilt, and with one little shriek, Alicia moans and smiles. Liz offers up a high five, which I smack hard. Liz watches intently as my hips rock back and forth at different angles, finding that the pain of losing it only allows for one angle that feels good for her. The tightness fades a little as she relaxes, wetness soaking the front of my legs, and my right hip feels wet from being in a pool of her juices. She reaches back and holds onto my left forearm “Finish, soon ... it hurts, feels good ...” she moans. I sit up and straddle her sideways, my tempo rushing to a frantic pace for about 10 seconds before I spray inside of her virgin prize, and fall off the couch onto the cold concrete floor.

Heavy breathing fills the room. I feel aches and pains, the drip in the back of my throat still lingers. Vodka taste coating every surface of my mouth. Pussy smelling lovely on my fingers. My nose stuffed and certainly bloody tomorrow. That salty, sweaty taste mixes with the unforgettable flavour of cocaine and snot running down my face. A cornucopia of party flavours only missing the taste of girl. Alicia and Liz embrace in a hug, they mumble some small talk and Liz congratulates her. Alicia giggles and describes how it feels to leak for her first time. My body may be on the floor, but my mind is soaring.

Euphoria and Bliss are embracing on a patio at dusk, Chinese lanterns sway in the breeze. A brown silhouette of an old oak tree, branches swaying and blowing an ever growing ‘shhhh’ through leaves at the couple slowly dancing. The kiss they have in the moment is just that, a mere moment and nothing more. The fleeing experience of such a high only invites the storm coming on the horizon. The sky discolours from what a pretty sunset should be, turning to a shit brown and toxic green. Euphoria vomits on Bliss who falls down. Bliss turns to gaze up, green eyes hemorrhage and boil, the blood runs black under a defiled twilight sky.

“Dyl? Dyl?” Liz is shaking me. “We’re grabbing a cab. You were snoring haha! Like a fucking chainsaw!” Liz is laughing. She’s back in her sexy blue dress. Alicia says she put a blanket on me, I don’t remember.

“It was SO fun meeting you!” Liz says.

Alicia laughs “Did that just happen? Did we all meet tonight? Haw!”

Alicia snorts while laughing, Liz laughs.

“I’m fucken tired and this couch isn’t my thing, it’s all wet, haha!” It takes all of my effort to push myself up and move from the floor to the couch. Liz was right, I just laid down in a damp spot.

“Bye,” Alicia whispers in my ear, hugging me. Liz’s high heels tap their way to the front door, and I hear Alicia scampering her way to meet her. I can’t even muster a goodbye. Colours dance a little on my eyelids, they soften, grow drab and tired. I just want the colours to stay with me, please. I turn my head and vomit a little onto the floor. A weighted head free-falls back down as heavy eyes shut. Pressure in my stuffed nose the least of my worries, dangerous chemical cocktails in my delirious brain with a heart of mine that beats on in an off rhythm. The storm is getting closer and the colours give up on me.

26 Animal

Nothing isn’t black, it’s grey.

I’m down, down deep in my bed. My body spent, my soul tired; tired of all of this.

A cocoon of self-loathing and disgust, my own self-doubt and apathy planted me here, a garden shod with the ashes of my future. Purpose long left my life, drugs ride shotgun while alcohol gives directions from the back seat. Flat tires rumble on as an empty tank pushes me along on fumes. How long have I been asleep at this wheel for is anyone’s guess, one headlight illuminates the path ahead. Concrete to gravel, gravel to dirt, dirt to a dead end. A rectangle on the ground, my grave.

“No,” I mumble, in bed, safe.

“Fuck no,” rattles from coarse chords as I flip onto my other side.

Shivering doesn’t stop no matter how tight I pull these covers. A seagull mocks me in the distance, my snot and cocaine sniffles echoing through the loft space that extends on empty for far longer than it should. If I rolled out of the bed in this condition, I might just fall into the sky. Images of my lost loves rush into my head, the dam of emotion gives and I see their faces. Julianne, one of my first longer term girlfriends, I hear her ask me why I kept fucking her if I didn’t love her, tear stains drawn down her face, shrunken, reddened eyes from my lies. She was bored one night and came over for a swim, I held her softly in the pool, kissing under moonlight. My roommate had been gone this weekend and I chased her playfully naked through the house, she pinned me down on the couch to make love, and I rolled her on her stomach and fucked her.

Immediately after sex I climbed off of her, went to the bathroom, and cleaned up. Minutes later, returning to her sobbing, trying to find her panties in the dark. “Why? Why use
me
?” she whimpered. I couldn’t recall ever knowing why she was blowing this out of proportion. Maybe then I meant something to her, now nobody means anything to me and I mean nothing to anyone. Bones. Dust.

The equatorial heat stirs with feelings of warm sand underfoot, the joy of full glasses of rum. Some girl and I are spending a happy week on vacation, somewhere in my past, somewhere tropical, Mexico this time. Her face fills my vision, I recall she was always jealous of my wandering eye, another girl I never really loved but who followed me and loved me conveniently enough. I hadn’t believed in love, I wouldn’t for years, but it doesn’t cover the crushing guilt of knowing I used her. No makeup on her, she fumbles with her cute cowboy hat, pudgy thighs and a white skirt. She cried a little on our trip when I told her I thought she looked bad in her bikini. I danced with a Mexican cabana girl in front of her and saw her heart break. I meant so much to her. I took advantage of her and shit right into her heart.

I don’t miss her, but miss what she represents.

Photos. A photo can speak a thousand words and then some. Native Americans believed that a picture could steal your soul. I now look at photos to prove I once had one. I’m rolling around in my bed, my nose plugged from last night’s snowstorm, my stomach protests as if it’s full of broken glass and snake venom. Lips are dry and cracked, this heart pumps dirt. I feel like I have nothing left in this world. Rolling over in my bed and escaping wet spots becomes impossible. Whether it’s from the girl last night or my sweat this morning, I don’t even know. A chill shakes me to my core and nothing comforts me. The blanket chokes me when it’s on, the nip of open air digs into my skin when it’s off.

“Why,” I whisper.

Last night my body was quivering and lit up with pleasure higher than I’ve ever reached. I drained myself into Liz two or three times, I’m not even sure. Somehow it comes back to this, seeking out this short term rush of pussy, liquor, partying, and laughter in packs, rebelling from any sense of duty or need to obey laws and customs. My goals are purely selfish, indulging in moments of instant gratification and ignoring the damage wrought upon myself and anyone around me. I can imagine Liz right now, in a cab or on the bus home, looking haggard and feeling deranged. Her groin being sore for a few days is the only thing she’ll remember me by.

Nausea washes over me and I freeze, my battered body tenses up and I almost gag. I have nothing to throw up anymore, might be my soul that finally wants out. Waves of heat roll over my body and shivers follow. I don’t know if I’ve even slept.

Time doesn’t pass unless I feel something that hurts.

My dick aches, swollen and tender from destroying Liz. A slow crawl out of bed, pausing every couple seconds to avoid gagging further. Back to this, crawling to the bathroom after the same old, same old encounter. I used to keep people together and people happy, now I’m back on a floor alone. There was a time where I could remember every girl I kissed, where sex felt like it had purpose, rather now it’s just something to do to kill time and achieve social rank. Raiders hat guy talked to me like I was a hero for what I did with Liz on the couch. Left, right, left, right, keep going Dylen. The floor is something I’m familiar with, I retch and throw up clear fluids only feet from the toilet.

I miss the reason behind love. My mind is obsolete, a relic from the past. Leftovers from a time of purpose, I’m a washed up husk of a person, no fortitude to stick to any beliefs and no spine to deny the easy route. Even if I married any of my amazing ex-girlfriends, I would’ve cheated by now. I’m so basic and all too modern human, no ability to resist the urge to bury my cock in another available woman, fulfilling my animalistic pleasures. What I did last night, fucking and cumming inside into those two girls, had no purpose beyond saturating nerves with a fluid swap.

Vomit mixed with cocaine and blood runs down my upper lip and into my mouth, freezing the curious tip of my tongue with a terrible chemical copper taste. Sore elbows and red knees carry me into the shower, having shaking hands on the shower knob is getting a little too old hat. Frozen skin burns and cold bones rattle, the steam rises and I fall over onto my side. The idea of having a responsibility to a woman, to a son, a daughter, is not even a seed in my being. I live purely to reach highs of physical pleasure and ego stroking, encouraged by my peers, cheerlead by a society that doesn’t want me to care. I believe in nothing and it shows.

The shower acts as my loving nurse until the hot water runs out, and then some. My skin wrinkled, shivering, I turn off now-cold water and collect myself. Tired legs struggle to stand for hands to grab a towel, drying myself with minimal effort before stumbling to crash back on the couch. The fuzzy blanket hardly warming, the leather smells of booze and cum. The dismay felt over that next day odour, is a more than subtle reminder of overcast skies and quiet hung over mornings. I hear rain begin to tap on the window ever so lightly. The couch hates me, every fiber of wood frame stabbing into my bones, the metal spring coils have turned to concrete. I shiver, pull the blanket to my chin, and close my eyes.

27 Rain God

For eight days it’s poured down rain. Eight days. I haven’t left my house in as long, and I had to order food for the last four to keep myself fed. My phone blows up in texts from artists needing to use their space, my explanation is that I’m sick and nothing they can do will help. One girl texts that she made me my favorite cheese bread, after that I turned off my phone. My skin wants to blister if it spends another moment under halogen light or in front of a monitor. It takes me an hour to get ready to leave, even the breeze outside is ripe with angst and the pedestrians out today aren’t much better. Faces on people under umbrellas keep their eyes down, people in cars petrifying in traffic. Poisonous cities smell of hot brakes, exhaust, feces and idle buses. Sneers across druggies’ faces still a week away from their welfare cheques. Two blocks to get a coffee and the rain melts my hair onto my face, in the future I’ll remember to never lend out my umbrella.

The coffee shop is lit in bright yellow, eager young women greet me with beaming smiles, full of joy. Ordered a drip coffee, I can’t tell the difference between an Americano and a drip coffee half the price. I thought I noticed her smile fade over a $2.25 order. The barista finishes making some broad in yoga pants and cowboy boots her soy chai latte. Extra foam.Her vegan organic cranberry salad neatly packaged in a clear plastic box that will outlast her. The next guy puts in a $60 order of brown wake up juice and baked sugar, the girl smiles extra hard. Bitch.

My coffee is slid across the counter top and the barista turns away without a word, no flowery announcement of “large drip,” nothing close to how soy chai latte rolled off her tongue. Aural silk is her voice, this pretty bird comes packaged with her own sunny day. She smiles and puts happy thoughts into her movements behind the counter, her energy matches her vivid exterior look. With brown hair holding streaks of red, hourglass figures look a little tamer under a turquoise v-neck. She used to chat me up when I ordered a mocha, even drew a vagina in foam last time. I grab the milk jug from the sugar and sticks counter, filling it near the top for a chocolaty brown colour. After snapping the lid on, I already want out of here. I try and remember that she is busy and I’m not exactly friendly. I catch my face in the stainless half and half bottle, sneer and rain smeared below my nose, cross eyebrows. Eight days of rain, Dylen, just the eight days of rain.

Outside the door, the dull, numbing drizzle is falling heavier, popping and snapping from larger drops off the awning, cars drive by and spray water over the curb. Can’t say why, but I turn the opposite way from home and begin to walk. Anticipating a long journey, I reach into my side pocket, grab my phone, and put it into my inside jacket pocket, the driest spot I can think of. A few sips of my coffee periodically and my mind drifts off. My entire body is soaked in a few blocks, a few more and my shoes squish and weigh a ton. Without any destination, my legs carry me to the seawall near Stanley Park, it’s deserted. My coffee’s done and I carry the cup to find a garbage bin. A low fog hangs over the water and the rain is even harder now. Sometimes getting lost is the only way you can let yourself be found again. Whipping my soaking hair back and forth, a smile cracks across my face and a fit of giggles begins to take hold of me. Soaked to the bone, laughing at this mad man walking in the rain.

The seawall is long and my feet are getting sore. The Lion’s Gate bridge looms out of the fog, green on grey, and I take a seat at a bench where I can look out over the water. Few birds in the air, a ship blows its horn as I think of post cards in my mind. Resting my arms outstretched, a tilting of neck, and surrendering to the rain. Here I am, do your fucking worst. I can’t sit inside hiding from this, the stain on my mood of eight days of solid grey showers. I give up and give in.

Puddles form in my eye sockets and rain ticks through my empty ribs. I feel my bones are wet, no flesh to keep them dry and warm. Ragged, torn clothing fall off me in shreds, drip after drip falls from my white bleached ribs. The rain no longer looks like it’s falling, but coming out of the bones themselves. The act of giving myself to the rain isn’t one of death, but of rebirth. If I died right now, would I be happy with the time I was given? My shirt sticks to my chest, the warm layer of water pushed up against me with the most subtle of heat. Pants feel like they’re bunched up and chafing at the crotch. Feet numb like stumps, what must be worn skin burns my heels. Time makes itself known as flesh returns to rain scrubbed bones, while wooden benches press chilly spines into crooked, wicked shapes. Skin, bone, and organ are useless without purpose coming from soul. The pain of my back drowns into a background of showering clouds and soft inlet waves. This crashing cloudburst is a strange remedy.

My fingers are whitewet and wrinkled, when pressed together they are irresistible to not rub them for that sandpaper tickle. What seems like days passes in minutes, my body and soul feel cleansed. I stand up slowly as my frozen body protests, geriatric movements sluggish at first, but the thought of a hot shower sends a rush of desire through me. Drenched legs snap forward with motivated thrust. Back around the seawall and I’m nearly in my home turf, bums looking at me with fear for my mental state. I smile. My hair is matted against my head, catching a reflection of myself in a mirror and I could be mistaken for someone who just climbed out of a swimming pool. My inside coat pocket is soaked, hope my phone isn’t fucked, but if it were, that’s OK too.

Slogging through Gastown, feeling like a million bucks and giving zero fucks.

My feet want to double stamp every puddle spotted by manic eyes, a professional dog walker ahead crosses the street to avoid me. Friendly Dachshunds and French bulldogs even look the other way. A bus driver honks at something and I give him a wave, a couple of jumping one-legged strides through a deep sidewalk lake produces a loud plop-plop-plop. Tech professionals in tight black turtle necks gawk from the inside of the coffee shop. I stop and see a trash bin, my hand helping the cup find its way from my coat pocket into the bin’s slot. I glance back into the shop and the counter girl looks at me in horror; an honest smile pulls up the corners of my mouth and I realize, I’ve never felt warmer.