Justin's Story (E/RW)
Part II-My Time Away
Chapter 14
Written By: Justin Case 4/12/00
Disclaimer: This story is a graphic tale about gay sex, drug use, and other material that adults only should read, according to some laws in some places. If these laws apply to you where you are, you should leave the story now. This story is fiction and written by a fictional author. Any resemblance to fact is purely coincidental; the names have been changed, the places have been changed, and the events have been changed to protect the innocent. This story is the sole property of Justin Case, the fictional author, and his alter ego. This story's copyrights belong to the author, and the laws of the United States of America apply. If you copy it you are subject to fines and penalties unless you ask the author personally.
------------ Words from our author: Oh man, it's that time again. I get up on the box, and rattle off. Let's see, what do I have to say? THANK YOU!!!! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me share my tales with you. I have over 500 letters at this writing; I am honored. I have four, yep four, that wrote to say they don't like my work. I think one of them was the same guy using a different screen name though.
Many have written to ask about Richard. Well, I went to pick him up and bring him over, and he pulled a no show. That's the Richard I know so well, makes plans and if something 'better' comes along, he's out. How I remember when... I haven't called him since; like I said, I am powerless over people, places, and things; I await his call to me, and pray for his happiness. It's been about a week and a half since I last spoke to him.
There is love in the world, I assure you. I have found my true love, and intend to spend the rest of my life together with my love. As usual, if you want to e-mail me, feel free to do so at Justin69SK@aol.com
Now on with the saga.
Over the next few months I fell deeper and deeper into the clutches of drug use. The more cocaine I used, the more I wanted. It was a vicious cycle: earn the money to buy the drugs, go to some sleazy place to get the drugs, and then do them. I no longer got high, I got paranoid. I began to think police were hiding in my bedroom; I would see shadows, and think the police were hiding in such places as behind the drapes, in my closet, under the bed. At this point in my addiction I gave up the snorting. Tony had shown me a faster way to get paranoid. I was mainlining into my left arm. I was good; I could slip the rig in, hit the vein, draw back, check for blood in the syringe to make sure I had the spot, and push the plunger. By the time the needle was taken out of my arm, I was looped. I never did that push-pull shit with the plunger like most do, I just wanted to get it over with.
Chuck had worried about me, and left to return home. Chuck had tried to love me and help me get back on track. He couldn't take my mood swings any longer. I had lost my ability to love him back. I had lost my ability to love anything except cocaine.
I stayed with Tony for two months. He ran a photography studio for a nationally known gay porn site. There were all the shoots, and the boys, man, the gorgeous boys. I met many a boy there with Tony. In the beginning the coke was great and seemed to enhance my sexual drive. It was used like a tool by Tony; he would get me stoned, and have his way with me. He always left me money for my sexual favors, which I would in turn give back to him for more coke. I had sex with several of the gay models that came for the photos. I even posed myself, and my picture is still floating around out there. I was paid one hundred dollars for each pose used. They used twenty-five pictures, and Tony gave me two thousand, five hundred dollars all at one time. I used it to pay him for coke . The most money I had ever had in my life and I gave it back to the guy for coke. Jackson Browne had no idea when he wrote the song "Cocaine". I was in hell and didn't even realize it, as that, 'cocaine was running through my veins'.
I had met him through Tony he was one of the models. He taught me about hustling, and showed me the ropes. Now I didn't have to give all my money to Tony, I gave it to someone else. See how smart I had become. His name was Jonnie, he was the one of the better looking models. He really seemed to have what it took, and he took me with him.
I remember thinking how stupid I was, and seriously thought to myself how fucking cruel Tony was for making me buy my coke from him. Now I would go out into the streets of St. Louis and sell my body for sex, to older men. They would drive up to the meat market, that certain street that I learned from my friend Jonnie, all big cities have, and pull up in their fancy automobiles and ask if I wanted to party. My reply would always be, "Are you a cop?" If they said no, I got in. I'd let them suck me off, or I'd suck them off, and they'd give me thirty bucks. Then I'd go to my dealer's house and buy some coke.
I remember crying in the shower every morning, I was so miserable. I was in such pain. I didn't know where to turn. Chuck had left me, and I was too afraid to call my grandparents. I couldn't go back home to my Moms, 'the bestest Moms in the world', because I didn't want to get beaten any more. I prayed to God every day, I promised I wouldn't do it any more. I'd leave the shower and someone would call, one of my tricks, and I'd be right back on the merry-go-round.
I finally got the courage to leave Tony's, and hitchhiked to Texas. I thought if I could just get started again somewhere else, I could do it. I justified in my mind that I wouldn't know anyone in Texas, except the guy that my model friend set me up with. I just had to get there and all would be well. I would go to Mark Huerras's house, in Austin, Texas; he was a Mexican-American, and Jonnie told me he was hot. Jonnie even set it up with Mark for me to go tho Austin.
I hitched rides from St. Louis to Austin, Texas. I met several really nice truckers, and some gay ones that would pay me to sleep with them in their trucks. In my mind it was great; most people pay to sleep somewhere, I got paid to sleep somewhere.
Somewhere along that journey I got crabs. I had no idea what they were, all I knew was I had some itchy rash of sorts in my pubic hair. I shaved the hair and thought it would go away. It didn't go away, and seemed to get worse. I remember a trucker told me what I had, and took me to a drug store to buy the speacial crab shampoo. It was one of many new lows I was experiencing, and as long as I had my next shot; who cared?
I arrived at Mark's on a Saturday morning the last week of August, just before Labor Day; he was getting his place ready for a bash. He had a great smile. He was taller than I, about 5' 11", with brown eyes and thick black hair. He had the roundest face, and because of his dark skin, the brightest teeth that made the smile what it was. He was a warm, sensitive man.
Mark had a small home, three bedrooms was all he had. After living with Tony it seemed like a camping trailer. He had the cutest roommate, another guy about my age. His name was Vern. Vern was tall and lanky, and had curly brown hair that he kept short. He had deep set green eyes, and when he looked at me I would melt. He had a small nose that turned up slightly, and thin lips, and one of his teeth, the right incisor, was pushed forward and stuck out in front of the tooth directly behind it.
I remember sitting up one night, just Vern and I talking. He and I couldn't sleep, so we sat on the kitchen floor talking about life. He had told me about is family. He was the youngest of two boys. His Dad had worked for a construction company. His father and brother were on job in San Anotonio. Vern's Mother died when the boys were young. We sat there for hours. My sixteenth birthday was about two weeks away and I was determined to make this new start count. So as much as I wanted him that night, I think he was straight. I never approached the sex subject with him, as much as I wanted to; I didn't want to lose my new home.
Mark had thrown a huge Labor Day party and invited all his friends from work over. He and Vern worked together, Vern's father got them in the same company; they were laborers. There must have been fifty or sixty people crammed into that little house. Mark had made all kinds of Mexican food; he was quite the cook. The center of attraction was the big watermelon Mark had carved out and made a punch and used the carved out melon as a punch bowl. I got mucho, mucho drunk.
I met a guy at the party; his name was David Dewey. David was originally from Phoenix, Arizona, and had moved around the country with the construction company they all worked for. David was a man of the world. For some reason he tuned right in on me.
"Man, this party is a drag," David said to me, looking at me with those sparkling blue eyes of his.
"I'm having a good time, and the punch is great," I said to him.
"Yeah, but I want to party," David said, checking me out for a reaction.
"What do you mean? I thought we were partying," I said naively.
"No, I'll show you how to party. You ever do any speed, you know crystal?" Dave asked me as we stood in the kitchen near the sink in that little house.
"I've done some coke, never speed," I said, feeling the dragon wake.
"Come on, let me show you something, let me show you the best. Fucking coke only lasts a few minutes, this stuff will last you all day," David said; he grabbed my arm and took me into the bathroom, the one in Mark's bedroom.
Mark's bedroom was the master bedroom in this quaint house. It was done in shades of brown. His bed was against the wall as you walked in the door, on your left. His dresser was on the right; you had to walk between them and around the end of the bed to get to the bathroom. We shut the door behind us when we got into the bathroom. The ritual began; Dave had a set and the speed, a spoon, and everything but the water in that little gray container he pulled out of his back pocket. The water was in the bathroom; we were ready to go. I found a new high.
In the next few weeks with David I learned a whole new life. David turned out to be gay. He was five foot eight. He had sandy brown curly hair and blue eyes. He had a pointy nose, and his face was always red. His looks were pretty average. His body wasn't bad for a skinny twenty-one year old. He had some soft hair in the middle of his chest. He wasn't cut; even though he was nothing but skin and bones at one hundred and twelve pounds, his muscles weren't defined. He had a huge cock, the biggest I've ever seen and I have seen many; it was seven and three quarters of an inch long. Nice and thick with a nice head on it. Too big to suck; I tried, boy did I try.
David and I became inseparable over the next few weeks. He moved into my bedroom with me. He showed me the meat market in Austin. In the "Lonestar State" gays are lower than rattlesnake shit. Them cowboys have Friday night football, and then Friday night gay bashing. It's a sport to them, and they're real proud to tell you about it. The local meat market was a gay bar David brought me to.
The nice thing about the speed was, it lasted all day just like David told me. For fifty bucks the two of us could speed all day. We'd go to the bar, do a couple tricks, and be off to David's supplier. Back home and shoot up, all within a couple hours. It was great, no more paranoia for me.
This went on for a a little over a month and we finally dragged Mark and Vern into our antics. Mark and Vern were the responsible ones, they kept the partying only to the weekends. They had to go to work to earn money to pay the bills. After a few weeks of this arrangement David moved on and found a new source, and better money supply than me. I didn't care, I had my love and it had me.
About the middle of October, Mark and Vern were getting deeper and deeper into the speed. They began missing work, only a couple days here and there. Usually a Monday because they couldn't get out of bed on time, and then Fridays because they would get their paychecks on Thursday and we'd be off on a run.
By the middle of November, we had pawned all the things of value that Mark had worked so hard for in his twenty-four year life. We had pawned his television, VCR, the computer he had bought just before I arrived. We had pawned his stereo, then the speakers, and finally the CD player. We justified it by saying, "Hey, what good's the CD player without the speakers?" The el ranchito was looking pretty bare. There was never any food in the place; even the roaches moved out.
We always had money for beer and speed. I would do tricks, and they had their good jobs. It was the week before Thanksgiving. We were sitting around the living room, just the three of us doing speed and drinking. Mark and Vern hadn't been to work for three days. The phone rang; Mark answered. He was funny to listen to, that Mexican accent, and going a mile a minute. He hung the phone up and said, "Heys, mans, weeees just got fiiired, weeees got no chob." We all laughed.
Vern looked up and said, "Fuck 'em man, they didn't like us anyway. Let's go play some pool."
"Cha, man, let's go," Mark said in his Mexican accent.
Of course we had to do our ritual, we couldn't go out straight. So we did what good junkies do. We did another shot of speed before we left. I looked around the little house and couldn't believe how empty it was now, and how much bigger it seemed. All the small furnishings of any value had become the pawn brokers. All the money we seemed to make went to the dealer and we just got high and drunk. I really thought I was happy, until the high wore off.
We went down to the local pool hall and played several games of pool. We drank and played some of the best pool in the room. I remember thinking 'when did I get to be so good?' I watched Vern and Mark. Vern was cute, too bad I couldn't do anything with him. Hell, I had lost all interest in sex, and food. Just give me the speed, and I was happy. I couldn't have sex if I had wanted to; my dick had shriveled up and I could hardly find him to piss with. I never got hard anymore; here I was just a little over seventeen and couldn't have sex. It didn't bother me as long as I had another shot waiting. The only time my cock worked is when I wasn't speeding and then it only worked until I made the money for the next high.
I hadn't called home in quite a while. I didn't need any shit from my family, I didn't need no stinking job. I had my body and if I needed money, I could sell that.
We had been there for several hours and Mark wanted to do another shot. We had run out, and Mark was pissed. None of us had any money, just the few dollars he had and that was now in quarters for the table.
I was standing against the wall so it would hold me up and to protect my back. I remember Mark missing the shot. I heard Vern say something about 'missing' and Mark flew into a rage. I had never seen him so angry.
Mark was furious; that kind and gentle man I knew held the pool cue up like he was going to hit Vern over the head and said, "Fuck youz, youz fucking gringos, I missed the rent cause of youz fuuuking shits, Cha cozz me all my shit, man. I don't even have fucking money for a turkey for Thangeeving, mans, chu sheap fucking white boyz. We're out of here." That was the last thing he said to us that night.
We stumbled to his car. He had a 1962 Chevrolet Impala; it was white with red interior. I got in the front because Vern was too upset to sit near Mark. We drove back to the little house in silence and all went into our bedrooms.
It was around four in the morning when I woke to a loud bang. I heard someone outside my room; I got up and found Vern sitting in the corner of the kitchen near Mark's bedroom door.
Mark had taken his only possession left with him. He had put the thirty-eight he kept in his nightstand into his mouth, and blew his brains out. I never went in the room.
Vern handed me a piece of paper he was holding. I reached down and took it from him; it was a note from Mark it said:
"I can't live anymore, I have lost everything, its all my fault."
I remember the police coming and taking Mark out in a black plastic bag. I remember watching the whole episode from my eyes and feeling like it was a movie going in slow motion. I was just an actor in the movie. The police stayed for several hours asking quetions, and taking pictures. I was after eight o'clock when I found myself alone with Vern.
We sat there on the living room floor and cried. It was time for me to move on once again, I had to go somewhere new and start fresh. I could do it, I wanted to do it. Vern went to be with his Dad and brother. I moved to New Orleans. One of the truckers I had met coming to Austin had given me his number and said if I ever was nearby to look him up. He was the one that showed me the crab shampoo. It was that simple act of kindness that he offered to me, that made me think I could trust him with my life. I called the number on the piece of paper I carried in my wallet with the numbers of my John's, dealers and friends.
His name was Tommy. He had told me he was married and his wife didn't know he fooled around with boys when he drove. He told me I could come and stay by his place for a while. He told me we would have fun, but not to let on to his wife. He was going to tell his wife I was a new helper the company was sending for him and until they could find suitable arrangements he offered to put me up.
I left the day after Mark died. Just before Thanksgiving.
I miss you, Mark, I miss you. God, keep him in your hands, and bless his mother and father.