The Living Is Easy By: A.Cheshire Catt email me kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com May 31, 2006
The bus's brakes squealed like a banshee as we came up to an intersection by the University, downtown, summer night, the city's hot, the pavement's like grill marks on this slab of meat city just pulled off the barbeque. A breeze tried to blow in balmy off the river but as soon as it hit the edge of the concrete the heat raped it and made it insufferable. Through the open windows of the bus the spice of the air was of tar and stone-dust from the construction being done on one of the buildings at Laurier. The lilacs of spring had wilted and the softness of early wildflowers had been stomped out as students fled the city for the summer.
Ooh, it was hot though. My eyes were glazed and drooping, there was a sheen of sweat on my long slim arms, hairy, a long blue vein running down the top of it, the blood boiling inside. It was so hot.
I dog-eared the page I was on, the next stop was mine. Work had been long, staring at the screen of a computer, smiling to the customers that can't see me as I help them order internet service over the phone. It had been especially long because, as if it had been a hot one all across the continent, it was a dead day for the ordering of the internet. No one was budging it seemed. I got up and the bus crept forward to the next stop in front of a greystone building from the late 1890s. I stood at the door at the back of the bus and looked at myself in my green cotton cargo pants, yellow polo shirt, brown hair salted, tossed to the side, long enough to run my fingers through, which I do, shooting a sly look to the back of the bus where a girl says to someone so lazily, "Ugh, it's so hot." The bus brakes screamed slowly, like slow pain, the door slid open, swoosh, and then the wall of heat that met me there grabbed me and pulled me out of the bus and plopped me on the street where I swear the soles of my shoes melted a little more, where even the dark of then night my skin bronzed somehow.
I'd worked till nine, I'd missed the heat of the afternoon. Everywhere there were signs of how hot it had been. The grass in front of the Greek-revival building of the University was wilted and packed down where people had lounged during the day, the heat sucking the moisture from the ground. A car accident being observed by cops at the intersection was barely exciting enough to cause hurry, everyone just sort of stood there and looked at the smashed vehicle, I just turned my head. The bums in front of the mission at one intersection were drinking beer and laughing and smoking cigarettes and quietly talking to each other, if it had been any cooler they'd have been yelling at one another, they'd have had energy enough to ask for more money, not today. They lounged like lizards on the edge of an island, at the intersection before I entered the soft green-leaved residential area behind the Market. On these streets people lay on porches and balconies. One couple I saw was finishing supper and it smelled like chicken, they licked their fingers as they sat on their front step, the crack and splash of pop cans opening, the flicker and flash of cigarettes being lit. There was a breeze but it was too hot. The kids at the rec center were playing outside tonight, shirts off, their muscles were young and taut, their skins of different shades of brown and tan and white, tatoos and piercings, smoking as they dribble a ball slowly, as if the ball hung from a hand drenched in molasses and landed on a bale of cotton. Everything seemed drenched in sand, as if the desert had blown over us while I'd been at work.
I turned down my street and all the lights in all the houses were out. A quiet street, I live at one end of one of the streets in the heart of the Market. It's a cozy little street of quaint little houses. Air conditioners hummed and buzzed, rattled and moaned in windows and holes here and there. Some places didn't have air-conditioning. Like mine. It was so hot, I was almost certain I could feel the heat eminating from my place specifically, before I even got there. I dragged my feet. I loved every minute of this ridiculousness.
I came in through the back and saw that my room mate and one of my friends were sitting there on the back porch that we have. They're two straight guys, Ryan and Matt, one's a bit older than the other, but they're both around thirty or so, I'm almost 27. They make some comment about the office-job bullshit that I hate dealing with. Matt works construction so he's all tanned and tone, he's not one of those hulking construction workers, I mean the guy does enough drugs to kill a horse so he doesn't eat right, he's not all bulked up. He's scrawny. He's a bit slow too. He's all proud of his new cell phone and as I walk up to the house he's telling me about some song he's made into his new ringer. They're high. Ryan's my room mate, he doesn't work, he's on welfare. The check came in yesterday so the fridge is full, the beer's cold, and the living is easy. Ryan has a cold cloth draped over his forehead. I go in and kick my shoes off and then go to the fridge. We're so fuckin' funny, and it's good to be home, I crack jokes like a machine gun cracks the night, and I come back onto the porch where a black garbage bag sits next to a few twelve-packs of empties in the corner, and the guys are up on the railing, bitchin' about the heat. I haven't seen Matt since the weekend, it's Tuesday now, so I ask him how his week is going. He moans and shakes his head and says everything is alright. Ryan tells me the story of his day, and really it involved getting up from the nap that he took after breakfast (which had been a late lunch), he woke up to find the beer there, he had one, went back to bed and was now up again to have a beer but he had a headache and was grumbling a bit. Ryan was the type of guy that shaved his head, and though he had no facial hair as such, he alluded to it with a thug-like line along the jaw and chin, his hair was like a bristled helmet with a chin strap. He laughed and ranted for a moment about how the fajitas we were going to have for supper were like vaginas and vaginas were good.
There's another room mate too, but he's sleeping. He sleeps constantly.
I have the room in the basement. I told them I'd be back in a bit. I went down to my room, it's slightly cooler down there, and the room is a long one with a low ceiling. My bed's at the far end and I've got only a few pieces of furniture, a desk with a computer, a stereo on a shelf, a chair, a table with an ashtray on it, a few butts in it squashed to death. I started up the computer and found the chat room busy with lazy sluts. I wanted to get some extra cash so I started making suggestions to people.
I work in a call center for customer service during the evening, at night I'm an escort.
It didn't take long before I had a few bites and finally I agreed on one fellow. His nickname was HerdoBuff, he was a younger guy, married and seeking discretion. I don't often offer my place but when they seem like they're reasonably cool and, such as this guy, just some married guy looking for a piece of ass, I don't mind having them over. He agreed on a price for the standard fare service and he said he'd be over in about a half an hour, he was telling his wife he was going for ice cream. Well, that's what he told me he was telling her.
I went back upstairs and grabbed a beer from the fridge and cracked it with little effort. I went back out on the stoop and told them I was having a client over, I give them warning. They joked about it and told me to remember to turn up the music. See, they know I'm gay and they're totally cool with it, if anything they're jealous because I'm constantly having sex and constantly able to find it. I mean, it really only took me about twenty minutes there to type away in my room and come up with someone who was horny enough, or secluded in his desires enough to pay for me.
I lit a cigarette and said that I had a couple minutes to get ready for this.
Matt and I just met a few months ago. He asked a few questions, I told him my story. The first time I took money for sex I didn't end up having sex with him. It was back when I was in college. I'd been having fun in a washroom stall in the mall near my residence and when I got really poor one time, needing money for food, I propositioned a man that was seducing me. He agreed to give me some money for it but I was so nervous that I nearly died, when he gave me the money he told me to wait in the car to make sure his jealous partner had already left for AA. While he was in the house I made a dash for it and ran all the way across town on a cold February night, snot freezing in my nostrils as I ran looking over my shoulder to make sure he hadn't followed. The second time I took money for sex was a few years later, in a different town, in a similar bathroom in a mall. I was taking a crap in the stall, having down magic mushrooms the night before I had to shit like mad. The guy wrote a note on a piece of toilet paper and handed it to me under the wall. He was offering me twenty bucks to suck me off. I didn't really want to but his insistence earned him my time, we went to a more secluded washroom in the hotel adjacent to the mall and did it there. I walked away with the money in my hand, crumpled and softened and smelling like the soap from the sink there.
A few years later I met a man that paid me a substantial amount of money and it was then that things changed. I realized how easy it was, how valuable I was as a commodity, tall and thin and young and sexually deviant in the sense that an old fat man was as easy to have sex with as a spritely teen. I knew my ability to just do men like dinner, to do them like the dishes, was something I shouldn't waste. I was then in my early twenties and I was on my own with a crappy job and an unhealthy drug habit. I was needing a flow of cash unlike ever before. It was then that I started to escort as escorts do it. I was needing to have sex constantly, in all fashions with all sorts. I would go to their places and do what they wanted and leave with the cash in my pocket, burning holes in it. It was a means to an end, it was a blessing in disguise, it was putting food on my table, chems in my system, and sometimes it would even get me a new shirt or something. I mean, clients bought my family their Christmas presents, while the office job was just paying the bills. After some time, in the spring of that year, when business was bad and my reputation was being tarnished, I decided that it might be best to take a break.
Now I live in a different environment but back a couple of weeks ago I'd borrowed some money and fronted some pills, so I figured I'd just bend over and take it like a man for a couple evenings this week to make a few extra bucks.
Matt and Ryan were all squirming and nervous. Being as they were straight they couldn't imagine having sex with men and that part made them feel tense. I told them just to stay out there though when the doorbell rang. I was going to take the guy straight downstairs.
I went to the door and when I opened it there was a guy there in white cotton shirt, smelling of car air-conditioning. It was hard to see him, the lights in the hall and house were out to save the heat coming from the bulbs, but he looked to be about 35, maybe 40, with a reddish blonde hair that he cut close to his head. He wore black-framed glasses and had a prominent chin that wagged, it seemed, when he saw me. I smiled politely and asked him to come in. As he bent over to undo his shoes I took a long look down his back where his shirt was tucked into his pants. I asked him if it had been a long day at the office. He grumbled something about me not being able to imagine. "Sure, I can imagine, I was at the office all day."
He really thought that I did this all the time, that I must be like some full-time prostitute because I picked him up so easily.
I could have gone on to tell Matt out on the step about the tricks I've learned to pick up a trick. There are certain things to say, certain suggestive leads, certain things to not say, certain ways of not acting to instill a sense of confidence in him. Even over the internet, sketchiness and edginess are detectable and in order to make a customer happy one should always come across as calm, cool and collected, even in this unbearable heat.
"Want a beer?"
"Ugh?" He didn't know what to think, not very many of the escorts who work on line and I know the majority of them, would be able to offer him a beer. He hesitated and then accepted. I quickly went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of cold ones from the fridge and twisted off the caps, tossing them noisily into the can at the door. I shot a glance out onto the veranda and grinned at the guys who didn't really pay attention to me as they smoked another joint.
I took the bottles back into the living and apologized for having the lights off and everything, it's just that it's so hot in here. He told me to not worry about it as I led him down the steep stairs to the bedroom in the basement. As soon as one's down there it's obviously cooler than up there. He sighed. There were three lamps on, one by the stairs, one at the bed at the other end of the room and one midway on that table where the ashtray was. He told me I had a nice place, asked if he could smoke, told him of course he could and he offered me one, which I took from the pack that he held out for me.
"Thanks." I smiled like a lady. He went looking for his lighter and I told him I had some matches right there on that table by the ashtray. I slinked toward them and provocatively pulled a match from the pack and then then tore it across the paper on the back, the sinuous smoke and hiss of the sulphur were sexual innuendo somehow, I was luring him in with long glances and slow movements. He was staring at me now as I delicately put the flame to the tip of his cigarette and then pulled the fire into my own. We were standing mere inches apart and he told me that I was handsome, I told him he was too.
He loosened the tie around his neck, knotted broadly it came down gentlly and then he pulled at the button to let the steam off his chest. He sighed. I told him to take a seat, have a drink, relax. When he did I went over to the stereo and found the classic rock stattion. There were flags on the wall I'd bought with some earnings. There was a big red one with the face of Che Guevera silk-screened on it on one wall, next to it was a big map of the constellations and there were a splash of color on the wall that was made of ads from fashion magazines of men in suits. When that song came on that made the room so perfect I started to slowly suggest that I was ready. It was "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover." I took a long seductive sip of the cigaratte and breathed the smoke out through my nose as I let my head wobble upon my shoulders.
He said that I was handsome again. Just like the time before, I told him he was handsome too.
I came back toward him, I knealed at his feet and began to rub his tired toes and slowly tugged his socks off, I was giving him the position of power, I was annointing his feet in the perfume of my kisses. Cleaning the lint out, paying attention to the details of his toes. Picking up his left foot I began sucking on the sweaty stench of his toes. I asked him how it felt and he told me it felt really good but he wanted to watch me get undressed.
The song ended and I got up to the beat of "Slow Ride" starting. A great song to get undressed to if there ever was on. I started to do a bit of a dance and tugged at my yellow shirt, removing it with to display for him my thin body, tickling the patch of hair in the middle of my chest. Pinching delicately the nipples, getting them hard, I teased him with little gasps as if this were giving me ecstatic pleasure. I then shook from my hips the loosened pants and revealed my underwear, a pair orange tighties with blue seams. He told me they were a great pair of undies. I thanked him. Still wearing them I walked over to him in the armless chair. He took a drink from his beer and a haul from his cigarette and I sat upon his lap and yanked at his tie, making sure to leave it just so slightly on.
I leaned in beside his face and smelled the cologne that he'd dabbed there earlier in the day. I felt him getting hard under my lap and I rubbed his crotch with sweeps of my grinding ass. He put his hands on my sides, tickling me, and I got goosebumps all up and down my torse from it. I plucked the buttons loose and then found his chest inside, hot and tan, he worked out and he had sharp pecs and a defined tummy. He told me that he wanted to fuck me like he fucks his wife, I told him I wanted him to fuck me even better than that. I showed a bit of my masculinity by aggressively wrenching his chin up, licking his neck. At the same time I shucked him from his shirt and then kissing him firmly I pulled at his patent leather belt until I could shove a hand in the front of his pants. He was delicious the way he let his tongue slide into my mouth, I sucked his tongue to the full of its length, like I was fucking his tongue with my mouth. His large hands pulled at my body and I noticed that he'd put his cigarette out. I put mine out too and soon we started the business of standing and going toward the bed.
As we stood he gripped my underwear and tugged them down past my buttocks, he grabbed one cheek firmly and told me I had a nice little ass. When his finger searched my crack for the hole that he was paying for I grumbled a bit and arched my back to make it easier for him to reach, when he found it he poked it and I sighed so excitedly. He kissed me again, holding my head close to his. Suddenly he assumed the position of top, his dominance was aching to get out, he wanted to take me. So I pulled away from his kiss, as if frightened or nervous and looked him straight in his green eyes and said, "Mister, you better fuck me real good now, you hear?"
"I want you to suck my cock for a while."
"Gladly."
I've been told I'm very good at sucking cock. I learned from years spent in public washrooms sucking the cocks of lawyers and philanthhropists fresh from their offices, perfumed and pulling their cocks through the open fly of their trousers. I tugged at his white boxers and guaged the piece of meat through the cotton. He had a large eight incher, it would take a lot for him to fuck me. I don't know if I could have done it had it been any bigger. He told me it felt so good as he ran his fingers through my hair. I love the objectification, I put my mouth around his shaft at the same time as I reached up and put my fingers over his in my hair, like a piano teacher leading the student and suggested that he grip my head, make it rougher. I sucked on him and then worked his balls in my tongue, they tasted like the shit and sweat of the day, it was delicious. I lifted up his sac and put one ball in my mouth, holding it there, tugging it a bit, humming to make it vibrate. He gasped and then I repeated it on the other one. This made his really excited. I went back to making deep dives on his cock. I could taste the pre-cum. Grabbing a condom I put it on his cock and then climbed onto the bed where I lay on my belly.
I told him to spit on my hole, lick it. "Fuck me with your tongue."
He did. It was hot, I writhed a bit, wriggled in the pleasure of his tongue poking into me, so hot and fleshy. He bit a little here and there but that only excited me, and when he pushed me into the bed I used the pressure to hold myself up so I could use my hands to pull my ass cheeks apart. He loved this, ferociously he rimmed me loose and started to stick his fingers in. The fingers that had click-clacked on a keyboard all day, the finger he used on his mouse, the finger he used to dial the phone to tell his wife he'd be later than he thought, the finger now went in my ass.
I sighed and moaned and then he said he wanted to fuck me so I told he better fuck me up real good. He loved the adolescent submissiveness that I played for him. He put a hand tenderly on the patch of hair on my chest, finding the hair there he pulled at it playfully.
I felt him pushing against me and I told him to spit on it again. I heard the splash of it on his shaft and then suddenly he pushed and his long cock punched into me. I yipped like a dog that's had its tail stepped on. He loved it though for me it hurt a bit. I told him to go slowly but really he didn't listen. Now that he was pushing into me he was unstoppable, this is the part they love most of all. I suddenly thought about his wife, making a late supper of salad and chicken, tired of waiting for her husband. The smirk that groaned along my face, pulling at the miniscule muscles in my cheeks, was the attitude of the devil.
My back broke out in sweat, beads formed on my forehead and I took the assault of his pentration with a smile. Took it. Took it like a man. I once had a guy that I'd been having sex with for a while and though I don't always bend over for men there are times when I feel compelled to bend because they're such an awesome force that I can't help but take it for them. This one man was something of particular interest because he was a bit of a pansy, you know, a fruity type of fag, with seventeen pillows on his bed, though he only used two, and there were frilly lace edgings on them, they were perfumed with lilac. He was a queen of a man, and yet he bent me over that particular occassion and told me to take it like a man, and I have loved that statement since then. I love being fucked when it makes me feel like a man.
He drove into me harder and harder, I squirmed with discontent. It started to hurt as he pushed further and further into me. I told him that I was uncomfortable and I started to pull away from him but he climbed up higher on my shoulder and told me to lay still. I did as he said and closed my eyes tight as I felt him pushing deeper and deeper into me. Taking it like a man, taking it for the team, I thought about what I could use the money for.
Suddenly the guy was getting a bit too excited. He was fucking and fucking, harder and harder, he leaned in close to my ear to whisper sweet-nothings, "Fuckin' piece of trash, bitch, bitch, bitch." He spit in my ear when he said, "Stupid cunt, take it bitch, slut, whore, whore, whore." He fucked my mind with the words, he shoved his tongue in my ear and all I could hear was the swish and swirl of his saliva at my ear drum. I pulled away but that made him fuck me harder. I groaned and subconsciously tried to shrug him off my back. "Stop buckin' bitch, take my cock and like it little bitch."
I thought of his wife. Is this what she did?
She was probably happy to make him happy, to be on his arm at company picnics, but she probably cried every morning in the shower, she probably used less mix in her drinks than she did as a kid.
I laughed a bit and suddenly he shot his load up into me.
He said, "I see the time here, I gotta go."
"Cool, leave the money on the table, can I have a cigarette too."
"Sure." He threw it at me and I took it into my mouth. My ass was sore. I loved it. I watched him dress as a Fleetwood Mac song came on. I hate Fleetwood Mac so I told him I would walk him to the door. I pulled on a pair of nurse scrubs I stole from a job I used to have in a hospital and let my wagging boner bang around in there. I trotted up the stairs behind him and reentered the dark living room where it was so hot it seemed the furniture was sweating.
He quickly slid on his shoes and took off out the door without so much of a second glance, guiltily he slunk into his car, fiery with the ire of the conspiring adulterer, he sped off into the night at a rather frightening pace. I went back down to my room and took a swig of the beer he didn't finish and sat in the chair where he'd sat. I pulled out my cock and started to slowly work it, remembering that moment when he'd swore so brutally into my ear.
It made me so horny to recall the villainy in his tongue-lashing, I pictured him in several positions, at his desk at work straightening his tie, in the washroom looking at the penis in the stall next to his. I yanked on my cord, massaging it for only a few moments before suddenly I shot my hot load all up my belly, chest, some landing on my shoulder. That was hot. I grabbed a towel and then went to cleaning it up with long wipes down my belly and chest, getting it out of the hair there, taking time to please myself pinching my nipples.
Grabbing the cash on the table I saw that I was richer than what I'd bargained for.
I put on my pyjama bottoms and went back upstairs. The lads were getting another beer, I had mine still with me. I pulled a cigarette from a pack on the table and playfully waved the cash in front of them. "Let's order a pizza."
"How did it go," Mike asked nervously.
"Same old, same old."
"Pizza?" Ryan laughed and laughed. "Let's get some pills."
We took a seat outside on the step and joked about some people we know, it was fun and the laughter was like a cool shower. Off in the distance some heat lightening lit up the sky. It was picturesque. The breeze was nicer now but it was still so hot.
The neighbors were out on their steps too.
I could hear my radio in the basement, and on came "Summertime." The living was easy ...