The burgundy Silver Shadow Rolls Royce stopped short. It's hand built ton of steel, polished Walnut, lambskin, chrome didn't shudder by the quick stop but rather the rear lunged forward.. The party inside continued. The driver, a well dressed, if overly groomed young man, heavily doused in Hermes eau de verte and rather gothic in black suede from Bergdorf-Goodman, had been enlisted by the owner of the car to drive when the owner had uncorked a third bottle. Not being completely sober nor used to driving such a large car the young man found finding the right alley while driving the beauty to be rather a challenge. The three in the rear found staying dry and awake rather a challenge. "I think it's this alley, I can hear the back beat...listen, thump, thump, thump, yes this is it", he moved the Rolls across the wet lanes and sped down the narrow dark alley. Yes this was it. The crowds of overdressed women and gender bending muscle boys lining either side of the alley were all he needed to confirm that the Club was here. The driver, realizing there would be no place to park momentarily turned his head to the rear to announce that fact and in that split second rear ended a stopped black Towncar. A portly well dressed middle aged man, someone they'd mock as B & F, bounced out of the rear, yelling at the top of his voice, a too handsome and shirtless muscled younger man left the Towncar's passenger side.
The Rolls driver, cocky and confident of at least the Silver Shadow's look in the alley, yelled out the window to the portly man "move your rental, No...no.. not you sweetheart, looking at the bemused muscled shirtless man, the limo"...the line garnered a few laughs from the onlooking crowd and the Rolls driver laid on the timbre of a 250,000.00 car's horn for added drama. Club security approached and the middle aged man jumped back into the Towncar, as the shirtless muscled man grabbed his leather jacket from the car. The man said " good...you can hike it home...north is that way.' The driver of the Rolls, surprised by the ditching of hot man was taken aback as the young man approached his window and said, "Dude that was my date for tonight" The driver replied," that troll?'. Look stud it's different in Santa Rosa, DL is a meal ticket not a lifestyle". The burly security team were now running down the alley and the driver said, I'm sorry, quick you better hop in, the gaurds leave us alone, baby huey in back is a known spender". "SWEET! I'm down, the muscle man jumped in and the driver pushed a series of buttons to lock doors, roll up windiows, dim lights, and turn up music. " Wow this is really soft said the muscled man to the driver," Feel the carpet it's 14 ply virgin lambs wool, I always keep my shoes off. The muscle man offered his hand and said "Jojohn well actually Sid. It's because.....the driver interrupted. no worries friend in clubland I'm Helen, actually it's Larry but when I club with my the queen passedout in the back I always go by Helen, it's a nom de demi-mode. The Commercial Bankers I work with are cool but the clients are on the squarer side of hip". I like you replied the shirtless man, I'm a firefighter, well an E.M.T. i n Rosa and keep this below the radar. Ha not if you get into anymore fender benders in front of hot clubs it won't.
The clubs security man knocked on the window, an urban gorilla in black carrying a falshlight. Everything o.k. Helen?' Yes it's chill, any parking? Pull up to the front. I'll let them know to let you in, the gorilla talked into his walkie taklie and a craxked reply came back affirming the spot.. Sid said you must be important, No Not at all they like, a Rolls or three at the front. and put up with the stooge in backs antics, this is his mom's Rolls and he lives with her. The threesome in back has passed out thanks to a quart of cheap Popov gin. The three, one a fat 20 something and two effemante twikies had taken a 'disco nap'.Which really meant they had passed out.
Sid said to Larry. Bro don't park in front, park on the dark side ,I took a hit of E with that dork and I'm seriously hard and horny, I'm married but if you are into it I'll blow you, I got to get a load off." Larry replied. Into it? hell yeah, I've never had a Fireman, Sid said I'm an Emt and volunteer for Cal Fire, Larry started to beat Sid off through his jeans and Sid mindful of how they met said, Dude no offense but with your driving skills you need to park first. Larry laughed.
The car parked, Sid took control and within 5 minutes both were naked and Sid was happily banging away at his new friends ass. Within 15 minutes the two were half dressed and running into the Club. Sid grabbed Larry as they passed a Men's room sign and steered him into a stall. Larry said DRUGS? in a rather hopeful voice and Sid replied "sorry son the E and me being a country boy means your hole is required again. Larry laughed and said "whoa rear ending that limo has made my night". In no time he was astride his new friend in a stall and holding his face as each stared into each others eyes and Side relentlessly bounced him up and down on his cock. "You have a sweet ass Larry", You have talents too Sid,you should flip and come to my team this sweet ass could be yours. Sid laughed and said like candy from a baby...yeah as Larry shot on Sids rock hard abs,.. candy flip.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
500 Words.
Graham Greene famously wrote a minimum of 500 words a day, mostly,or so I have read, before any notable amount of alcohol was consumed or love affair begun or ended. It was a self imposed regimen that he held to throughout his life and did not vary due to project, location, war, economic dislocation, travels, residency or any life condition that an educated man of Greene's catholic taste, Socialist views and intellectual abilities encountered. This regimen was held to throughout Greene's prolific career despite suffering through the crashing swings particular to the bi-polar disorder that shadowed his fully lived life The constant demon that clouded a brilliant career and long life. The brilliance of Greene is his use of that cloud to give depth to the palette of colors that are his best works.
It seems a small task for an author of Greene's abilities to write 500 words daily especially if under contract or when a seed of an idea has germinated and taken root. Wouldn't it simply be a matter of taking pen to paper or fingers to keyboard to percolate along a thought, develop a line or theme into a full sailed essay, story or entertainment. So it would seem and so I thought when I first became a follower of Greene's works as a recently graduated University man.
Set free daily from an intellect killing position as a very junior Clerk in a Filipino government owned Commercial Bank for 60 minutes, usually with a brown bag lunch and no chums to pass the hour with, I found the business district of my hometown far from the mysterious one described by Hammett or the raw amusing one described by Twain but an utterly cold boring place indifferent to the individual. It was not the place of urbanity merrily described in the Thin Man. In fact the place was filled or so it seemed, with boars of every stripe. People referred to by me as "those people". Those people being the barbarians otherwise called auslanders, outsiders who simply didn't get it. I was sure that meant suburban commuters or tourists. I'd argue that really it meant just about anyone whose grandparents hadn't been resident in the city when it shook and burnt down in 1906. They were to be engaged with only in business and rarely if ever outside of it. I'm also certain that to those well heeled business men, the ones from every corner of the world, the power brokers that ran the district and owned much of the region, it meant recently graduated University men with low paying jobs who had an hour to kill.
It was a deuce of a chore to keep the hour filled with needed distraction and be back within the hour. For a social young man with a large family nearby as well as a robust social network, it was a painfully boring and lonely daily hour. Luckily one of my noontime strolls was past the windows of the El Dorado Bookstore.
The now long gone historic El Dorado Bookstore on Market Street had more Penguin authors than my University's bookstore and offered an intellectual respite from the drudgery of daily work. My own perch in this lifeboat of culture in the ocean of banal commercial drones were the shelves filled with Greene. My first lunch date with my talented older friend was "the Third Man". It was the start of the affair. An affair that I kept alive by weekly visits and bi-monthly purchases timed around my paydays of my new friends works. I was a thirty man offered a cool glass of fresh water. I drank it gratefully.
I anticipated lunch hours now and found more than a few less traveled quiet places away from the hustle of businessmen hustling each other where I could continue my silent conversation with my friend. I was engaged by everything he wrote. I did struggle with friend Graham's early works, the English seemed far too Ox-Bridge pretentious, often reading as school boy stilted rather than subtle language I'd fallen in love with. Well developed idea's came across as pompous little England burdened by Empire, rather than witty entertainments and suspense's of his middle-period. Greene's earliest works, written when he was my age 60 year's before, were disliked by me unknowingly at the time as being far too pretentious for someone our age. Our friendship had become such that I simply didn't like my new friend's attitude and rushed through those few hours not merrily spent by reading another title in his collective work. The boar that was the narrator's voice had a well spoken yet awful in being self important. That voice in those earlier works was a disquieting voice, a mid 20 something burdened with having to rub shoulders with those outsiders from beyond the Pale who simply didn't get it. The burden of youth is learning adaptive skilks in dealing with people who simply don't get it. The magic of friend Graham is that like a merry great Uncle the difference of 65 years and thousands of miles disappeared so that the young friend Graham honestly annoyed his young friend Reader. The young Master that Greene is in Travels without Maps is not as nuanced as the Master Greene in Brighton Rock but the sureness of his strokes are clear in both works and the style, the mark of him is there bountifully in each.
That mastery, part education, experience and a regimen of discipline. The discipline of writing 500 words daily. Daily. The clarity of tone, an assured masculine voice, a hallmarkof friend Graham was honed by the the mastery of creating art in 500 words daily over decades. I'm profoundly grateful that he did.
It seems a small task for an author of Greene's abilities to write 500 words daily especially if under contract or when a seed of an idea has germinated and taken root. Wouldn't it simply be a matter of taking pen to paper or fingers to keyboard to percolate along a thought, develop a line or theme into a full sailed essay, story or entertainment. So it would seem and so I thought when I first became a follower of Greene's works as a recently graduated University man.
Set free daily from an intellect killing position as a very junior Clerk in a Filipino government owned Commercial Bank for 60 minutes, usually with a brown bag lunch and no chums to pass the hour with, I found the business district of my hometown far from the mysterious one described by Hammett or the raw amusing one described by Twain but an utterly cold boring place indifferent to the individual. It was not the place of urbanity merrily described in the Thin Man. In fact the place was filled or so it seemed, with boars of every stripe. People referred to by me as "those people". Those people being the barbarians otherwise called auslanders, outsiders who simply didn't get it. I was sure that meant suburban commuters or tourists. I'd argue that really it meant just about anyone whose grandparents hadn't been resident in the city when it shook and burnt down in 1906. They were to be engaged with only in business and rarely if ever outside of it. I'm also certain that to those well heeled business men, the ones from every corner of the world, the power brokers that ran the district and owned much of the region, it meant recently graduated University men with low paying jobs who had an hour to kill.
It was a deuce of a chore to keep the hour filled with needed distraction and be back within the hour. For a social young man with a large family nearby as well as a robust social network, it was a painfully boring and lonely daily hour. Luckily one of my noontime strolls was past the windows of the El Dorado Bookstore.
The now long gone historic El Dorado Bookstore on Market Street had more Penguin authors than my University's bookstore and offered an intellectual respite from the drudgery of daily work. My own perch in this lifeboat of culture in the ocean of banal commercial drones were the shelves filled with Greene. My first lunch date with my talented older friend was "the Third Man". It was the start of the affair. An affair that I kept alive by weekly visits and bi-monthly purchases timed around my paydays of my new friends works. I was a thirty man offered a cool glass of fresh water. I drank it gratefully.
I anticipated lunch hours now and found more than a few less traveled quiet places away from the hustle of businessmen hustling each other where I could continue my silent conversation with my friend. I was engaged by everything he wrote. I did struggle with friend Graham's early works, the English seemed far too Ox-Bridge pretentious, often reading as school boy stilted rather than subtle language I'd fallen in love with. Well developed idea's came across as pompous little England burdened by Empire, rather than witty entertainments and suspense's of his middle-period. Greene's earliest works, written when he was my age 60 year's before, were disliked by me unknowingly at the time as being far too pretentious for someone our age. Our friendship had become such that I simply didn't like my new friend's attitude and rushed through those few hours not merrily spent by reading another title in his collective work. The boar that was the narrator's voice had a well spoken yet awful in being self important. That voice in those earlier works was a disquieting voice, a mid 20 something burdened with having to rub shoulders with those outsiders from beyond the Pale who simply didn't get it. The burden of youth is learning adaptive skilks in dealing with people who simply don't get it. The magic of friend Graham is that like a merry great Uncle the difference of 65 years and thousands of miles disappeared so that the young friend Graham honestly annoyed his young friend Reader. The young Master that Greene is in Travels without Maps is not as nuanced as the Master Greene in Brighton Rock but the sureness of his strokes are clear in both works and the style, the mark of him is there bountifully in each.
That mastery, part education, experience and a regimen of discipline. The discipline of writing 500 words daily. Daily. The clarity of tone, an assured masculine voice, a hallmarkof friend Graham was honed by the the mastery of creating art in 500 words daily over decades. I'm profoundly grateful that he did.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
King Philip
The crashing waves broke over the petrified wood of the shipwreck King Philip. Seagulls flew in circles over the long dead bow, a half dozen jet black Ravens had landed on the solid wet sand just east of the remains of the long ago shipwrecked boat and inched there way slowly, ever slowly to the boat.
The naked body of a white man, face-down, lie partially buried in a swirling tide-pool of seawater and sand within the ribs of the boat. The crashing waves of a fall storm recently exposed the remains of the once proud King Philip and the returning tides were quick returning.. The body, the object of the birds, was not a preserved crew member exposed with the retreat of the sand entombing the ship but that of a white man in his late 20's, his marble white skin contrasting sharply with the dirty sand and blackness of the petrified wood of the boat. The body was partially buried in the wet sand and appeared save for its face down position much like a weekend beach goer might. One who had buried himself to the waist to amuse his kids. Its rigidity in repose belied any such idea. The birds saw a meal, the largest of them landed on the bodies buttocks and in a quick motion tore into the fleshy left buttocks and flew away. It new nothing of the man, that he had a wife who would begin to worry about his being gone in a few hours, nor about the drunk janie who having prepared herself so carefully, wearing the sheerest nightie she owned and who drank a bottle of Vodka when she decided he had stood her up, nor of his other friends who continued to call his cellphone tossed into the seagrass in the Sandunes, he was missing another mindless house party full of an endless parade of Cal Fire employees and they needed him to continue the party. They called and called, the messages buzzing on, the battery wearing down until the cell went silent. The voice-mail had been filled hours ago by dozens of calls from a frightened former john named Addige who had overheard a drug dealer at a sex club stonily talk of a gay for pay hooker having been overdosed by another drug dealer who had provided him pure white heroin mixed with special K rather than the usual mix of heroin and fluff.
Few others knew of his existence and two who did had caused the overdose to occur. Fewer still would mourn the man, he was not a very sympathetic individual. His wife would, not so much out of marital happiness, for there had been little of that, but out love of the material life they had together. Her life had been so unrelentingly hard and deprived before he married her that his end meant the end of that world and as no other path would be open to her, a room in a shared rented mobile home trailer park on Santa Rosa Avenue would be her next home. There were no children to ask why daddy how drowned in San Francisco 90 miles from home in Santa Rosa and the life of the junkie was such that if his absence was noted at all it would be with relief by many as he'd become the daily train wreck to be avoided.
That might happen but as there were no clothes there was no identification and he most likely would not be found. The sea was relentlessly reclaiming the wreck as weak dawn gave way to full light the boat and body would be sleeping together under tons of sand. He had walked to the beach from what he called a molester van after allowing his cherry to be popped by his drug dealer. The X fed to him was pure enough that the humping had been intensely pleasurable.and the promise of yet more free heroin had lured him naked to the beach for a swim. The stormy night and the discovery of the remains of the King Philip had excited them both and they sat naked side by side on of the boat's remains. The drug dealer grabbed him, deeply kissed him and pro-offered the lines from his hand, the man, ever glad of a free line or two inhaled greedily the mixture of special K and heroin. The burn in his nose had barely ceased when he fell forward from what had been the port side of the ship into tide pool of seawater and swirling sand. He was paralyzed by the drug cocktail and was unable pull himself up out of the half foot of icy water. The drug dealer aided the angel of death in its flight by standing on his victims neck and back within three minutes the man had drowned.
An end place fitting as scene of death, the Clipper ship King Phillip had been transporting a cargo of Pigeon feces for fertilizer when shipwrecked in 1878 and the dead man, like all addicts had become a flightless Pigeon.
The naked body of a white man, face-down, lie partially buried in a swirling tide-pool of seawater and sand within the ribs of the boat. The crashing waves of a fall storm recently exposed the remains of the once proud King Philip and the returning tides were quick returning.. The body, the object of the birds, was not a preserved crew member exposed with the retreat of the sand entombing the ship but that of a white man in his late 20's, his marble white skin contrasting sharply with the dirty sand and blackness of the petrified wood of the boat. The body was partially buried in the wet sand and appeared save for its face down position much like a weekend beach goer might. One who had buried himself to the waist to amuse his kids. Its rigidity in repose belied any such idea. The birds saw a meal, the largest of them landed on the bodies buttocks and in a quick motion tore into the fleshy left buttocks and flew away. It new nothing of the man, that he had a wife who would begin to worry about his being gone in a few hours, nor about the drunk janie who having prepared herself so carefully, wearing the sheerest nightie she owned and who drank a bottle of Vodka when she decided he had stood her up, nor of his other friends who continued to call his cellphone tossed into the seagrass in the Sandunes, he was missing another mindless house party full of an endless parade of Cal Fire employees and they needed him to continue the party. They called and called, the messages buzzing on, the battery wearing down until the cell went silent. The voice-mail had been filled hours ago by dozens of calls from a frightened former john named Addige who had overheard a drug dealer at a sex club stonily talk of a gay for pay hooker having been overdosed by another drug dealer who had provided him pure white heroin mixed with special K rather than the usual mix of heroin and fluff.
Few others knew of his existence and two who did had caused the overdose to occur. Fewer still would mourn the man, he was not a very sympathetic individual. His wife would, not so much out of marital happiness, for there had been little of that, but out love of the material life they had together. Her life had been so unrelentingly hard and deprived before he married her that his end meant the end of that world and as no other path would be open to her, a room in a shared rented mobile home trailer park on Santa Rosa Avenue would be her next home. There were no children to ask why daddy how drowned in San Francisco 90 miles from home in Santa Rosa and the life of the junkie was such that if his absence was noted at all it would be with relief by many as he'd become the daily train wreck to be avoided.
That might happen but as there were no clothes there was no identification and he most likely would not be found. The sea was relentlessly reclaiming the wreck as weak dawn gave way to full light the boat and body would be sleeping together under tons of sand. He had walked to the beach from what he called a molester van after allowing his cherry to be popped by his drug dealer. The X fed to him was pure enough that the humping had been intensely pleasurable.and the promise of yet more free heroin had lured him naked to the beach for a swim. The stormy night and the discovery of the remains of the King Philip had excited them both and they sat naked side by side on of the boat's remains. The drug dealer grabbed him, deeply kissed him and pro-offered the lines from his hand, the man, ever glad of a free line or two inhaled greedily the mixture of special K and heroin. The burn in his nose had barely ceased when he fell forward from what had been the port side of the ship into tide pool of seawater and swirling sand. He was paralyzed by the drug cocktail and was unable pull himself up out of the half foot of icy water. The drug dealer aided the angel of death in its flight by standing on his victims neck and back within three minutes the man had drowned.
An end place fitting as scene of death, the Clipper ship King Phillip had been transporting a cargo of Pigeon feces for fertilizer when shipwrecked in 1878 and the dead man, like all addicts had become a flightless Pigeon.
Monday, March 26, 2012
The decline and fall of Syd and Barry.
The fly buzzed about the blood stained tissues piled up on the coffee table. It landed and crawled slowly over the filth. Syd couldn't stop focusing on it. It seemed to grow bigger as it moved closer to his open eye. The fly moved onto the tissue he has stuffed up his nostril. It was soaked through but clotting had occurred sometime between his blacking out and now. Syd didn't move, the lethargy of snorting heroin for much of the night hadn't entirely worn off and the effort needed to brush the fly away seemed an insurmountable challenge just then. The pain in his stomach was an entirely different thing. The rumble in his gut had roused him from the grey cloudy nether world that passed for rest in the daily ritual of snorted heroin for rest, steroid injections for strength and Viagra for erections. The rumblings in his gut became more painful and frequent. The pain was getting to be "reduculous" and only eased when presently the seat of his pants slowly filled with a wet warm goo which began to trickle down his legs. That didn't get him to move. Syd was whippd by the tail end of the dragon that was snorting Afghan white heroin.
It was getting more difficult to level the ride out and moments like this, unthinkable a year ago, were now regular. So regular in fact that the locked door to his "Man Cave" no longer caused Angelina alarm or upset the neat little house's daily routine. The world beyond the door continued unchanged while the fly crawled onto Syds blood stained cheek and flew away. The warmth in his pants turned cold and the air smelled of sweat, Jack Daniels and shit. The shakes started. It was very cold or so it seemed but he knew the heat blasted from the vent silently. Full late morning light shone brightly through the French Doors and had banished all shadows from the wooden deck just beyond. The deck was filled with large Terracotta pots full of late fall blooms and all was awash in sun. The blessed sun of the wine country mocking the dark demons of addiction.
Syd fully awake, now became aware of the crap in his pants and jumped up from his face down position on the dark brown leather couch, " shit of shit..." he said aloud, repeatedly in a half sobbing half whispered cry. He bounded into the bathroom but fell short, tripping over an overturned ottoman and landing on his ass. He jumped up again, rushed into the shower, stripping off the soiled pants as the hot water poured over his now naked body. The trail of brown liquid followed him from the couch and ceased only when it reached the shower. His cell phone rang again. It had rung continually for what seemed hours. He ignored it. Ending his shower, he toweled off facing the oversized full length brown wooden framed mirror leaning against the bathroom wall. A hacking cough began and wouldn't cease. His body convulsed, he shat again, this time standing up and naked. The brown ooze landing fully on the white bathroom mat. "SHIT! What the FUCK", he cried out and showered again.
Clean again, he looked into the mirror. Syd saw a too lean, older looking than his 29 years, man staring back at him. Syd looked himself over critically as the commodity he now was. Syd was shagged out and past prime by any standard. Once what everyone thought of as a good looking guy, he had always pulled ass, well at least after his nose was fixed, it having been broken in a high school football game. After that Syd was no longer called Platapus Rex. Those same teenagers would now taunt him by calling him scarecrow fag. The wasting effect of a year of near daily heroin use and ticking had taken a heavy toll on his muscle tone. The steroid cocktail he juiced daily would need to be alternated again and rapid muscle gain mixed in with a shot for strength.
Popping the vitamins and Viagra he took daily with a swig of Jack Syd walked over to the closet where the safe lay hidden, not by design but by habit, under a pile of filthy clothes. Opening it he removed two of the 60 boxes of steroids neatly lined up within. A couple of thick envelopes full of cash were set beside them. Those were for his increasing trips to McCarthy, his drug dealer in the Haight. The envelope had been kept full by his selling of Steroids and tricking with married men and an occasional frustrated wife but the once unthinkable had occurred, a john upon seeing him at his Hotel room door had passed and slammed the door shut Syd never fucked a single woman. That would seem like he was cheating on Angelina. In his drug fueled roid rages and endless erections blown in cars on back roads by old bi married men not banging single pussy passed for marital fidelity, that would now change. Syd was confident that the lonely hearts club of women would melt as soon as he opened a door or said Darlin to them and was not worried.. If a fool can have confidence Syd would thrive.
That particular idea, keeping loyal to "Angie" had started when he was Gian the Fireman. a stripper at suburban bay area Bridal Showers. Syd wouldn't touch the Maid of Honor or Bridesmaids. The Mother of the Bride and Groom, the Matron of Honor, hell the Grannies were all potential paying Jane's. Single girls got attached and caused trouble. It took two dates for any woman to open her legs and the money rarely came until the 5th but the single girls would be attached by the end of the bang and ready to do battle for "her boyfriend". A mouse of a wife like Angelina was too tempting a target for a territory invading woman to pass up and Syd let them feel him up, suck him off but that was all.
Still business was only as good as his being able to be buffed and keep a boner some of the time. As his dependency on heroin increased his erections had become more difficult to maintain and were no longer the thick "sleek Fireman's Pole" he had formerly and rightfully bragged of.. The cellphone rang and he grabbed it after he injected his two doses of steroids. It was a Jane, she'd been given his number by her friend Addie and looked to meet in four hours time at her place in Healdsburg. Jojohn said no, that as it was a first "date" they would need to meet in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel in Santa Rosa, she would need to make the reservation, pay for the suite and pay cash upfront for his service, his minimum was three hours at $500.00 per hour. To his surprise she agreed! The time was noted and the call ended. The steroids had begun to take effect and he felt like the day would be a good one. Closing the safe he noticed he had blown his entire supply of heroin. He called McCarthy and set a meeting in 90 minutes time in the parking lot of Walgreens on Stanyan Street. Opening the "man cave" door he yelled ANGIE I'm heading to the city". And headed to his sweet 4 x 4 pick up.
This Jane sounded like easy rich pickings and he looked forward to the easy routine of conversation, food ordered from room service, massage for her with a skilled handjob providing her with an unrelenting release followed by about 30 minutes of cuddling. The cuddling messed with the woman and he would be assured of at least four more dates before he would tell her his wife was pregnant and he wanted to work it out. A fifth or sixth date never was booked as the women became increasingly uncomfortable with his lack of erection and the amount of money she was spending. Those who attempted to stick around were prone to being dependent lonely souls more bothersome than profitable and he would block their numbers Equally troubling were young gay men. They were simply mischievous. The easiest most profitable client was a married older man. They paid for servicing, silence and privacy. A best example was the 60 something retired Stock Broker Real Estate developer who owned the Curee Cave.
Barry Harris was his best client and 10,000.00 a month from the owner of the rapidly failing Dry Creek Winery Curee Cave had not been unusual when they first tricked but as the market for trophy wines disappeared post 2008, Barry's finances had taken a triple hit, his leveraged real estate holdings lost 50 percent of value and no longer provided easy capital. Cash gained by pulling out large amounts of money from ever increasing equity had dried up as surely as the creeks in drought. Drought or no, large amounts of capital infusion were needed to cover the expenses of running a sink hole of a winery and the shopping extravagances of an alcoholic wife.
Money for Barry, or so it was rumored in the town, was still plentiful as he was thought to cultivate dope on his more remote acres.. What Barry did do was launder the Mexican Drug cartels money through his Winery production cost and skillful manipulation of profit and loss write-offs. A never used Champagne cave, dug out of the mountain, well out of view of the Chateau and tasting rooms was a curing facility for primee aged Kush. for them too and the finished product often began it's journey to Chicago and the southeast from the tiny Healdsburg Airport a mile down the road. Barry flew for them as well and under cover of marketing his wine. All together the arrangements and increased trips had relieved his strained cash flow. Flying his Cessna to private airports near ski lodges in Aspen or Vail and the film festival at Sundance from his own runway, had become so common that no one much noticed the plane. Barry saw no other way out of his financial troubles and had recently taken the more risky flight into Vegas with his plane loaded with first quality Kush. He was, they liked to remind him, more and more their "bitch" but he reassured himself that this was only temporary until his real estate holdings value recovered. Barry just needed to hold on.
Liquidating the whole operations was not an option. No one would pay even close to what was owed and the more sobering fact was that the Mob, once established in an enterprise, were loath to leave. It simply was too good a deal for them. The only people on record were Barry and Isabel Harris. The employees were all his, the property was all his. The risk therefore was all his. They reminded him that he had sought them out by offering use of the empty Champagne Cave. They were hesitant to use a place with tourist trade activity but Barry had skillfully sold them on the place, his marketing skills were put to good use as he showed them the end of the estate with an independent power source, well water, a pristine and well lit unused Cave.
The Winery was now an integrated facet of an international criminal operation. On the upside, a legitimate business which was financially profoundly unsound and incapable of turning a profit survived and kept a dozen people employed. The Mob business, which produced so much cash that it was difficult to "legit" all of it, yielded a large "profit" in capital gains for its investors through the cover of the winery. It may have been a marriage of convenience but it served the same client. Those liking a toke or two were the best clients for the fine wines. The baby boom liked a buzz, the sun and a look of luxury and class. So what if it was more Vegas wine country theme park than a Tuscan hillside vineyard. The majority of the clients no more traveled under the Tuscan sun than were Harvard M.B.A.s. The money rolled in and life went on.
It was all professionally run and not in any way resembling the violent gangsta's of popular imagination. It provided employment, and taxes. The only Mob people Barry Harris interacted with were the dozens off duty county Sheriff's "employed" by him through the special event and catering section of his winery. When not providing services to the courts and jails or golfing with the judges of Sonoma, Napa, Mendocino and Lake Counties they supervised the arrival, parking and loading of out of state U-Hauls and R.V.'s, all driven by middle aged "tourist couples" as well as the delivery trucks for markets who picked up regular "winery purchases'. They also provided security and manned the always money losing special events that the town looked forward to reading about and the socially ambitious Isabel had become famous for. They a provided the heat, muscle and intimdation that kept the operation going and the too curious or disgruntled away.
They all knew Syd from his bi-weekly bangings with barry. They thought he was a freak and at times goaded the former County grappling champ into time killing matches that turned into mini-gangbang by hose or broom handle of a too stoned to care Syd whose rapid decline had become so marked that he was "topped" on most occasions and rarely remembered it. Syd was, they had told Barry,a liability that needed to go. They'd leave the how, when to him for a week or two but made it clear that Syd having infected one of them with H.I.V. after a match ended with an equally stoned Sheriff fucking hin without a rubber they would not be inclined to be quick or kind if they needed to do it. Barry was neither cruel or sentimental. about personal relationships and after a thoughtful day and enlisted McCarthy. No date was set but Syd was Barry knew, "past due" and the idea of his life ending did not bother him nor disturb his sleep. This was after all just business in the glorious wine country.
It was getting more difficult to level the ride out and moments like this, unthinkable a year ago, were now regular. So regular in fact that the locked door to his "Man Cave" no longer caused Angelina alarm or upset the neat little house's daily routine. The world beyond the door continued unchanged while the fly crawled onto Syds blood stained cheek and flew away. The warmth in his pants turned cold and the air smelled of sweat, Jack Daniels and shit. The shakes started. It was very cold or so it seemed but he knew the heat blasted from the vent silently. Full late morning light shone brightly through the French Doors and had banished all shadows from the wooden deck just beyond. The deck was filled with large Terracotta pots full of late fall blooms and all was awash in sun. The blessed sun of the wine country mocking the dark demons of addiction.
Syd fully awake, now became aware of the crap in his pants and jumped up from his face down position on the dark brown leather couch, " shit of shit..." he said aloud, repeatedly in a half sobbing half whispered cry. He bounded into the bathroom but fell short, tripping over an overturned ottoman and landing on his ass. He jumped up again, rushed into the shower, stripping off the soiled pants as the hot water poured over his now naked body. The trail of brown liquid followed him from the couch and ceased only when it reached the shower. His cell phone rang again. It had rung continually for what seemed hours. He ignored it. Ending his shower, he toweled off facing the oversized full length brown wooden framed mirror leaning against the bathroom wall. A hacking cough began and wouldn't cease. His body convulsed, he shat again, this time standing up and naked. The brown ooze landing fully on the white bathroom mat. "SHIT! What the FUCK", he cried out and showered again.
Clean again, he looked into the mirror. Syd saw a too lean, older looking than his 29 years, man staring back at him. Syd looked himself over critically as the commodity he now was. Syd was shagged out and past prime by any standard. Once what everyone thought of as a good looking guy, he had always pulled ass, well at least after his nose was fixed, it having been broken in a high school football game. After that Syd was no longer called Platapus Rex. Those same teenagers would now taunt him by calling him scarecrow fag. The wasting effect of a year of near daily heroin use and ticking had taken a heavy toll on his muscle tone. The steroid cocktail he juiced daily would need to be alternated again and rapid muscle gain mixed in with a shot for strength.
Popping the vitamins and Viagra he took daily with a swig of Jack Syd walked over to the closet where the safe lay hidden, not by design but by habit, under a pile of filthy clothes. Opening it he removed two of the 60 boxes of steroids neatly lined up within. A couple of thick envelopes full of cash were set beside them. Those were for his increasing trips to McCarthy, his drug dealer in the Haight. The envelope had been kept full by his selling of Steroids and tricking with married men and an occasional frustrated wife but the once unthinkable had occurred, a john upon seeing him at his Hotel room door had passed and slammed the door shut Syd never fucked a single woman. That would seem like he was cheating on Angelina. In his drug fueled roid rages and endless erections blown in cars on back roads by old bi married men not banging single pussy passed for marital fidelity, that would now change. Syd was confident that the lonely hearts club of women would melt as soon as he opened a door or said Darlin to them and was not worried.. If a fool can have confidence Syd would thrive.
That particular idea, keeping loyal to "Angie" had started when he was Gian the Fireman. a stripper at suburban bay area Bridal Showers. Syd wouldn't touch the Maid of Honor or Bridesmaids. The Mother of the Bride and Groom, the Matron of Honor, hell the Grannies were all potential paying Jane's. Single girls got attached and caused trouble. It took two dates for any woman to open her legs and the money rarely came until the 5th but the single girls would be attached by the end of the bang and ready to do battle for "her boyfriend". A mouse of a wife like Angelina was too tempting a target for a territory invading woman to pass up and Syd let them feel him up, suck him off but that was all.
Still business was only as good as his being able to be buffed and keep a boner some of the time. As his dependency on heroin increased his erections had become more difficult to maintain and were no longer the thick "sleek Fireman's Pole" he had formerly and rightfully bragged of.. The cellphone rang and he grabbed it after he injected his two doses of steroids. It was a Jane, she'd been given his number by her friend Addie and looked to meet in four hours time at her place in Healdsburg. Jojohn said no, that as it was a first "date" they would need to meet in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel in Santa Rosa, she would need to make the reservation, pay for the suite and pay cash upfront for his service, his minimum was three hours at $500.00 per hour. To his surprise she agreed! The time was noted and the call ended. The steroids had begun to take effect and he felt like the day would be a good one. Closing the safe he noticed he had blown his entire supply of heroin. He called McCarthy and set a meeting in 90 minutes time in the parking lot of Walgreens on Stanyan Street. Opening the "man cave" door he yelled ANGIE I'm heading to the city". And headed to his sweet 4 x 4 pick up.
This Jane sounded like easy rich pickings and he looked forward to the easy routine of conversation, food ordered from room service, massage for her with a skilled handjob providing her with an unrelenting release followed by about 30 minutes of cuddling. The cuddling messed with the woman and he would be assured of at least four more dates before he would tell her his wife was pregnant and he wanted to work it out. A fifth or sixth date never was booked as the women became increasingly uncomfortable with his lack of erection and the amount of money she was spending. Those who attempted to stick around were prone to being dependent lonely souls more bothersome than profitable and he would block their numbers Equally troubling were young gay men. They were simply mischievous. The easiest most profitable client was a married older man. They paid for servicing, silence and privacy. A best example was the 60 something retired Stock Broker Real Estate developer who owned the Curee Cave.
Barry Harris was his best client and 10,000.00 a month from the owner of the rapidly failing Dry Creek Winery Curee Cave had not been unusual when they first tricked but as the market for trophy wines disappeared post 2008, Barry's finances had taken a triple hit, his leveraged real estate holdings lost 50 percent of value and no longer provided easy capital. Cash gained by pulling out large amounts of money from ever increasing equity had dried up as surely as the creeks in drought. Drought or no, large amounts of capital infusion were needed to cover the expenses of running a sink hole of a winery and the shopping extravagances of an alcoholic wife.
Money for Barry, or so it was rumored in the town, was still plentiful as he was thought to cultivate dope on his more remote acres.. What Barry did do was launder the Mexican Drug cartels money through his Winery production cost and skillful manipulation of profit and loss write-offs. A never used Champagne cave, dug out of the mountain, well out of view of the Chateau and tasting rooms was a curing facility for primee aged Kush. for them too and the finished product often began it's journey to Chicago and the southeast from the tiny Healdsburg Airport a mile down the road. Barry flew for them as well and under cover of marketing his wine. All together the arrangements and increased trips had relieved his strained cash flow. Flying his Cessna to private airports near ski lodges in Aspen or Vail and the film festival at Sundance from his own runway, had become so common that no one much noticed the plane. Barry saw no other way out of his financial troubles and had recently taken the more risky flight into Vegas with his plane loaded with first quality Kush. He was, they liked to remind him, more and more their "bitch" but he reassured himself that this was only temporary until his real estate holdings value recovered. Barry just needed to hold on.
Liquidating the whole operations was not an option. No one would pay even close to what was owed and the more sobering fact was that the Mob, once established in an enterprise, were loath to leave. It simply was too good a deal for them. The only people on record were Barry and Isabel Harris. The employees were all his, the property was all his. The risk therefore was all his. They reminded him that he had sought them out by offering use of the empty Champagne Cave. They were hesitant to use a place with tourist trade activity but Barry had skillfully sold them on the place, his marketing skills were put to good use as he showed them the end of the estate with an independent power source, well water, a pristine and well lit unused Cave.
The Winery was now an integrated facet of an international criminal operation. On the upside, a legitimate business which was financially profoundly unsound and incapable of turning a profit survived and kept a dozen people employed. The Mob business, which produced so much cash that it was difficult to "legit" all of it, yielded a large "profit" in capital gains for its investors through the cover of the winery. It may have been a marriage of convenience but it served the same client. Those liking a toke or two were the best clients for the fine wines. The baby boom liked a buzz, the sun and a look of luxury and class. So what if it was more Vegas wine country theme park than a Tuscan hillside vineyard. The majority of the clients no more traveled under the Tuscan sun than were Harvard M.B.A.s. The money rolled in and life went on.
It was all professionally run and not in any way resembling the violent gangsta's of popular imagination. It provided employment, and taxes. The only Mob people Barry Harris interacted with were the dozens off duty county Sheriff's "employed" by him through the special event and catering section of his winery. When not providing services to the courts and jails or golfing with the judges of Sonoma, Napa, Mendocino and Lake Counties they supervised the arrival, parking and loading of out of state U-Hauls and R.V.'s, all driven by middle aged "tourist couples" as well as the delivery trucks for markets who picked up regular "winery purchases'. They also provided security and manned the always money losing special events that the town looked forward to reading about and the socially ambitious Isabel had become famous for. They a provided the heat, muscle and intimdation that kept the operation going and the too curious or disgruntled away.
They all knew Syd from his bi-weekly bangings with barry. They thought he was a freak and at times goaded the former County grappling champ into time killing matches that turned into mini-gangbang by hose or broom handle of a too stoned to care Syd whose rapid decline had become so marked that he was "topped" on most occasions and rarely remembered it. Syd was, they had told Barry,a liability that needed to go. They'd leave the how, when to him for a week or two but made it clear that Syd having infected one of them with H.I.V. after a match ended with an equally stoned Sheriff fucking hin without a rubber they would not be inclined to be quick or kind if they needed to do it. Barry was neither cruel or sentimental. about personal relationships and after a thoughtful day and enlisted McCarthy. No date was set but Syd was Barry knew, "past due" and the idea of his life ending did not bother him nor disturb his sleep. This was after all just business in the glorious wine country.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The Purchase! An excerpt from a work in progress entitled ADDICTION.
The ladies embraced in the interior doorway. Walking into the sun flooded courtyard they exchanging polite pleasantries. The Chinchilla coat and Sophia's dog were taken away by the silent, stone faced Mde. Chia. Seating the mildly stoned Isabel at the lovingly arranged table, Sophia urged her client to sample the cheeses. The ever hungry Isabel replied that she wouldn't be able to fit into the collection if she did. The concern arose not by a sudden awareness of corpulence but rather by her having caught a glimpse of the collection assembled in the salon as she sat down in the Courtyard. Sophia had noted both its beauty and the seemingly small size. "Darling", said a rather distressed Isabel, "I thought these were NOT sample size. Sophia replied. "don't worry dear, that Sphinx of a woman can work miracles. I've a chilled bottle of Tattinger, it's perfectly paired with this double cream from Spain, which one is that...oh yes this one with the fig sauce drop " " by the way I've asked Adige to amuse us.. ADIGE ." Sophia called, than leaning towards Isabel she continued "where has that queen gone, most likely on the throne AGAIN, it seems he rented a new man last night with rather an aggressive fist, the poor boy has been slowed down by the workout.., what did he call it... Opera Gloves?...,darling for the first 5 minutes of his retelling his tale I thought he wanted me to order a pair of above the elbow gloves" The intrigued Isabel replied "well what on earth are they than." Sophia yelled. "ADDDIGE do hurry up". Leaning in once more Sophia continued " well it seems that his beau du nuit is a pro who takes his fist and...." Adige swaned into the salon, announcing his arrival with a heavy sigh. Adige began a graceful descent onto the divan next to the french doors opening onto the courtyard, a trace of Dragon dust visible on his nose
"Sophia it is simply wonderful to see you again." "Adige.... Isabel tells me you've been to the Opera?" Adige chortled, " no darling I simply can't stand the boring old noise, but I have been with a man who has magical hands but forgot his Opera gloves" Sophia looked amused, Isabel mildly confused was more intent on the cheeses than Adige's foray into high culture or tricks. "It's slang Isabel, do let's drink I'm feeling suddenly loving and wish to savor the moment with you two girls flutes in hand." Sophia said to "Isabele I'm afraid Adige is giving us a rather poor interpretation of Billie Holiday today" Adige!, Isabele said in feigned disgust," you are a boar, no one wants a heroin user in their set, the minute anything goes missing they are always the first to be accused of pinching it. Where's my Chinchilla...lock it up Mde. Chia, Adige's dealer might be about." Hahaha the mellowing Adige replied, "a social rule from a woman whose husband bottles cheap wine for high school students and grows dope on 100 acres of perfectly perfect Dry Creek appellation land. Tell me Isabel is he still financing your trips and shopping by flying a seasons worth of the finest Kush intothe private airport near your Vail lodge?,' Sophia returned the volley for her client "Now Adige you mustn't become boring or I'll call the police". Isabele, her mouth full of yet another cheese, her hands busy at work slicing a wedge of Stilton and grabbing a slice of bread had missed the round of attempted wit and looking at Sophia said "delectable..how sweet of you to think of it."..glancing towards Adige she loudly addressed Sophia "who on earth is that man's drug dealer? I thought snorted heroin made the addict euphoric, you are clearly being ripped off." "perhaps you should inject it next time" added Sophia. "oh go bother each other.." replied the reclining Adige.
Stepping into the salon Sophia addressed Adige "Darling don't dose off here, be a love and lounge in the courtyard, we've clothes to look at. Adige ever eager to please the rich and fashionable rose quietly, bowed from the waist in an exagerated fashion, he hummed the opening aria of Madame Butterfly leaving the salon and stumbling on the threshold he grabbed Isabel in passing causing her to splash champagne on the floor, "dreadful man" she mockingly hissed and grabbed him firmly by his left ass cheek, shoving him forcefully out of the salon. " perhaps Opera Gloves should be on your shopping list", Adige said," I detect real sexual frustration in your grasp. Barry not up to it these days? " "Foul creature" Isabel replied and closed one of the doors leading into the courtyard.
Sophia had begun the business of her business which was selling the client as much as she could and had missed the exchange. Taking a $16,000.00 Valentino resort suit, the lightest shade of pale pink, in hand she presented it to a seated Isabel. "I thought this would be fun and simply perfect for lunches when you are at your place in the desert" " Isn't it pretty".replied Isabel. SOPHIA this isn't my size" No. It''s a 6 the admiring Sophia said...these are samples" " SOPH! I need a glorious gown for Thursday! This was an emergency shopping trip, don't tell me you didn't remember? " Yes. I've just the thing, but I thought you'd like to see a few of Morris's latest from Milan as well." Sophia was immersed in the beauty of the collection " this is the one that gorgeous Mary Burghoff wore last week at the new gallery opening at the MOMA. Informing most clients that a $12,000.00 dress had been worn locally by another woman would have ended the sale but Mary Burghoff was the impossibly chic, thin, gorgeous woman who knew everyone and was a woman Isabel admired to the point of having a crush. Mary Burghoff was a woman Isabel could never be. Isabel said " I love it! than continued.."you know Mary is single again. That sweet girl, so popular. There was that actor in L.A., you know the one that was in one of those Mafia movies, what's his name.?. Mary dumped him and..." from the courtyard Adige interrupted, "one man is not enough for our girl Mary. you know she dated War, or was it Tower of Power when she was 19, which one was the black group? Now it wasn't the entire band just the horn section...mind you Mary is a lady"
Adige was awake and roaming. "Isabel, come now WOEMIN if you are buying a gown you should also buy the gloves." What is that vile thing talking about? Sophia said to Mde.Chia. "Adige dear what are your talking about inquired Sophia, " MY trick ladies... the manly man Jojohn... solid muscle, 6.4, blonde, dumb as a load of wood but just as hard and ladies the hands of a Maestro. I could arrange a meeting Sophia, how about one Isabel?' JoJohns put me on retainer" "Not for me, I'm not on the market for one of your queer steers".replied Sophia. "He isn't"..." Isn't what?" the mildly annoyed Isabel asked while being undressed by Sophia and Mde. . "he isn't queer, he is married to a perfectly plain, unknowing woman. They live in ...umhh...ahhh Santa Rosa.. he wants to be a fireman. the man wants to put out fires....he could start with the one in my nose...gawd this burns, I think you should let Jojohn start one with you Isabel, I mean he is in your neck of the woods, Barry is never around, just think of it, a hard body, all that kush you age so skillfully in the cellars to put you in the mood, that huge empty faux chateau.. A good bang just might help your diet. $400.00 an hour isn't that much really, think of it as a personal training session:". "HA...help with my diet? leave his number" Isabel replied jokingly. The idea of a successful diet, now that had appeal, all other attempts having failed, this opera glove thing whatever it was might be no more difficult than the rubber waist bands she had worn one winter. "I already have dear, his number is in your purse" her Cartier Gold lighter now being in his pocket.
Sophia approached with the special order gown, a rainbow of colors, clear crystals reflecting the colors and light, each bead sparking a diamond like reflection off the underlying white silk.A complete stunner even in the lady's rather full size 14. "Isabel.. this is it". Silence. Quiet filled the room, the clock ticked, the water played in the courtyard fountain, it was a sublime moment. "my God.. pure beauty, the awed Isabel replied, than a command.."right let's do this Get Chia in here." Mde. Chia ever a silently unobtrusive presence said "I'm here Mrs.Harris, please step onto the platform and into the gown....there.. there.... now carefully" Mde. Chia guiding her into the gown..continued "gently.. now into the shoes please. ...face the mirror" Isabel complied, a meek schoolgirl eager to please the mistress. In fashion Mde. Chia's word was law, not only in this Salon but several others. They all knew the magic of Mde.s handiwork. Isabel respectfully stood at attention, the artist began work, her artistry was gentle and definitive. The full length gown was thick with Austrian crystal beads, each sewn onto the garment by hand, the dress pattern was winter blooming flowers in multi colors, reds, blue, purple, green all arrayed on the background of off white silk. The pieces empire waist bordered by a subtle gold cording. It would flatter all women but was particularly kind to larger women. The gowns bodice was a masterpiece of beading, embroidery and the tailoring arts. The straps were a simple and discrete gold chain. Heavy to carry the gown was equally surprisingly easy to wear, its construction being as much a work of art as the beauty of the colors. It was a master work of the fine art of European Couture. The construction was thought out so that each stitch supported the weight of the gown. The wearer was not burdened by wearing pounds of crystal. It was as Isabel said "utter perfection" Mde. Chia set to work and made a few pin points under the arms and at the side of the bodice. A piece like this was not one to be reworked but merely fine tuned.
"Well than, you'll take it?" YES! replied Isabel" " Wonderful!, now let's look at the other pieces,. I really think this.." "Order them all Sophia, I'm sure I'll have use of them" Isabel replied. The woman was utterly transfixed by the image she saw reflected in the mirror. In this magical gown Sophia was no longer a lonely, too heavy, 50 something, a forever stoned drunkard but the image of what she had been at 28 or rather what she had hoped to be. Gorgeous, relaxed, glamorous, unfailingly chic, thin and above all desirable to her man. The gown had cast a spell on her. Mde. Chia and Sophia knew not to wake this dreamer from the spell, the fashion poppy was taking hold, its hoped for effect and the ride was pleasing. The dreamer was not to be awoken.
The clock chimed half past four. " Oh dear, the time..Sophia help me out of this. Barry is in the city tonight and momma needs to work for her dress money..." In a dance of quick small movements each in precise succession, the gown was off, her own dress stepped into, the wrapdress retied by Mde. Chia, the Chinchilla fetched, the purse retrieved and the cab hailed. Isabel was waved too until she was driven out of sight. The door was closed and locked.
All items sold. An order placed that hour both online and by fax to the Milan workroom for the entire Morris Resort Couture collection, to be delivered in 6 weeks, size 14. Mrs. Barry Harris, $129,000.00 paid in full Black American Express Card. Sophia rose from the computer at her desk in the petite salon, turning the courtyard lights off she walked out into the courtyard and poured the seated Mde. Chia a glass of champagne, smilingly joining her in a silent toast. Adige rushed past the ladies seated in the courtyard to get to the water closet, Mde Chia turned to Sophia and said "always such a delight to see Mrs.Harris." The evening had begun. The purchase was complete.
"Sophia it is simply wonderful to see you again." "Adige.... Isabel tells me you've been to the Opera?" Adige chortled, " no darling I simply can't stand the boring old noise, but I have been with a man who has magical hands but forgot his Opera gloves" Sophia looked amused, Isabel mildly confused was more intent on the cheeses than Adige's foray into high culture or tricks. "It's slang Isabel, do let's drink I'm feeling suddenly loving and wish to savor the moment with you two girls flutes in hand." Sophia said to "Isabele I'm afraid Adige is giving us a rather poor interpretation of Billie Holiday today" Adige!, Isabele said in feigned disgust," you are a boar, no one wants a heroin user in their set, the minute anything goes missing they are always the first to be accused of pinching it. Where's my Chinchilla...lock it up Mde. Chia, Adige's dealer might be about." Hahaha the mellowing Adige replied, "a social rule from a woman whose husband bottles cheap wine for high school students and grows dope on 100 acres of perfectly perfect Dry Creek appellation land. Tell me Isabel is he still financing your trips and shopping by flying a seasons worth of the finest Kush intothe private airport near your Vail lodge?,' Sophia returned the volley for her client "Now Adige you mustn't become boring or I'll call the police". Isabele, her mouth full of yet another cheese, her hands busy at work slicing a wedge of Stilton and grabbing a slice of bread had missed the round of attempted wit and looking at Sophia said "delectable..how sweet of you to think of it."..glancing towards Adige she loudly addressed Sophia "who on earth is that man's drug dealer? I thought snorted heroin made the addict euphoric, you are clearly being ripped off." "perhaps you should inject it next time" added Sophia. "oh go bother each other.." replied the reclining Adige.
Stepping into the salon Sophia addressed Adige "Darling don't dose off here, be a love and lounge in the courtyard, we've clothes to look at. Adige ever eager to please the rich and fashionable rose quietly, bowed from the waist in an exagerated fashion, he hummed the opening aria of Madame Butterfly leaving the salon and stumbling on the threshold he grabbed Isabel in passing causing her to splash champagne on the floor, "dreadful man" she mockingly hissed and grabbed him firmly by his left ass cheek, shoving him forcefully out of the salon. " perhaps Opera Gloves should be on your shopping list", Adige said," I detect real sexual frustration in your grasp. Barry not up to it these days? " "Foul creature" Isabel replied and closed one of the doors leading into the courtyard.
Sophia had begun the business of her business which was selling the client as much as she could and had missed the exchange. Taking a $16,000.00 Valentino resort suit, the lightest shade of pale pink, in hand she presented it to a seated Isabel. "I thought this would be fun and simply perfect for lunches when you are at your place in the desert" " Isn't it pretty".replied Isabel. SOPHIA this isn't my size" No. It''s a 6 the admiring Sophia said...these are samples" " SOPH! I need a glorious gown for Thursday! This was an emergency shopping trip, don't tell me you didn't remember? " Yes. I've just the thing, but I thought you'd like to see a few of Morris's latest from Milan as well." Sophia was immersed in the beauty of the collection " this is the one that gorgeous Mary Burghoff wore last week at the new gallery opening at the MOMA. Informing most clients that a $12,000.00 dress had been worn locally by another woman would have ended the sale but Mary Burghoff was the impossibly chic, thin, gorgeous woman who knew everyone and was a woman Isabel admired to the point of having a crush. Mary Burghoff was a woman Isabel could never be. Isabel said " I love it! than continued.."you know Mary is single again. That sweet girl, so popular. There was that actor in L.A., you know the one that was in one of those Mafia movies, what's his name.?. Mary dumped him and..." from the courtyard Adige interrupted, "one man is not enough for our girl Mary. you know she dated War, or was it Tower of Power when she was 19, which one was the black group? Now it wasn't the entire band just the horn section...mind you Mary is a lady"
Adige was awake and roaming. "Isabel, come now WOEMIN if you are buying a gown you should also buy the gloves." What is that vile thing talking about? Sophia said to Mde.Chia. "Adige dear what are your talking about inquired Sophia, " MY trick ladies... the manly man Jojohn... solid muscle, 6.4, blonde, dumb as a load of wood but just as hard and ladies the hands of a Maestro. I could arrange a meeting Sophia, how about one Isabel?' JoJohns put me on retainer" "Not for me, I'm not on the market for one of your queer steers".replied Sophia. "He isn't"..." Isn't what?" the mildly annoyed Isabel asked while being undressed by Sophia and Mde. . "he isn't queer, he is married to a perfectly plain, unknowing woman. They live in ...umhh...ahhh Santa Rosa.. he wants to be a fireman. the man wants to put out fires....he could start with the one in my nose...gawd this burns, I think you should let Jojohn start one with you Isabel, I mean he is in your neck of the woods, Barry is never around, just think of it, a hard body, all that kush you age so skillfully in the cellars to put you in the mood, that huge empty faux chateau.. A good bang just might help your diet. $400.00 an hour isn't that much really, think of it as a personal training session:". "HA...help with my diet? leave his number" Isabel replied jokingly. The idea of a successful diet, now that had appeal, all other attempts having failed, this opera glove thing whatever it was might be no more difficult than the rubber waist bands she had worn one winter. "I already have dear, his number is in your purse" her Cartier Gold lighter now being in his pocket.
Sophia approached with the special order gown, a rainbow of colors, clear crystals reflecting the colors and light, each bead sparking a diamond like reflection off the underlying white silk.A complete stunner even in the lady's rather full size 14. "Isabel.. this is it". Silence. Quiet filled the room, the clock ticked, the water played in the courtyard fountain, it was a sublime moment. "my God.. pure beauty, the awed Isabel replied, than a command.."right let's do this Get Chia in here." Mde. Chia ever a silently unobtrusive presence said "I'm here Mrs.Harris, please step onto the platform and into the gown....there.. there.... now carefully" Mde. Chia guiding her into the gown..continued "gently.. now into the shoes please. ...face the mirror" Isabel complied, a meek schoolgirl eager to please the mistress. In fashion Mde. Chia's word was law, not only in this Salon but several others. They all knew the magic of Mde.s handiwork. Isabel respectfully stood at attention, the artist began work, her artistry was gentle and definitive. The full length gown was thick with Austrian crystal beads, each sewn onto the garment by hand, the dress pattern was winter blooming flowers in multi colors, reds, blue, purple, green all arrayed on the background of off white silk. The pieces empire waist bordered by a subtle gold cording. It would flatter all women but was particularly kind to larger women. The gowns bodice was a masterpiece of beading, embroidery and the tailoring arts. The straps were a simple and discrete gold chain. Heavy to carry the gown was equally surprisingly easy to wear, its construction being as much a work of art as the beauty of the colors. It was a master work of the fine art of European Couture. The construction was thought out so that each stitch supported the weight of the gown. The wearer was not burdened by wearing pounds of crystal. It was as Isabel said "utter perfection" Mde. Chia set to work and made a few pin points under the arms and at the side of the bodice. A piece like this was not one to be reworked but merely fine tuned.
"Well than, you'll take it?" YES! replied Isabel" " Wonderful!, now let's look at the other pieces,. I really think this.." "Order them all Sophia, I'm sure I'll have use of them" Isabel replied. The woman was utterly transfixed by the image she saw reflected in the mirror. In this magical gown Sophia was no longer a lonely, too heavy, 50 something, a forever stoned drunkard but the image of what she had been at 28 or rather what she had hoped to be. Gorgeous, relaxed, glamorous, unfailingly chic, thin and above all desirable to her man. The gown had cast a spell on her. Mde. Chia and Sophia knew not to wake this dreamer from the spell, the fashion poppy was taking hold, its hoped for effect and the ride was pleasing. The dreamer was not to be awoken.
The clock chimed half past four. " Oh dear, the time..Sophia help me out of this. Barry is in the city tonight and momma needs to work for her dress money..." In a dance of quick small movements each in precise succession, the gown was off, her own dress stepped into, the wrapdress retied by Mde. Chia, the Chinchilla fetched, the purse retrieved and the cab hailed. Isabel was waved too until she was driven out of sight. The door was closed and locked.
All items sold. An order placed that hour both online and by fax to the Milan workroom for the entire Morris Resort Couture collection, to be delivered in 6 weeks, size 14. Mrs. Barry Harris, $129,000.00 paid in full Black American Express Card. Sophia rose from the computer at her desk in the petite salon, turning the courtyard lights off she walked out into the courtyard and poured the seated Mde. Chia a glass of champagne, smilingly joining her in a silent toast. Adige rushed past the ladies seated in the courtyard to get to the water closet, Mde Chia turned to Sophia and said "always such a delight to see Mrs.Harris." The evening had begun. The purchase was complete.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Isabel- An excerpt from a work in progress entitled ADDICTION
Isabel woke suddenly from her half slumber with an abrupt start, a near panic inhaling of air, her eyes blinded by afternoon sun flooding the dining room through floor to ceiling windows. The rush of euphoria from her aged Kush had left her. Isabel was slam cold sober and a bit dry. The afternoon end of a stoned space entered sometime before lunch. Judging by the remains of the meal left on the Flora Danca luncheon plate, she had heartily enjoyed the meal, as well as a 2003 Cabernet from her cellar's private reserve. The bottle lay on its side on the shining George the Second supper table, drained dry, she vaguely recalled playing spin the bottle solitaire, a game only she knew. A, Baccarat wineglass had been broken and the shards shone bright all over the table.
Isabel now had an enormous headache. A throbbing pain but one that a toke or two would cure. Reaching for her Hermes black Alligator Kelly handbag she quickly found her red Dunhill cigarette case and the Cartier gold lighter. Lighting her perfectly rolled and huge joint she inhaled a long drag, held it, exhaled and repeated the process. The tension left her head, her facial muscles relaxed, ease returned and she felt right again. The silver Louis the 15th mantel clock chimed 3:00 o'clock. Good GOD she thought I've been at lunch for three hours, the realization caused her to giggle slightly. Isabel, she thought, "you are simply a slacker and there is nothing that can be down about it. Three o'clock! what is to be done with you" another toke, than a sudden awakening look crossed her face. "HELL..she yelled, " I have Mde. Sofa's trunk show in 15 minutes" . "Juan!! Jaun!!! JAUN!!! " she yelled " where is that man?", she recalled silently oh that's right he's at the vineyard. " Right, I need to have the concierge hail a car" . She rose quickly and in one step was back in her Alligator pumps, grabbed her cell and called the lobby, "How may I serve you Mrs. Harris?' "I'm running late.. I need a Towncar or a cab, hell I'll take a rickshaw, just have whatever it is ready when I get off the elevator." "Yes. Mrs Harris...I'll see..". Isabel turned it off and tossed it into the Kelly bag. Right- what needs repair...she walked over to the gilt Louis 14th mirror that had cost her husband Barry more than her first new car post -Berkeley, " Hmmm...not so bad"... placing a coat of red lipstick on, she surveyed the rest of her round face, those little queens at MILLS PLACE DAY SPA charged her a fortune but her hair was still perfectly and artfully messed, her makeup looked both irreproachable and flattering. The Art of Kabuki knew no higher form than the artful mask the queens applied to her no longer young face each morning while she was resident in the city. " There. Right ...Lets go". Grabbing the first fur she came across in her hallway closet she threw it over her green Diane Von Faustenberg wrapdress, snapped the Alligator bag that now dangled at her elbow closed and quietly closed the thick walnut door behind her. The door and lock system was activated and the nearly silent noise of it locking reminded Isabel of the sound of a vault door closing.
The elevator door opened and upon entering she noticed her reflection in the brown mirror that lined the back wall...her mouth opened a bit in surprise..she had grabbed her new Chinchilla. It was simply gorgeous. It played well off the Alligator handbag and pumps but was a bit over the top for mid afternoon. " OH Well ", she thought. " I'll simply have to carry it off". The door closed and the speed of the descent from the penthouse on the 38th floor to the lobby and it's nearly motionless ending never failed to delight her. Placing her Chanel sunglasses on Isabel turned to the front as the elevator door opened. "Mrs.Harris", greeted the concierge George or Tony or Bill, she never remembered the names or faces and as she was always a bit stoned and they all were blurrily interchangeable it seemed too difficult to attempt to do so. " I have a Town car for you. but you didn't mention your destination....I assumed you'll have this billed to".. Isabel didn't stop or speak and the man went silent. In fact she never spoke to the help, her own or the building staff. It simply didn't occur to her to do so. Unless directing them the lady kept silent if they were about. The Doorman escorted her to the waiting car and asked "Where to Mrs. Harris?" "Mde. Sophia on Sutter Street" replied Isabel. Settling into the backseat she sunk into the velour seat and didn't hear the doorman utter "stoned again you old cunt" as he stepped away from the departing car.
The driver sped through the sunny streets and Isabel marveled in the magic of a warm, bright, fall San Francisco afternoon, the realization slowly dawned upon her that wearing a Chinchilla was a huge absurdity on" such a warm afternoon. " Oh well I do try to amuse she thought." Arriving at Sophia's, Isabel restrained her eagerness to bounce into the salon, in order to allow the driver to open her door, it was his job after all. He unlocked the door remotely.Isabel waited. She waited, she stared at his reflection. in the rear view mirror, he stared back, neither blinked, he unlocked the door again and motioned that her door was unlocked...."Oh really.."she said loudy..."oh thank you" Closing the car door behind her Isabel uttered a very audible "ASS" but a boozey belch lessened its intended effect. The car sped away and the lady walked the three paces from the curb to the front door of the elegant shop.
Ringing the bell once, twice and three times in quick order, our Chinchilla clad Isabel, 50 something, overweight, stoned and an alcoholic, stood eagerly at Mde. Sofia's locked front door, right hand on her hip, black Alligator bag dangling at her right elbow, the urban glare shaded by sunglasses. Isabel waited. Ringing again once, the door slowly opened inward and the impeccable and impossibly chic Sophia greeted her warmly "Isabel! "What a delightful "
Isabel now had an enormous headache. A throbbing pain but one that a toke or two would cure. Reaching for her Hermes black Alligator Kelly handbag she quickly found her red Dunhill cigarette case and the Cartier gold lighter. Lighting her perfectly rolled and huge joint she inhaled a long drag, held it, exhaled and repeated the process. The tension left her head, her facial muscles relaxed, ease returned and she felt right again. The silver Louis the 15th mantel clock chimed 3:00 o'clock. Good GOD she thought I've been at lunch for three hours, the realization caused her to giggle slightly. Isabel, she thought, "you are simply a slacker and there is nothing that can be down about it. Three o'clock! what is to be done with you" another toke, than a sudden awakening look crossed her face. "HELL..she yelled, " I have Mde. Sofa's trunk show in 15 minutes" . "Juan!! Jaun!!! JAUN!!! " she yelled " where is that man?", she recalled silently oh that's right he's at the vineyard. " Right, I need to have the concierge hail a car" . She rose quickly and in one step was back in her Alligator pumps, grabbed her cell and called the lobby, "How may I serve you Mrs. Harris?' "I'm running late.. I need a Towncar or a cab, hell I'll take a rickshaw, just have whatever it is ready when I get off the elevator." "Yes. Mrs Harris...I'll see..". Isabel turned it off and tossed it into the Kelly bag. Right- what needs repair...she walked over to the gilt Louis 14th mirror that had cost her husband Barry more than her first new car post -Berkeley, " Hmmm...not so bad"... placing a coat of red lipstick on, she surveyed the rest of her round face, those little queens at MILLS PLACE DAY SPA charged her a fortune but her hair was still perfectly and artfully messed, her makeup looked both irreproachable and flattering. The Art of Kabuki knew no higher form than the artful mask the queens applied to her no longer young face each morning while she was resident in the city. " There. Right ...Lets go". Grabbing the first fur she came across in her hallway closet she threw it over her green Diane Von Faustenberg wrapdress, snapped the Alligator bag that now dangled at her elbow closed and quietly closed the thick walnut door behind her. The door and lock system was activated and the nearly silent noise of it locking reminded Isabel of the sound of a vault door closing.
The elevator door opened and upon entering she noticed her reflection in the brown mirror that lined the back wall...her mouth opened a bit in surprise..she had grabbed her new Chinchilla. It was simply gorgeous. It played well off the Alligator handbag and pumps but was a bit over the top for mid afternoon. " OH Well ", she thought. " I'll simply have to carry it off". The door closed and the speed of the descent from the penthouse on the 38th floor to the lobby and it's nearly motionless ending never failed to delight her. Placing her Chanel sunglasses on Isabel turned to the front as the elevator door opened. "Mrs.Harris", greeted the concierge George or Tony or Bill, she never remembered the names or faces and as she was always a bit stoned and they all were blurrily interchangeable it seemed too difficult to attempt to do so. " I have a Town car for you. but you didn't mention your destination....I assumed you'll have this billed to".. Isabel didn't stop or speak and the man went silent. In fact she never spoke to the help, her own or the building staff. It simply didn't occur to her to do so. Unless directing them the lady kept silent if they were about. The Doorman escorted her to the waiting car and asked "Where to Mrs. Harris?" "Mde. Sophia on Sutter Street" replied Isabel. Settling into the backseat she sunk into the velour seat and didn't hear the doorman utter "stoned again you old cunt" as he stepped away from the departing car.
The driver sped through the sunny streets and Isabel marveled in the magic of a warm, bright, fall San Francisco afternoon, the realization slowly dawned upon her that wearing a Chinchilla was a huge absurdity on" such a warm afternoon. " Oh well I do try to amuse she thought." Arriving at Sophia's, Isabel restrained her eagerness to bounce into the salon, in order to allow the driver to open her door, it was his job after all. He unlocked the door remotely.Isabel waited. She waited, she stared at his reflection. in the rear view mirror, he stared back, neither blinked, he unlocked the door again and motioned that her door was unlocked...."Oh really.."she said loudy..."oh thank you" Closing the car door behind her Isabel uttered a very audible "ASS" but a boozey belch lessened its intended effect. The car sped away and the lady walked the three paces from the curb to the front door of the elegant shop.
Ringing the bell once, twice and three times in quick order, our Chinchilla clad Isabel, 50 something, overweight, stoned and an alcoholic, stood eagerly at Mde. Sofia's locked front door, right hand on her hip, black Alligator bag dangling at her right elbow, the urban glare shaded by sunglasses. Isabel waited. Ringing again once, the door slowly opened inward and the impeccable and impossibly chic Sophia greeted her warmly "Isabel! "What a delightful "
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sid. An excerpt from a work in progess entitled ADDICTION.
Sid bounded into the gym. The parking lot was full of his clients cars so his step was quicker than usual. Sid or rather Sid as Jojohn had a date in San Francisco in a couple of hours and he needed to conduct the deals in the locker room and get some pec. and back work in before heading across the bridge. The john, a regular client named Barry, a retired Real Estate Broker turned vintner, married, lived about ten miles away but they only met in San Francisco. The idea had been Barry's and was motivated by his ever present concern to keep keep it all on the DL. Having the date 85 miles from Healdsburg provided him space to enjoy the sex and relax in the arms of his stud. It didn't matter to Sid. Sid was Sid to all his firefighter friends, all young enough, dumb enough, crooked enough or a combination of all three to not notice or care about the existence of Jojohn. To them Sid was a stand up sort of guy, one that always bought the drinks, shared or scored the best drugs, lied to their girlfriends or wives for them, hunted and skied with them and sometimes, when they were stoned on a good bowl of Kush, would let himself be blown by one or two of them.
Tonight there was no need for extra stealth as Barry's wife, Isabel, was hosting a private party at their winery, Cave Curee. Isabel or so Barry had told him, would be resplendently dressed in a couture evening gown and holding court in their candlelit, flower strewn faux Tusacan tasting room. A room to be completely populated by drunks on the make, hangers on, a friend or two and the increasingly rare liquor wholesale agent. As a result Isabel Harris would be oblivious to time passing or absent husbands. Couture fashion had that effect upon her. Like a drunk with a full bottle everything else simply didn't matter.
Sid knew that this johns wife occupied and not being a factor during the upcoming evening meant that Barry would want added kinks. All light stuff, use of butter instead of lube, domination and complete silence during the whole session. Sid typically finished Barry in about ten minutes and they'd spend the rest of the hour discussing the progress of the garden Sid and his wife Angelina were planting. Barry liked to offer his advice and felt his freely sharing a decade of experience in building a winery, would somehow benefit Jojohn rather than a fifty dollar tip. Barry directed the development or so he thought.of the small garden at the post-war Rancher fixer-upper that Sid and his wife Angelina had purchased in an older part of Santa Rosa. To Sid-Jojohn what mattered most was that the design hide and incorporate his dozen marijauna plants. Sid, like the rest of the north bay, was nothing if entrepreneurial and his mini farm of kush marijauna plants fit in nicely with his real world job as an ambulance driver. Medical Marijauna was a legal easy side business and explained the bundles of extra cash to Angelina
The free weights were just a head, the juice head cage as it was nicknamed was full, he passed by, circled the fenced off area once and headed to the men's locker room. Four big men, each lacking a discernable neck, one looking like a kid in a fat suit, followed him into the locker room. They waited silently and busied themselves by washing hands or trash talking girlfriends. They waited for Sid to be dressed in his workout clothes before silently, one at a time, approaching him. Four quick exchanges, each consisting of an exchange of three one hundred dollar bills for a small, still sealed box with a Pfizer Lab logo on it. The transaction occurred in a very matter of fact fashion. The locker door opened again but as these four were his regulars and he worked out with most of them they all knew the "dealio". Business was conducted in such an unrushed manner that when a stranger happened in on the scene he would not notice anything unusual about the five men's behavior. Business completed. Twelve hundred dollars pocketed, about half profit., locked in his locker made safer by one of his boy's sitting shotgun near it and reading an auto trader magazine. Sid hit the free weights.
Barry liked Sid's pecs pumped up and since this john was $400.00 per session Sid liked to pump the goods. Barry also supplied the heroin they snorted, post hand job, which meant he would be later than the 8:00 o'clock start time previously agreed upon. Barry would need to visit his drug dealer, a decayed old young man called McCarthy, before they met at the co-op that the Harris's maintained but the bank mostly owned on Taylor Street behind Grace Cathedral. That meant Sid could get a full pec.and back workout in, be able to groom and drive to the city unrushed. While lifting on the incline Sid made a mental note to remind himself that Barry liked to be carried around the living room while they both were naked and be masturbated from behind by Sid-Jojohn, he always had him use butter instead of lube and both would stand before the floor to ceiling window which overlooked the spire of Grace Cathedral and Huntington Park far below. Barry liked to ejaculate onto the window and left the dried cum for the housekeeper or Isabel's dog to clean up. Jojohn never came and never had an erection unless one was caused by his steroid use.
Waving goodbye to the teenage girl attendant who yelled " hey you", Sid was buzzed out. No card needed. That was what life was like for Sid, a waved hello from the doorman, attendant, front desk clerk, bartender and he was golden. Being a 6.4, hard bodied blonde party man, known as the go to guy for hot parties, pussy and drugs, had smoothed life's rougher edges. Those rough spots having been caused chiefly by employment in a dead end job answering what he and his partner Skip termed "Mexican panic calls".for the County Ambulance service. At the ripe old age of 25, both found themselves working as County Public Health E.M.T.'s, forever wait listed by a half dozen County fire departments due to a lack, not of training, but by neither having a parent already employed by any one of a dozen Sonoma County Fire Departments.
Life on the economy was either hooked up legit, a Firefighter in San Francisco let's say, or d.l. like being a dope growing steroid dealer. The worst was life as a Mexican. That world, the Mexican one, was one lived in complete illegality. Backbreaking long hours working in Vineyards and on Marijauna farms. The earnings went quickly, to pay off coyotes, triple rents and money sent south.
Sid had chosen the dl and far from lowering his impression of himself, the choice, once the money started to roll in, gave his already inflated ego a huge boost. The cash allowed him to sneer about parts of town where the " help lived". It felt good to be him. Sid couldn't remember the last time he waited to get into a club, paid for a meal, paid for clothes, housing or trips. Life had, for a lowly paid Sonoma County E.M.T., taken off about the time he became known as Jojohn, first in San Francisco than Vegas. Jack off John. That-was how he was known to his tricks, both men and women. A professional date with Jojohn always ended in his date moaning in sexual ecstasy under his 250 pounds of steroid pumped up hard muscled body. While no longer shredded from hours in the gym or running and clearly water bloated from steroid use, it still paid the bills and as long as the bills got paid his wife Angelina was happy. Angelina while not homely was in fact too hard and sharped featured a young woman to ever be called pretty, the wifey was content and didn't mind his frequent "overtime" work as Sid's and she had a far more abundant life than the one her growing up in a trailer park would have given an observer cause to expect.
Sid always said that one of the owner benefits of marrying a homely girl like Angelina was that felt she had won the Daddy D.N.A pool by marrying him . The only problem with that pool he liked to say was that there were no lifeguards on duty. Angelina didn't understand his ardor in making love was not due to his love of her but the effects of the juice. Angelina was simply there.whne sid was amped on the juice it made no difference if it were his wife or an old mans ass under him. What she mistook for a profound union of their souls was 'roid' aggression nothing more.
Angelina was content and embarrassingly proud of the life she had won with her Sid. For won is what she felt she had done everytime she awoke in her house, in her bedroom flooded by fall morning light in the wine country. Knowing her garden lay just beyond the sheet covered window, her man mostly not in her bed, Angelina was very content. For Sid .it was a straight forward trick. Keep her happy and that meant keeping her in the dark about JoJohn and his Johns and Janes. Sid was aided in this by Angelina having an unnatural lack of curiosity.
The other trick, the tricks, were less difficult. That world was a world of quick satisfaction. It was commodity sex. The story told, the bio of Jojohn, was that he was an underpaid Cal Fire Firefighter trying to pay down student loans from S.R.J.C. Fire Tech. It was made believable by his having been a Cal Fire Fighter. What mattered mostly was being good looking,. It didn't hurt the trade that he was also charming, a young married guy. Jojohn spun a story of being caught up trying to pay for his fixer upper house in a down economy. It worked. The tricks, if they cared at all and most did not, would book a repeat date, add a tip or buy dinner, based not upon his story as JoJohn liked to think but by his magic hand job and make-out sessions. Even the johns who had expected more, a lot more, were sated and pleased with the experience.
The use of his powerful right hand to pump out an orgasm for one of his john's was how he paid for the dragon race he was starting to live for. It, the wank, meant nothing to him and it did not matter to him at all if the money was from embarrassed mothers of brides to be, drunk maids of honors, married men or the stray gay tourist to the wine country. It didn't matter to Sid because Sid wasn't there. The moment he started out for a date Jojohn did his thing. No it wasn't Sid and as far as Jojohn was concerned snorting a bit of heroin post trade made it all tolerable and downright enjoyable. Sid-Jojohn felt the sex-money plus blowing the dragon bested his former extra gig of driving drunk tourists between winery tasting rooms and that the resulting morning cramps, diarrhea, and slight shakes of mild heroin withdrawal were no worse than the hangovers he used to suffer through on Mondays after a weekend of Winery jitney work.
The downside of his measured weekly use of blowing the dragon, snorting white Heroin, was that it was from the poppy fields of Afghanistan, and more expensive than boiling or smoking the black tar heroin the coyotes brought north. The cost was inching up. Barry supplied date night heroin and passed Sid's order and cash on to McCarthy. Still it was a good time and money was not a problem. Sid had a day job, the steroid dealing, medical Marijauna, the tricking, and Angelina worked as a waitress at the Flamingo Hotel. It was, as a character in a favorite movie of his said, "rich pickings". The burning in his nasal cavity had taken some getting used too but the ensuing euphoria, a feel of being cocooned in sensory pleasure, a soft easing from the pain his overworked out body felt, the quieting of steroid induced rages, made, as he told Skippy for a great boys night out. Sid was he told himself in control, Jojohn was, after all, a mere fiction, a creation of Sid's and Sid was, as everyone knew, married, straight and intent on keeping in shape to answer the call whenever it came to be a Firefighter. The jackoff part, well that just came naturally.Practice had made perfect and his technique varied only by sex. JoJohn took over. The tyrst or session was more like a good grappling exercise than making out. It was all mapped out in his mind. Meeting, making out, stripping, frotage, making out, hand job. No exceptions. Jojohn had made an art of faking noisy excitement and pleasure and once he started there was no stopping. Jojohn, dominated, took it to the mat and the opponent would tap out in 20 minutes. Jojohn took no enjoyment out of the act but like the professional he was participated in the session fully.
Sid, as previously mentioned, was never present but did allow Jojohn to be carried over to gym grappling sessions with newer friends. Sid got a rush when he grappled and overpowered another straight guy. It would start as horseplay, the opponent thrown into submission and than he'd wank him off. Not out of any need to answer any sexual gratification but merely as a power move over an equally fit man. Sid got off on the surprised look the straight jock had on his face at being taken. It was the humiliation it caused the other guy that got Sid off. It was rape by many peoples standards but not in the world of 20 something, steroid fueled bodybuilders, whose frequent, random and uncontrollable erections were as common as their passing steroid rages. The grinding rub outs which resulted from the grappling fights where never spoken of nor planned in advance and since Sid was the gym drug dealer and party source of choice his victims put up with it silently or were banned from what passed as the cool party circuit.
Workout complete Sid headed to the locker room, he or rather Jojohn was ready to go to San Francisco.
Tonight there was no need for extra stealth as Barry's wife, Isabel, was hosting a private party at their winery, Cave Curee. Isabel or so Barry had told him, would be resplendently dressed in a couture evening gown and holding court in their candlelit, flower strewn faux Tusacan tasting room. A room to be completely populated by drunks on the make, hangers on, a friend or two and the increasingly rare liquor wholesale agent. As a result Isabel Harris would be oblivious to time passing or absent husbands. Couture fashion had that effect upon her. Like a drunk with a full bottle everything else simply didn't matter.
Sid knew that this johns wife occupied and not being a factor during the upcoming evening meant that Barry would want added kinks. All light stuff, use of butter instead of lube, domination and complete silence during the whole session. Sid typically finished Barry in about ten minutes and they'd spend the rest of the hour discussing the progress of the garden Sid and his wife Angelina were planting. Barry liked to offer his advice and felt his freely sharing a decade of experience in building a winery, would somehow benefit Jojohn rather than a fifty dollar tip. Barry directed the development or so he thought.of the small garden at the post-war Rancher fixer-upper that Sid and his wife Angelina had purchased in an older part of Santa Rosa. To Sid-Jojohn what mattered most was that the design hide and incorporate his dozen marijauna plants. Sid, like the rest of the north bay, was nothing if entrepreneurial and his mini farm of kush marijauna plants fit in nicely with his real world job as an ambulance driver. Medical Marijauna was a legal easy side business and explained the bundles of extra cash to Angelina
The free weights were just a head, the juice head cage as it was nicknamed was full, he passed by, circled the fenced off area once and headed to the men's locker room. Four big men, each lacking a discernable neck, one looking like a kid in a fat suit, followed him into the locker room. They waited silently and busied themselves by washing hands or trash talking girlfriends. They waited for Sid to be dressed in his workout clothes before silently, one at a time, approaching him. Four quick exchanges, each consisting of an exchange of three one hundred dollar bills for a small, still sealed box with a Pfizer Lab logo on it. The transaction occurred in a very matter of fact fashion. The locker door opened again but as these four were his regulars and he worked out with most of them they all knew the "dealio". Business was conducted in such an unrushed manner that when a stranger happened in on the scene he would not notice anything unusual about the five men's behavior. Business completed. Twelve hundred dollars pocketed, about half profit., locked in his locker made safer by one of his boy's sitting shotgun near it and reading an auto trader magazine. Sid hit the free weights.
Barry liked Sid's pecs pumped up and since this john was $400.00 per session Sid liked to pump the goods. Barry also supplied the heroin they snorted, post hand job, which meant he would be later than the 8:00 o'clock start time previously agreed upon. Barry would need to visit his drug dealer, a decayed old young man called McCarthy, before they met at the co-op that the Harris's maintained but the bank mostly owned on Taylor Street behind Grace Cathedral. That meant Sid could get a full pec.and back workout in, be able to groom and drive to the city unrushed. While lifting on the incline Sid made a mental note to remind himself that Barry liked to be carried around the living room while they both were naked and be masturbated from behind by Sid-Jojohn, he always had him use butter instead of lube and both would stand before the floor to ceiling window which overlooked the spire of Grace Cathedral and Huntington Park far below. Barry liked to ejaculate onto the window and left the dried cum for the housekeeper or Isabel's dog to clean up. Jojohn never came and never had an erection unless one was caused by his steroid use.
Waving goodbye to the teenage girl attendant who yelled " hey you", Sid was buzzed out. No card needed. That was what life was like for Sid, a waved hello from the doorman, attendant, front desk clerk, bartender and he was golden. Being a 6.4, hard bodied blonde party man, known as the go to guy for hot parties, pussy and drugs, had smoothed life's rougher edges. Those rough spots having been caused chiefly by employment in a dead end job answering what he and his partner Skip termed "Mexican panic calls".for the County Ambulance service. At the ripe old age of 25, both found themselves working as County Public Health E.M.T.'s, forever wait listed by a half dozen County fire departments due to a lack, not of training, but by neither having a parent already employed by any one of a dozen Sonoma County Fire Departments.
Life on the economy was either hooked up legit, a Firefighter in San Francisco let's say, or d.l. like being a dope growing steroid dealer. The worst was life as a Mexican. That world, the Mexican one, was one lived in complete illegality. Backbreaking long hours working in Vineyards and on Marijauna farms. The earnings went quickly, to pay off coyotes, triple rents and money sent south.
Sid had chosen the dl and far from lowering his impression of himself, the choice, once the money started to roll in, gave his already inflated ego a huge boost. The cash allowed him to sneer about parts of town where the " help lived". It felt good to be him. Sid couldn't remember the last time he waited to get into a club, paid for a meal, paid for clothes, housing or trips. Life had, for a lowly paid Sonoma County E.M.T., taken off about the time he became known as Jojohn, first in San Francisco than Vegas. Jack off John. That-was how he was known to his tricks, both men and women. A professional date with Jojohn always ended in his date moaning in sexual ecstasy under his 250 pounds of steroid pumped up hard muscled body. While no longer shredded from hours in the gym or running and clearly water bloated from steroid use, it still paid the bills and as long as the bills got paid his wife Angelina was happy. Angelina while not homely was in fact too hard and sharped featured a young woman to ever be called pretty, the wifey was content and didn't mind his frequent "overtime" work as Sid's and she had a far more abundant life than the one her growing up in a trailer park would have given an observer cause to expect.
Sid always said that one of the owner benefits of marrying a homely girl like Angelina was that felt she had won the Daddy D.N.A pool by marrying him . The only problem with that pool he liked to say was that there were no lifeguards on duty. Angelina didn't understand his ardor in making love was not due to his love of her but the effects of the juice. Angelina was simply there.whne sid was amped on the juice it made no difference if it were his wife or an old mans ass under him. What she mistook for a profound union of their souls was 'roid' aggression nothing more.
Angelina was content and embarrassingly proud of the life she had won with her Sid. For won is what she felt she had done everytime she awoke in her house, in her bedroom flooded by fall morning light in the wine country. Knowing her garden lay just beyond the sheet covered window, her man mostly not in her bed, Angelina was very content. For Sid .it was a straight forward trick. Keep her happy and that meant keeping her in the dark about JoJohn and his Johns and Janes. Sid was aided in this by Angelina having an unnatural lack of curiosity.
The other trick, the tricks, were less difficult. That world was a world of quick satisfaction. It was commodity sex. The story told, the bio of Jojohn, was that he was an underpaid Cal Fire Firefighter trying to pay down student loans from S.R.J.C. Fire Tech. It was made believable by his having been a Cal Fire Fighter. What mattered mostly was being good looking,. It didn't hurt the trade that he was also charming, a young married guy. Jojohn spun a story of being caught up trying to pay for his fixer upper house in a down economy. It worked. The tricks, if they cared at all and most did not, would book a repeat date, add a tip or buy dinner, based not upon his story as JoJohn liked to think but by his magic hand job and make-out sessions. Even the johns who had expected more, a lot more, were sated and pleased with the experience.
The use of his powerful right hand to pump out an orgasm for one of his john's was how he paid for the dragon race he was starting to live for. It, the wank, meant nothing to him and it did not matter to him at all if the money was from embarrassed mothers of brides to be, drunk maids of honors, married men or the stray gay tourist to the wine country. It didn't matter to Sid because Sid wasn't there. The moment he started out for a date Jojohn did his thing. No it wasn't Sid and as far as Jojohn was concerned snorting a bit of heroin post trade made it all tolerable and downright enjoyable. Sid-Jojohn felt the sex-money plus blowing the dragon bested his former extra gig of driving drunk tourists between winery tasting rooms and that the resulting morning cramps, diarrhea, and slight shakes of mild heroin withdrawal were no worse than the hangovers he used to suffer through on Mondays after a weekend of Winery jitney work.
The downside of his measured weekly use of blowing the dragon, snorting white Heroin, was that it was from the poppy fields of Afghanistan, and more expensive than boiling or smoking the black tar heroin the coyotes brought north. The cost was inching up. Barry supplied date night heroin and passed Sid's order and cash on to McCarthy. Still it was a good time and money was not a problem. Sid had a day job, the steroid dealing, medical Marijauna, the tricking, and Angelina worked as a waitress at the Flamingo Hotel. It was, as a character in a favorite movie of his said, "rich pickings". The burning in his nasal cavity had taken some getting used too but the ensuing euphoria, a feel of being cocooned in sensory pleasure, a soft easing from the pain his overworked out body felt, the quieting of steroid induced rages, made, as he told Skippy for a great boys night out. Sid was he told himself in control, Jojohn was, after all, a mere fiction, a creation of Sid's and Sid was, as everyone knew, married, straight and intent on keeping in shape to answer the call whenever it came to be a Firefighter. The jackoff part, well that just came naturally.Practice had made perfect and his technique varied only by sex. JoJohn took over. The tyrst or session was more like a good grappling exercise than making out. It was all mapped out in his mind. Meeting, making out, stripping, frotage, making out, hand job. No exceptions. Jojohn had made an art of faking noisy excitement and pleasure and once he started there was no stopping. Jojohn, dominated, took it to the mat and the opponent would tap out in 20 minutes. Jojohn took no enjoyment out of the act but like the professional he was participated in the session fully.
Sid, as previously mentioned, was never present but did allow Jojohn to be carried over to gym grappling sessions with newer friends. Sid got a rush when he grappled and overpowered another straight guy. It would start as horseplay, the opponent thrown into submission and than he'd wank him off. Not out of any need to answer any sexual gratification but merely as a power move over an equally fit man. Sid got off on the surprised look the straight jock had on his face at being taken. It was the humiliation it caused the other guy that got Sid off. It was rape by many peoples standards but not in the world of 20 something, steroid fueled bodybuilders, whose frequent, random and uncontrollable erections were as common as their passing steroid rages. The grinding rub outs which resulted from the grappling fights where never spoken of nor planned in advance and since Sid was the gym drug dealer and party source of choice his victims put up with it silently or were banned from what passed as the cool party circuit.
Workout complete Sid headed to the locker room, he or rather Jojohn was ready to go to San Francisco.
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