$40 a night SeXStoRY

“40 dollars: A Night.” It’s only 10 bucks and the warmth is well worth it; to the layman this may sound extreme, but so is a work week in Poughkeepsie. The labor isn’t nearly as severe as my lack of purpose. Eric knows what I mean; he certainly wants one, maybe two. Eric is an idiot who thinks himself a man’s man. You or I reader would teach him a lesson fast. Isn’t that the way it is? It is always the “big dick” who ends up soft. I make good money off him; he has all sorts of habits. I am in the habit of facilitating them. The ecstasy will do us both good tonight; only an hour and a half to New York. The scenery on the Hudson line is agreeable, the same trees and cliffs Cary Grant saw in North by Northwest. They all want to hit a club; I want to hit a Shisha. I tell you there is no depth in America today. Four monkeys and their American dream chasing shadows on the wall. One does find beautiful figments in the New York night. Remember one never exactly captures them either: Pretty women, flashy cars, Armani suits, Ferragamo ties, SoHo apartments; all no more than pretty shadows running by. The train is old. The train is dirty. I am tired, but I can’t sl**p. I can’t sl**p on this dirty train! Eric is attracting attention to himself, he is telling stories of our youth. I don’t remember these stories, but he fancies them; from time to time I nod and when he really begs I agree with him audibly. His Love is pretty, it’s fair to say that if I could I would; she has a strong looking body one could really push around. The train keeps moving: slowly, clumsily, like d***ken American speech; it works fine but it doesn’t flow like French. Ashley, My date starts talking; she has been pre-gaming, or for the ignorant drinking before the club. It is much cheaper to pound back most of your liquor this way. A little d***k, she starts talking about how she is dying for a cigarette; she wants to be a nurse as well. Hah! I don’t see why she is telling me this, I really don’t care. Why would I ever care? She has such a beautiful face, and a nice body; I indulge in it for a moment, a long moment. Then the moment passes, she continues to complain, and I begin to think. Do you know her face, pretty as it is, is the same monkey face we all have, her breasts, of perfect proportion are merely heifer’s utters, the hips that my arms could hang onto so easily are for bearing little Monkey c***dren, and the Pussy I would lick is for making those terribly expensive and prohibitive bastards. She eats, she shits, she talks, she talks, and she smokes: Disgusting! So fucking disgusting. I need a woman who can keep me from thinking; a real god to occupy my mind. Someone be my god. I’ve just remembered that one can smoke between cars; I tell Ashley and she goes to smoke. I sit for a moment looking at the floor. The top of my head is resting on the seat in front of me. I can see Eric staring at me in the corner of my eye. He taps Sharon on the shoulder. She starts staring at me too. I know they want me to turn my head, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. I close my eyes. 10 seconds pass and I hear Eric telling me to go with Ashley while she smokes. I stare at him. He looks very puzzled. Sharon makes gestures with her head that I should leave. So I go. I see the Tappan Zee Bridge passing through the window. It has pretty lights, but its $5 to cross it. I open the heavy metal door. I walk out into a lot of noise, a cool summer night, and a little bit of woman in the corner. I brought her Jacket. It was a little cold. I ask which cigarette she is on. She replied Newport. I corrected her, “which number?” It was Ashley’s third. I asked her why all young nurses smoke. She laughed, but didn’t reply. I stared at her, Then at the floor. I could see the ground flying by at 60 miles an hour; apparently she could see the conductor. She opened the cabin door and we sat back down. Eric and Sharon started going at it; Eric just killed his share of booze. He loved himself! He loved life! Unfortunately he didn’t love his lungs, liver, or heart. I looked at them, then at the floor. I sat down, this time near the window. I drank some more gin. We had just stopped at Yonkers and a girl with a nice ass walked by; I watched her sway and flaunt around. Then Ashley asked me what I liked to do in the city. “Nothing really” I said, “Sit around, eat Shawarma, Ride the subway; I’d like to live in Brooklyn, but it costs too much.” She nodded, and looked forward. There was a pause. I drank more Gin; the little fire in my belly was a welcome assault on my being. I began to warm up to the show. It was just like a show in a back-water strip club, everything looks wrong and twisted; eventually you just adjust to the crookedness. I ask Ashley what she wants in life; I ask her why she is here. She looks at me and smiles, folds her hands on her lap and turns to Sharon. Ashley asks her what club we are going to. We are on the elevated tracks near 125th street. The city is so perfect when you look down on it; it’s like a small diorama of modern life. Life seems so wonderful when you aren’t in it. Like a c***d at Christmas. Fucking youth. We pass into the tunnel, very close to the Terminal. Ashley looks at me. She tells me her father used to live in Rego Park, Queens. I tell her I like the outer boroughs better than New York. She agrees. The doors open and we get out; Eric and Sharon exit first. We follow. The oily air of a Grand Central track hits me in the face. It smells like 10w30. I hear the noise and the bustle. We took the 7 to Times Square, and then a 3 train to 14th street. When we got out everyone lit up cigarettes, not me. We walked to Cielo: Me, three others, and Death, who clung to us like tobacco smoke. We took the X. We started to become friendly. As we arrived at the club Ashley held my hand tightly and leaned against my side. There were fluorescent tube lights strung up on the walls like Star wars, the floor was crowded, the music loud, it smelled like Perfume and women. The others Danced, I tried my best, but I was always more a talker. We all sweated it out on the floor, the night went on. I went to the bar for a drink, Ashley followed, I was getting tired. I was still very happy; she sat on my lap as I drank my Rum and Coke. I kiss her neck, I Grab right above her thigh, like if I were wrestling a 100 pound snake; she was weaker than the a****l. Eric wanted more E so he went outside to call up a friend. I began to relax. First I had inhibition, then excitement, invigoration, now I was calm, and the warm wet mass against me was just like gravity; I was bound to it. It held me to the average, I was White bread America, I was a wholesome young boy, I didn’t dare say an academic thing, I didn’t think, I could live the American Dream. It turns out that what Ashley always wanted in this frail existence, was to be nailed against a bathroom stall in lower Manhattan. We all have our peculiarities reader, but it strikes me odd that you find this peculiar. This is a new age we have, contraception is a science! Come, come, don’t be a puritan; you want it. You know you want it. Then have it. Will you! Ecstasy is an amazing thing. Real progress we’ve had us humans. I finish fast, we all do. With ecstasy though it doesn’t matter; I wait an extra couple of moments before pulling out; savoring the experience more than is necessary. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, how nice of her; honestly I didn’t expect such consolation. Now she becomes a large strange mass next to me, she starts to move in her own rhythm, she lifts up her panties and puts down her skirt, I throw out the condom. We walk out sloppily; neither of us walks a straight line. She wants to go out for a smoke, and I bum a bogie when we get outside; I smoke sometimes when I am lit. I asked her if she had any c***dhood dream. Ashley said she wanted a hero to fall in love with her. I didn’t think that was specific enough so she clarified “A War Hero.” I laughed. I think she just said it because I demanded a more specific answer. Ah fuck it, at least it was poetic. Ashley and I had another Newport on a bench; I had my arms around her. Apparently Sharon and Eric got in a fight; she left. Eric wanted more X; good for him! I wanted more money. He had his fun. Ashley leaned her head against my shoulder. I was becoming very tired. I kissed her cheek moments later. Cities always look better at night, they look sensual. In the day the look like all they do is work, work, and work. At night they look like an adult play ground. I pull Ashley a little closer, I just want to grab onto someone. I wanted to go home or maybe get a hotel. I felt dirty and hot. I wanted a cold shower and a bed. I asked Ashley if she wanted to get one. She told me she didn’t have the money. To be honest I didn’t either. After a couple of minutes of hopeless thinking I became distracted by flashing lights down by the club. It seems an ambulance was in the street. I went and asked what was happening. They told me someone collapsed on the dance floor. Ashley went over to see who I was. I got a little nervous. I followed her. I could see Eric on a stretcher. I grabbed Ashley’s arm and turned toward the Subway. Every face I passed reminded me of a murderer trying to steal my life. I looked ad Ashley; she too could be trying to steal from me, at this very moment. “Where are we going?” She looked absurd as she spoke; she was tearing. “Calm down.” I sounded like a real man. “It is time for me to move on. Everyone does it, some move on to Princeton; some get an MBA, I …. It is time to move on.” I paused and looked into her eyes. She was puzzled; she didn’t understand. “You and I we may be different, but the police care about a thing like that. She looked nauseous. Who isn’t these days? I moved on. I never bet against myself. She leans against the window. I have the aisle seat. Her purse is between us. I give the conductor our tickets; He is a happy kind of guy. I hard working sort of loser, 23 or so. He has that wonderful New York way of holding is head up in a pile of shit. He hates his life, but oh god does he love himself. I have to get this done, I reach over and hold Ashley’s shoulder: My hand grasps softly, my arm pulls her sturdily. She turns easily, like a sack of rice, a burlap sack. “Listen, I am telling you this is all fine, don’t get down about it.” She didn’t like this at all, her face tensed, it revolted against my words. She spoke softly but with great f***e, in short restrained stabbing movements. “Don’t tell me this is fine, my friend is dead, your friend.” She looked down for only an instant, “and we are sitting here without him.” Now I held her little frame, like a real man. I said “Be honest with yourself, isn’t there something… Something in this life you want?” she nodded, her face to the ground. I finished my point, “then don’t be afraid to take it. This is your only shot.” She turned towards the front of the train, her legs slid back off of the seat in a rather curt proper fashion; like a scared Quaker virgin. I moved next to her and leaned on her shoulder. She whimpered and shook, rather silently, restraining her cries. Do I feel anything? Is this little show even happening? Fucking hell I don’t know what I believe. Beacon stop. Ashley has to get off. I walk her to the door. I hold her hand as she exits. She can’t look me in the eyes. I tell her I will call her tomorrow. The train door’s close. The train moves on. It’s morning. Sunday morning. I am awoken by the sound of knocking at my door. It is the police, firstly because they announce themselves, and secondly the few friends I have never wake in the morning. Now the officer’s enter. I feel sick. I don’t remember what they look like. Like tin soldiers or something monotonous; or maybe they looked more like death, omnipresent, always waiting for us to slip up in our self glorification. They ask me if I was at Cielo last night. I am no fool. I am a big pussy. I tell them yes. “Eric Roberti was there last night. He is a friend of yours isn’t he?” I look him in the eyes and reply; “Maybe” He comes back fast disgusted with such ambiguity. “Maybe what the fuck is that? It’s a yes or no question!” I smirk and snort, trying to hold back my morals. “Oh I’ve known him for years but I’m not sure if I like him… If I would call him a friend.” The sun is up; it burns golden through the trees. It gets in my eyes and blinds me. I prefer the night. The cops laugh loudly while looking at each other. “Christ in hell, k**. Give yourself a chance!” They take me to the station. They take a bl**d test. They want to question me. A detective enters the room. It’s a bland room. Like the inside of an old battle ship, everything mint green or grey. I stand up before he can talk, a cop restrains me. He doesn't like when we do anything stupid, us sinners. I cry out loud and proud, “Does it matter to you? When death is sucking you down like gravity. When you can’t escape any longer, do you care if your ma is crying or laughing? Your still eight feet under!” They all laugh at me. My bl**d is clean. They let me go. There was nothing in my apartment. Nothing all right.