The Correct Use Of Soap: A Short Story

Written by | January 3, 2019 6:45 am | No Comments

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“Ow, it fucking hurts,” I said between gritted teeth.

“It was your idea.”

“It was a bad idea, get the Vaseline”.

“It will come off here…”

“Cmon, ir’s waterproof…”

“It will come off, I tell you…”

“So will I if you just get the Vaseline…”

Kat laughed at this and rubbed her cock between  my buttocks and her breast along my back. I was hard again, and really up for it, I turned my mouth to her and we kissed as the hot water cascaded over us -I’m taller than Kat and I’m bending over at the waist and straitening back up and she is rubbing right against  my ass and I want to be fucked hard. That’s what I want. I’m just kind of moaning.

“What’s the matter, Adam?” Kat sound smiled. “Aren’t you man enough for my cock?” I moaned and reached forward, handed her the soap and closed my eyes. “You want me to lather up your ass and fuck you, Adam? Is that what you want right now?” I moaned again and I could feel her nails dig into my shoulders and her cock, hard as fuck, right up against my asshole,

“This is what I like…”

“You love my cock, don’t you fuck boy, I’m gonna fuck you and then I’m gonna come in your mouth…”

I bent further and my asshole puckered for her cock as she lathered me up with the soap. I’ve been fucked up the ass a lot but still I could feel myself ripped and full and my cock fluctuate between hard and half hard as the pain and pleasure danced throughout my body, and still she kept fucking me as the soap fell to the floor… I always wanted this, always my hot, slutty clever tgirl, up my ass till it bleeds…

After she had come in my mouth I brushed my teeth, gargled with Listerine and dried myself., I cleaned the bathroom and went into our bedroom. Katrina was fast asleep, a dazzling beauty of a woman, lounging like a cat with a white sheet barely covering her torso, her breasts heaving up and down and up and down. I looked at her quietly and could feel myself getting hard again. I’ve seldom been this attracted to anyone. I didn’t love her, she was too much of a hustler, and she mistook what she was doing, a DJ with a PC and a certain set of skills, with actually being a musical talent. And yet, watching her, I could imagine loving her, I could imagine spending my life with my arms around her waist. Kat is Puerto Rican and still has a musical lilt to her voice, she is so feminine it is almost delicate, she is so sweet and smells so well, and holds herself with a grace that survived not just high school beatings, not just beatings from her father, but endemic racism and gender discrimination from one end of her 22 years to the other.. My father was a business attorney, he’s retired now, and didn’t bother me about anything much: I was a smart kid, studied hard, got a masters in economics and ran straight to Wall Street. I was blessed with a liberal family who loved money. I got into bed and spooned with Kat, fell asleep, and found myself in a waking nightmare, in a swimming pool, with gunshots coming from every direction, coming closer and closer to me, paralyzed with fear and saved by the cell. It was my kid sister Ellie.

“We’re on our way,” she said.

“What? Eh…”

“It’s seven o’clock, Kat has to be at The Con and ready to spin by 9 -the place is going to be packed.”

“I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t go…”

“Why not?”

“You know, anyway see you soon…”

I woke Kat and turned on Fox News. Over and over and over again, everywhere I looked, there was the same scene played out, an FBI guy falling forward, another agent turning around, a sort of magical falling apart of protection, and there, like a repeat of JFK, a look, and you couldn’t say surprised, on POTUS face, and as though he had been pushed by an atom bomb, a gushing flowing horror show, his famous head of hair orange and red, Just one, they only got him once, but once was all it took. Kat snapped “Turn it off,” but I ignored her. She went to the bathroom, and I struggled into a smart suit. You would have thought they’d have cancelled the event on the very day the President was assassinated, no?  Kat had called the manager who called the  owner of The Con, Jude Malinger, but Jude had said, no, they were gonna keep on clubbing till the edge of dawn. How could people do that? I don’t care what you thought of Trump, and I firmly believe he will be considered one of the greatest Presidents of all time, it is far from a time for celebration.

I poured a vodka tonic, “Do you want something to drink?” I shouted to her.

I couldn’t hear her but knowing Kat’s drinking habits I poured her one and went in. She was putting on her make up, a high art form, naked, her penis seemed half hard and dangled between her legs. I massaged her and she didn’t stop me. “Make the most of it baby,” she said in her soft lilt, “it will be gone soon.”

I pulled my hand away from her cock. “We need to discuss this.”

“You promised.”

“I did say that I’d pay but it makes no sense, if you want to be with me, and I love you the way you are, why change the way you are? If you wait and decide to continue after we’ve discussed it more than we can but once you’ve had your penis removed, there is no real way back. Why rush?”

“Rush? I’ve waited for this my entire life, no one is rushing, honey. Anyway,” she shrugged,  “there s nothing to discuss, we agreed that once you got your Christmas bonus you’d pay for it.. You should have thought of that before and if what you are obsessed with is anal penetration, I’ll penetrate the fuck out of you with or without a dick, so relax.” She  swooped down and kissed me. I was far from convinced that a rubber dildo was the answer to the standoff and deeply aware that if I don’t get her the operation, I’ll lose her. And if I do get her the operation, she’ll lose me.

My kid sister Ellie and her husband Charles (known to all as Shakey) rang from the lobby,  Shakey and I had been best friends since Junior High, and he was the only boyfriend Ellie ever had. There are four years between Shakey and me and Ellie, enough to matter but by the time we were in college and Ellie was eighteen, not enough to clutter the road of true love. Ellie was petite and sweet, a little like Tinkerbelle, and she still giggled unconsciously though she’d turned 31 this year. And she was almost giddy with joy at Trump’s murder as she helped herself to a drink and turned on my Apple Music, searching out some Chainsmokers and dancing around the living room.  Shakey gave me a worried glanced and tried to quieten Ellie.

“This isn’t a happy time, little sister.” I admonished.

“Not for you.”

“Not for anyone, there will be no easy answer  and there can only be anger and revenge for this outrageous act of violence against the leader of the free world…” And suddenly I found myself crying, tears rolling down my face, a heaving, hard break down. I’d felt it building in me all day. From Twitter to the news channels to online, word didn’t trickle it pounced and we couldn’t do anything else but try and absorb it into our very being. “This is bad, this is very bad…”

Ellie sat down next to me as Kat, in a tight, backless black dress and stilettoes refilled her drink. “I know you’re upset… you and Kat should come with us. We are going on a cruise to Hawaii, nothing but sun. Shakes blew $20K of his bonus on it two days ago, so there is bound to be more room. What do you say…?”

I put my head in my hand and waited for the explosion. Kat walked right up to me and slapped me in the face. “You lied, you had no intention of paying for my re-alignment,” the slap hurt and I could feel my eye begin to swell.

“It isn’t money, you want me to pay for something I don’t want you to do, it’s crazy. Why not leave it the way it is? Why even get such a major operation, it makes no…”

“Shut your fucking mouth, go cry for Trump, who hated everything I am, Latin-American, Transgender, brown -who would have been happy to see me dead. Or completely indifferent, why should he care about me? If you don’t care…” She paused, took another shot of vodka, straight from the bottle, and blurted more. “I don’t care, you know. Look at me, do you think I need you at all?”

A pall, the sort of pall that should have been there since the second we heard Trump had been assassinated, filled the room. I don’t see how people can believe for one instant that this is a good thing… “If you loved me…” I replied.

“When did I say I love you?”

Ellie and her husband seemed to squirm and we may have been the only couple in the world where discussing Trump’s murder was a safe topic. Not very safe… Kat shook her head. “I have to get my music ready”.

“What’s happening tonight?” Ellie asked her.

“There is gonna be two setups. I’m gonna DJ for an hour, then a small big name for an hour, and like that till 3am where DJ D’Engla will perform for two hours straight.”

“So we are there till 3am?”

“You know you don’t have to, Ellie. You’re a real friend.”

“We all love you, we really do.”

“Your brother loves something,” she replied, “but it sure ain’t me.”

On the Lower East Side, there was an air of pure happiness in the air. At eight at night there were people celebrating from Tompkins Square Park through to Washington Square Park, the streets were filled with Village people, congregating and celebrating the horror of an assassination. Folks were high fiving each other, strangers were hugging, there were impromptu concerts, kids with guitars singing “Give Peace A Chance” and New York City was filled with a failed and soon to be destroyed hope for the USA’s future.

In the deep South, white families were flocking to church, crying their hearts out, and howling not for answers but blood:  “We know the answer,” a heavy, white woman said outside her home in Birmingham, Alabama , “We don’t want decades of discussion before the deep state tells us it was some lone gunmen. It won’t take that long before we get revenge for the greatest American who ever lived….” Meanwhile, this morning, when the news exploded, so did Manhattan, in an absolute and delicious happiness. A long, national nightmare over they claimed as American freedom was stolen, as the votes of a country were destroyed.

The three of them walked ahead of me, and I followed in silence as junkies shot up and children played in the night air. There were families sitting on stoops, and rough hewn gangbangers singing Bad Bunny songs, NYU kids danced and laughed, called their parents on their cells, young black kids smoked pot and took shots from a fifth of tequila, girls made out with their boyfriends on the lawn at Washington Square Park. Everything seemed so filled with an ignorant misunderstanding as to what had  happened and as for me, I was about to lose my lover and my country in one fell swoop. I didn’t want to break up but I didn’t want to lose Kat to womanhood, and I certainly didn’t want to pay for it. I walked next to her, “Look, let’s talk this out later,” I said.

“Are you paying for my operation?”

“I love you too much to deform you…”

Kat shook her head sadly, “This is not deformation, this is who I am and who I am at my best life. How could you betray me like this, is that the conservative in you? To lie to me, to lead me on, to hurt me. I have options, Adam and I will use them… you… your father is a millionaire  for God’s sake, I was born in a hut in fucking Puerto Rico, Spanish Harlem was an upgrade. I need money, and if you won’t give me money someone else will. Soon. Tonight.”

“I’ll give you money, I’ve always been generous.  But I didn’t think our relationship was purely transactional,” I replied.

“That’s because you’ve never been poor. We use what we have to. I was dating for money when I was fifteen, is that transactional enough for you?  What would you want me to do? Join the army? Oh, wait, no I don’t have that option.”

“I want you to treat me as though you love me.”

It felt like it was the Ghost of Christmas Future, New York had turned into a musical number and everyone was singing. This made no sense at all to me but in New York they had managed to change a tragedy into a joke: if I was a democrat I’d be terrified, Trump’s assassination had sealed in, at the minimum, another four years of Conservative rule. The effect of Trump’s death was a form of giddiness, a sense that the city had weathered something and come out the other side. I am guessing it wasn’t unlike V-E. day, those who loved Trump stayed home and those who were filled with mindless hate screamed with joy. What did they think would happen next? Did they think there would be any coming together of blue state and red state. No, there wouldn’t. It wouldn’t happen. It was a nightmare of craziness, the US hadn’t beaten the Japanese, the President had been assassinated, and nobody knew who did it -try blaming this one on the Russians, I dare you. You could just tell that no one was thinking anything all the way through, all they saw was a man they misunderstood, who had changed the world, and changed the US, gone for good.

The Con is a huge warehouse, great acoustics, could fit 3000 people, and was only there for EDM. In the time I’d been with Kat, she had worked her way from occasional to house DJ. It paid well, the scene was mollied up fun and sex: not specifically gay but welcoming to all who just wanted to dance, and do drugs, and dance some more. I met Kat at an all night rager the summer before last. I was instantly attracted to her but I didn’t feel a responding on switch at all, as though I wasn’t hot enough, I guessed, but I was certainly rich enough and as she began to figure that I could take her anywhere and give her anything, she agreed to a weekend getaway in Vegas , and, no, we weren’t inseparable ever after, and my gut told me she was using me, there was still a like mindedness, an embrace of money and hedonia so  I didn’t care.

There was a huge line waiting to get in, “Not everybody is gonna make it,,” Shakey said to no one in particularly, but it was a ticketed event so they might. We went past two bouncers through a side door. Kat rushed to the stage and started setting up and the owner, Jude Malinger, walked over to us. “It’s going to be the best night ever,” he said with a smile at Kat. Kat smiled back, “I need to see you during my break,” she said to Jude. He looked at her inquisitively, then  just raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. But I knew what it meant, I knew that Kat was done with me and looking for her operation elsewhere. The lie, the mistake was the lie. Or at least not warning Shakey and Ellie  not to mention the bonus. Or maybe it was simpler, maybe she wasn’t right for me, but I didn’t feel that way. I felt as though I had been kicked in my stomach over and over again, in my mind I could just see how Trump’s murder and my  betrayal fit like two pieces of the same puzzle. I left the stage and glommed onto a friend of a friend, always allowed in earlier and later than everybody else because she had the best drugs. I forked over $500 and stocked up on coke and mollies, and then I went to the bar, slipped Trevor, a big English guy, $500 and he smiled, “Ah, Adam. Nobody understands me as well as you do,” and gave me a thermos full of red label whiskey and ice, and a beer.

And the place began to fill up.

I was used to Kat and she had her own technique, hour long blocks building from house tracks, to remixes, to bombed out bass monsters. Not tonight. Tonight she realized that nobody needed warming up, they were here and they were blazing hot, and from the first second, a remix of a Boys Noize remix, this was industrial strength dance: gone was the Avicii sweet pop background stuff, so popular for so long, and in its place a freight train of bass and 808s screeching through the warehouse and making your ears ring. Kat had read her audience well, I gave Shakey and Ellie the mollies and went into her booth and  loaded Kat up with coke and ecstasy. Kat wanted to be a pop music producer, she’d already started putting remixes on soundcloud and had heard from Big Freedia and this year she would be doing an official remix. She had spent the holidays at home, cans over her ears, on the laptop I’d bought her, playing with sounds. But tonight was for an explosion of pure beats and movement, and, while DJ DJ D’Engla, a major player who would be making $500K for the night after a collaboration with A Swedish House Mafia broke pop, would be performing the hits, Kat would be gluing people to the dancefloor till they came unstuck. Ellie and Shakey had disappeared onto one of the dancefloors and I made my way behind the rope and was stopped. I didn’t have a pass but I was well known. “Hey, you guys know me… what’s the problem”.

“Sorry, Adam this is reserved for D’Engla’s posse.”

“I’ve always gotten in in the past, what gives, where is Jude?”

“It was his guestlist.”

“I was shocked and made my way back to Kat. She listened and dismissed me, “I’ll figure it out at the break.”

I made my way behind her, to an exit backstage, and went straight for the alcohol, drank some more, did some more coke, and I could feel myself getting angrier, that was so typical of Jude. A superstar back in the day, he was a has been except, of course, he owned a club that was getting hotter and hotter. But he never liked me at all, he had been angling for Kat for a month when I showed up and blew him out. It was Jude’s own fault, if he had offered Kat the gig for sex before she got popular there is no doubt she’d have done it.

Kat left the DJ booth and piped music filled the club but Kat didn’t appear. I waited five, ten minutes, and I had no idea where she was, and then I had a very good idea where she was. I opened a door, and then another door, and then there was Jude’s bodyguard at Jude’s office.

“Sorry, Adam, you can’t come in.”

“They’re expecting me,” I smiled, “I’m the third wheel!”

He shrugged and I went through the door, Kat was bent over Jude’s desk and Jude was fucking her up the ass. I expected it, I saw it. Jude looked over at me, and then so did Kat and Kat just smiled-sneered, and I just left them and walked out and downstairs onto the main dancefloor and Ellie and Shakey had a table and waved me past the bouncers. I joined them. I wanted to cry, I wanted to cry for Donald, I wanted to cry for his dead body in State, and I wanted to cry for the millions of people betrayed but by whom? By the deep state? Was it a coup d’etat by other means? Had he finally pissed off the wrong people? In the days to come, the USA would be going crazy trying to place blame. But it won’t change anything.

Kat was still not on  stage but I wasn’t listening, I was dizzy with drugs and with alcohol. I sat there alone, I lost all track at time and then at some stage Ellie and Shakey must have left and I was still there, still drinking, well past drunk or sober and into a different state of being, and then the other DJ was gone and  Kat was back and I walked straight through the dancefloor to her, and into the booth and I started to strangle and hit her, and strangle her and she managed to hit me back and suddenly bouncers were surrounding me and I was being carried out of The Con, I couldn’t see anything, just trying to kick them away, and then there was Jude, with the manager, and I was carried and physically thrown out on the street and landed with a thud I would feel tomorrow.

It must have been past two in the morning and I stumbled onto the street and started making my way home, and still people were celebrating, four, obviously drunk, teenage boys were taking up the entire street laughing and shouting “Make America Dead Again,” as though Trump’s murder was a return to a new world order. I was furious, “You are fucking idiots, do you understand? Do you know what this means?” Then I turned my head and threw up and the boys laughed at me, and I just jumped on one of them and started pounding him with my fists and next thing I felt was all these blows, landing all over me, and my knees wobbling and down I went onto the sidewalk, and all these shoes kicking me everywhere, there went my teeth, there in my stomach over and over, and a huge boot lowered on my nose and face and here it comes the boot again again cracking me again and ag-.

-The End-

 

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