I enjoy women. I understand the physiology behind my urges and theirs. But I can’t help the reactions of either. And I won’t try to change them. I enjoy this aspect of life. Your woman, the other one, or one from my past or other place in time, will always be a part of me. I don’t love your woman or any one for that matter. I don’t know what love is. I think man made it up along with gods. There are no repercussions for my actions. You don’t know who I am. She will never tell you. I am the girlfriend she goes out to have a drink with when she gets too drunk to make it home. She sends me pictures. I write her dirty messages. My relationship with her is all the good stuff with no responsibility. I don’t have to take her out to dinner or buy her flowers. I don’t pay her rent or buy her trips. But I fuck her. And I fuck you every time that I do.

I could have her if I really tried. I could make a grand effort and charm her in my favor. But I won’t do it. I am not a stupid man. I know what I like and what I want. I know what is good. I know what turns me on. I know what brings me pleasure, pain, joy, anguish and most importantly, peace. And there is something about your woman that does something for me, but not all. As long as that happens, she won’t be rid of me or you or the next fool.

Johnny Redbone.

Johnny Redbone.

Purchase a bottle of Hendrick’s Gin. Try to keep track of my progress towards your home. I am punctual and make good time. Ten minutes before I am to arrive, put five ice cubes in a pint glass and add a healthy serving of gin. Up to, at the very least, the top of the ice cubes. Then let it sit. When I hit the door bell, poor in the tonic and give it a good stir. Have it with you when you open the door, and take a sip. I’ll make my own.

Johnny

I was just another lazy poet, trying to justify my art, sitting at my desk with one hand punching away at the keyboard while the other rubbed my cock through my jeans. The poetry wasn’t turning me on, I was just horny. It’s funny how quickly one begins to touch himself when he’s got nothing better to do. I remember past girlfriends, walking up behind me as I typed and they would kiss my neck or grab my cock and it would make me fume.

“How dare you! I’m writing. Don’t you ever fucking bother me while I’m writing.” I would think to myself, never having the actual balls or mean-streak within me to say it out loud. I’m just some dude trying to be a writer; I have no right to turn down pussy. But, it would burn me up inside. “The fucking nerve of her.” I’d think.

“Do you not know what I’m doing? Do you not understand at least what I’m trying to do? I’m a fucking artist and this is my craft. How dare you interrupt me!?” But I never said anything, so she would continue to rub me. There really is only enough blood to power either my brain or my cock, they are both roughly the same size; which doesn’t say much for either.

Eventually, the cock wins, the cock always wins. While her hand brought life to my pants, my hands began to veer away from the keyboard. The left hand would reach up to grab her head, to bring her towards me so I could lick her lips. The right hand would slide up her leg, until my shoulder would lock and not allow me to go up any further. The anger that had built up in my head was now in my mouth. I’d kiss her like I hated her. Which I did.

I’d turn my chair around to face her and would slide my hand up her skirt. I love skirts and I especially love women who wear skirts all the time. Women who wear skirts have a sense of balance between civility and being feral. A skirt makes them look classy, but that idea of easy access drives me nuts. My hand could not contain itself while it journeyed up her leg. Her thigh was hot to the touch and eventually the knuckle on my index finger would get the feel of some flesh. She wore no panties.

I bit down on her lip. “How dare she interrupt me.” I still thought as I pulled her closer to me. I grabbed her hand and pulled them down to my zipper. I would have her undo my jeans while I played with her mouth and pussy. My cock cried to be let out, the pressure of the jeans on it was unbearable. Eventually, she would get them undone and would grab a hold of it. Both of my hands were up her skirt now, grabbing and massaging her ass. I love asses.

I’d pull her closer to me and then turn her around. I’d lift her skirt and run my right hand up her thigh again. It was warm. My left hand was up her blouse, fighting a losing battle with her bra, just to feel some nipple. I gave up and just rubbed her breast over the bra. I moved her back some more so that she sat on top of me. Her pussy was wet and my cock easily slipped inside of her. I’d lean back and let her do all the work. She rode me well. I snarled and ran my teeth on the back of her neck. I’d bite her softly, trying to pay attention and not sink my teeth into her.

I came, she came, but I don’t remember exactly if that was the correct order. She was a quiet fuck. She wouldn’t get up off my cock right away. I didn’t mind. I liked to leave it in her for a little while afterwards. She seemed to like it too, but then eventually the blood would begin to flow back to my brain. The first thing my mind noticed was the drool collecting in my mouth that was about to drop all over my tee-shirt. I sucked it back in. Eventually the rest of the nerves in my body would regain function and my legs would cramp, so I’d push her off. She did.

With her back towards me, I’d lift the back of her skirt again and give it a good bite, followed by a healthy smack. The red teeth marks and hand print were very visible on her warm and pink ass. I pulled my jeans up and tucked my cock back in. I turned around and stared back at my monitor. I placed my hands on my keyboard. I felt her hands on my shoulders and then she would kiss me on the neck. And I would think to myself, “Leave me the fuck alone, I’m writing.”

She was more sauced, more calloused and more hard core than I was and that gave me the biggest raging hard-on that I have ever had in my life. I had walked into the bar with Tony an old buddy of mine from my days of working shipping and receiving for some shitty company by the water. He and I used to get high and booze during our lunchtime. We both eventually got fired. He got caught jerking off in the bathroom by our supervisor and I got fired for punching our supervisor for firing my buddy for merely relieving some stress.

He was a work buddy. I never really expected to hang out with him much aside from the average workday that we spent with each other. I had been roaming the Lower East Side and despite the sun still being up, I was already pretty drunk. I walked by a dirty old bar. It was the kind of shitty bar that was made more hygienic every time some queer hipster decided to add another one of his buddy’s shitty band’s stickers on the wall.

Outside of the bar was a shrunken old man. He looked like a burlap sack that had been filled with pine needles and shit. His was mangled by time and alcohol with deep monstrous craters and large blood rich veins all across his face. He mumbled something out loud at me as I was walking by. It was incoherent, but nonetheless it made me stop. I turned to look at him and for a brief moment I felt a sense of clarity.

“Could that ever be me?” I asked myself as I scanned him once more from head to toe. “No way, I’m much prettier and taller.” I egotistically told myself, trying to keep my spirits up. I was going to continue to drink. I just hoped to be a better-looking drunk. The drunkards rambling convinced me to step into that shithole. It took my eyes a minute or two to regain focus. It was a beautiful day outside and my damn sight had gotten too comfortable with all the beauty and brightness that only the sun can expose.

It made me sick.

I sat down on the first open stool and asked the bar tender for a seven and seven. I was trying to pace myself. I didn’t want to be asleep before the sun went down or even worse, drunk and yelling nonsense at passersby outside of the fucking bar. I took a good sip of my drink and realized too late that I had drunk it all. I looked down at my glass, nothing but ice and disappointment filled it.

“Don’t you hate when that happens?” I snapped out of my depression and looked over to my left. I had picked a seat right next to my buddy Tony.

“You fucking cocksucker!” I yelled, “It’s good to see you. Why don’t you buy me a drink? First two rounds are on you.”

Tony was just as drunk as I was. He was a good person. He ordered us some drinks and a couple of shots of bourbon. Ten minutes later we were talking loud at the bar getting sass from the drunks at the end of the bar but quickly finding love from “Old Hood”, the drunkard who had been outside talking shit. As soon as I bought him a beer he mellowed down, but most likely the whiskey flowing through my skull had simply worked as a buffer for this old drunk’s wisdom.

As soon as his stories started to make too much sense to Tony and I, we decided it was time for a new place, a place where the likes of two drunk assholes like ourselves where seen as welcomed additions to the rest of the sinning and debauchery that lined the walls and cracks of every orifice of the bar. We got a couple of beers to go, the bartender was kind to pour them for us in a couple of Styrofoam cups, with lids, straws and all. Nice guy, the bartender. I think I used to fuck his sister back in High school. Nice girl, his sister.

We walked down a couple of blocks, taking a detour so we could finish our drinks before getting to where we had to be. Our steps were long and out of line. We bumped into each several times, each time we would take turns helping the other keep a straight path. The sun had finally died down by the time we reached the bar. I had less of a struggle adjusting my eyes this time and as soon as I walked in, I saw her. She wore a sleeveless Deicide black tee shirt, exposing her tattooed arms and shiny silver bracelets. Her skirt was short and her black stockings were ripped all over, underneath her skin was pale and spotted with bruises.

I pushed some people out of my way simply so I could order my drink from her side. She looked at me with disgust. I looked at her with thirst. I ordered three bourbons on ice and handed her one before walking back towards Tony. I didn’t see her reaction. I let the booze guide my way. I handed Tony his drink and turned around to look at her. Apparently she was there with her man. He was twice my size, but half the size of Tony. I had duked it out with Tony before; I think he let me get a couple of good shots in before he finally pinned me down. I always felt confident at the way I was able to take care of myself, but when Tony was around, I was protected.

The girl had at first smiled at me and lifted her drink to thank me, but her boyfriend soon took it away from her. He drank it and flipped me off. I walked over to the bartender and ordered anther bourbon on ice, she handed it to me and I walked back towards the girl, gave a nod to her boyfriend and handed her the drink. I turned around and walked back towards Tony again. I kept my eyes fixed on his face. He knew the deal so I would be able to see anything coming at me from behind by his reaction. I made it to him and turned around.

Her boyfriend had taken the drink again. He looked at me and drank it. I walked over to the bartender and ordered another drink. She handed it to me. Tony had gotten a table that had opened up against the wall. So I brought the drink over to it and placed it down. I looked over towards the girl again and pointed to her and then to the drink. Her boyfriend began to fume. The angrier I saw his face become, the bigger I saw her smile grow. She wanted blood. I just wanted some ass. She walked over towards us.

She picked up the drink, took a sip and threw it at my face. It wasn’t the first time I had whiskey thrown into my eyes and lucky for me I was a bit numb already. I wiped my face, looked at her and smiled. Then I pushed her out of the way and made a run towards her man. Before he could even get his hands up, I had caught him right on the chin with a good right. He fell over the crowd and I landed on top of him. It only took three more punches to his open face before he was asleep. His friends thought about intervening but Tony is a big dude and even bigger when he’s drunk.

I stood up and looked around the bar. This wasn’t the type of place with the kind of crowd that gets easily bothered by the sight of some drunken and pointless combat. They were a bit disappointed to see it end so soon. I ordered another bourbon on ice and handed it to the girl, blood ran down my knuckles. They had been cut open on his crooked smile. She smiled, took a sip, placed it down and gave me a kiss on the cheek and put her hand in my back pocket. I looked over at Tony triumphantly, but before I could turn my head back to look at her. I felt an awful pain on my right side.

She had gotten a hold of my knife and stuck me with it on my right side. She tried to pull it out to stab me again, but it was jammed between my ribs. I looked at her and saw the anger in her eyes. It was a mix of uncanny hate and blood lust. The look drove me wild. I grabbed her by the face and brought her close to me. I stuck my tongue down her throat. She didn’t fight back. She kissed me as she continued to stick that knife deeper into my knife; she only stopped to try to pry it out again. But I had a tight hold on her. Then the pain really kicked in and I looked down to see all the blood. I looked back up and punched her straight in the chest, four times harder than I was able to hit her boyfriend.

She flew back only a couple of feet. She was stopped from going any further by Tony’s chest. She dropped painfully unto the ground and lay there panting for air. I looked at Tony and signaled him that it was time for us to leave. I bent down and whispered in her ear, “It was a pleasure. I hope next time, there is less of my blood involved.” I kissed her on the side of the head and helped myself up from my knee by pushing down on her face with my right hand.

“Tony, I need to get out of here. I’m all out of cash,” I said to him as I walked outside of the bar with my knife still buried three inches into my ribs. I’d have to sleep on my left side for a while.

The taste of blood in my mouth can only mean that I had a pretty good night. It’s metallic, the taste is. This isn’t the first time that I’ve woken up to the taste of blood in my mouth or my face stuck to a bloody pillow. This also isn’t the first time that I’ve woken up between two beautiful naked broads, but this sure as hell is the first time I’ve woken up to both.

My face feels fine, where the hell is this blood from? I need a cigarette. Where the fuck are my pants? I slap the broad to my left on her perfect tanned little ass. I must have been rough on her last night; her ass is covered in teeth marks and bruises. She moans and rolls over on her side. Good, at least she’s not dead. I turn over and try to shake the other broad up, but she just mumbles something and shrugs me off. I get off, climbing down the foot of the bed. I’ve got a mean piss to take.

As I look down at my cock, piss and toilet, I notice my right hand, all swollen and bloody. That answers the question as to where the blood on the bed came from. The toilet is home to some more blood, bloody toilet paper and used condoms. I don’t even flush; this is a job for a professional to clean up. I walk over to the sink to wash my self up. I turn on the faucet and look up to the mirror. I think I know now where I busted my hand up on. The mirror is shattered and most of it is missing. I wonder where it is, it’s not in the bathroom.

I look into a small section of the mirror that survived the pounding and can actually see my reflection. My hair is messy, my eyes are lost behind puffy dark bags, my face is scruffy and scratched a bit, and my lips are cracked and bloody. I do my best to wash my hands and face. My neck and shoulders are full of scratches, bruises and all other signs of a good night. I turn around for a towel but there aren’t any; instead there is a pack of cigarettes, resting carefully on the rack. I grab one; luckily there was a book of matches inside. I light it and walk back out to the room.

The women still sleep, so I sit on a chair in the corner of the room. This seems like a pretty nice hotel, I really hope I’m not paying for this. I can’t believe I don’t remember anything from last night. If I could find my pants I’d get the fuck out of here, just book. If the hotel people had any questions, I’d blame the sluts that stole my wallet. If they say they saw me too, I guess I’d just have to pay for the damages. There is no need to get legal with all this.

As I looked around the room, without ever getting up from my chair, I spot the girls on the bed again. I can’t tell the quality of women that these are; from my headache ridden blurry vision, they could go two ways. They were either young college women who I somehow coerced to come to a hotel with me for a night of sex, drugs and apparently violence. The other being the type of women that could be professional spies sent here to learn the truth about me, but since I’m just a regular scumbag, they’re probably hookers.

All this would be a whole lot easier if I could find my clothes, or even their clothes for that matter. Look at them over there sleeping on the bed; I don’t care how much this might be costing me, because this is awesome. I stretched down for a second and found my boots underneath the chair. I grabbed a hold of them. Inside one boot was my money clip with cash, my pocketknife and some keys; in the other boot was an almost finished pint of Jim Beam. I take out everything in the boots and put them on; I made sure to lace them tight.

I stand up in them and look around. I’m butt naked with boots on, I have no pockets to store my things, but at least I have some Beam left. I polished the bottle and grabbed another smoke. Well, there’s not much that a drunk man with nothing on but ass-kicking boots and his skin can do. So I jumped unto the bed, right between the two broads and when I landed I felt the shittiest pain I’ve ever felt in my life pulsating from my knee. I looked down to see my knee dripping blood all over the white sheets. I found the other piece of the mirror.

It was underneath the fucking sheet. I also found the drugs that surely lead up to the decisive conclusion the girls required to follow me or stay with me much longer that they had anticipated. I guess I deserved this. I got up and washed my knee and got it to stop bleeding. Surprisingly, all this has still not awoken any of the girls. I grabbed an already bloody towel that lay on the floor and managed to pick up all the glass in the bed with it. Luckily, the small bag of blow was not consumed totally and was not destroyed by the evening’s carelessness.

I grabbed it and sat up in the center of the bed with my back on the headboard. I wonder how asleep these broads really are, “Anybody want some of this?” I say out loud. The two broads both sit up really fucking quick, these scheming, scavenging whores. I don’t really need to tell you the rest of the story, do I? I did what any naked drunk man with ass-kicking boots and a bag of blow would do and it was done right. Otherwise, I never would have started telling you this story.

I never found my pants.

“You want to get some drinks tonight?” Tommy asked

“I wish I could, but I’m broke man.” I told him as I opened up my front door, stepping outside as I placed a cigarette in my mouth and lit it. I took a puff and exhaled, quickly taking another breath full of smoke.

“I thought you were saving money?” He asked, joining me outside for a smoke.

“I was, but shit happens man. You know this.” I saw Tommy fumbling through his pockets looking for a light, so I took out mine and lit his cigarette for him.

“Thanks.” He said.

“No problem.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, it was the holidays. So few people were around. I figured it would be a perfect time to hang out at home, drink some whiskey, read a book and do some writing.”

“So tell me what actually happened, Johnny.”

“Well, the first day I got really drunk and decided that I need to buy some good pot, so I did. The next day I got really stoned and decided that I needed to go get a new tattoo. So once again, I did. Of course, after the tattoo, I needed to get some more booze. So I went to a couple of bars by myself, buying drinks for random people.”

“Good one, I’m sure you learned your lesson by the next day.”

“Yeah, you would think that, but you would be wrong. Instead, I woke up with a horrible hangover. The only cure was a beer, then four more to wash that beer down. Eventually, I got drunk and I was also smoking that good weed that I still had. Next thing I know, my neighbor is inviting me to go get a Chinese massage from some shady spot. I naturally agree.”

“No, shit. How the fuck was it?”

“Awkward Tommy. I have never felt so awkward in front of a woman that was already willing, able and paid for. It was the first time that I ever paid for any kind of sex.”

“Really, that’s hard to believe.”

“Why? I have luck with the ladies. I never felt the need to have to pay for it.”

“So, why did you pay for it this time?”

“Just curious and drunk. I really didn’t think it over too well. When I got there, it all seemed very surreal.”

“What was so surreal about it?”

“The fact that I was paying for sex. Made me feel like a loser.”

“Really?”

“Yeah man, I’m handing this money over and I’m just thinking to myself, ‘what the fuck am I doing? This broad should be paying me. I’m sure all the other dude’s she has jerked off, blown or fucked today ARE the kinds of guys who frequently need to pay for sex. She should be happy that I walked in.’

But I was there already, I had paid up front and goddamn it, I am in no financial situation to simply throw my money away.”

“So tell me, Johnny. What happened?”

“I felt like I was fourteen and never been with a woman before. First of all I didn’t want to touch her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a fucking whore, a real fucking whore. On her business card, she might as well put, ‘Real Fucking Whore’ on it. It felt dirty and not the kind of dirty that turns me on regularly. So at this point, while I’m in the room, I figure that I could really go for just a massage. A regular, normal, no special release-massage. But this whore didn’t speak any English.

She kept asking, ‘You okay?’

Fuck no bitch! I’m not okay. I just spent good money to come here and get something I can get for free and of better quality.”

“You think too much.”

“No shit, I eventually agree to a handjob and because I can’t stop thinking about how pathetic this entire scenario is, I can’t even get hard. But she’s a fucking pro. She goes to town with her hands, rough from working on the rice fields as a child.

She’s massaging my balls, stroking my cock. It was all very awkward.”

“So then what?”

“She fucking milked me. I didn’t even know that I could cum without even being hard. This broad was a pro and carried with her some ancient Chinese secret of hand-release. I came and she wiped me down with a warm washcloth. I dressed quickly and got the fuck out of there. My neighbor was done before I was. He had opted for the blowjob.”

“So do you regret it?”

“Hell fucking no. That shit was an experience that I’ll never forget.”

Tommy lit up another cigarette. He looked over at me. “Do you think you could take me there sometime?”

“No problem Tommy, just let me know when. I have some beer inside. Want some?”

“Sure.”