I was putting cigarettes out on my arm when Joey let out an obnoxious yawn and said, "If I spend one more minute in this house, I'm going to apply for a gun permit on the sole purpose of permanently eradicating this boredom." The smell of burning flesh was permeating the air. I lit up another cigarette, took a hit and said, "What do are prospects look like in the city that always sleeps?" Joey stood up to make his way to the window. It was nothing but gray skies again with the promise of misery in the form of falling rain. "We're fucked," he said. This wasn't news to me. I replied, "Let's take a ride in your shit box, I may have an idea." We made our way to Bobby's house in under ten minutes from Bethel Park to Brookline. Joe's car didn't stall once. Miracles happen every day. When they happen in Pittsburgh, they're extraordinary. On the way there I saw a sexy blonde who looked damn near identical to my ex. She's been burning a hole in my mind. I've been losing a piece of my soul each day, ever since our departure. Bobby let us in his dilapidated house, took a look at Joey who he's never seen before and said, "What's up, Mario? Who's your friend?" "Don't worry," I told him. "He's good people." Bobby always was a cynical bastard. Apparently, we came at the right time. There was a small gathering of people drinking cheap beer, and engaging in cheap dialogue. I told Joey to grab us a couple beers, as I pulled up two seats to the kitchen table, where all the action was happening. I was chugging my beer when Bobby said, "Why didn't you bring your girlfriend, man?" I power chugged the rest of the beer, then slammed it down on his filthy table and said, "I don't want to fucking talk about it!" Dust from a lifetime of neglect was floating in the air above us. "Jeez. Okay, man. Sorry." "Just don't bring it up again. Please." I felt tears swelling up in my eyes. My emotions were like a tidal wave. Crying like a little bitch in public over the best piece of ass I've ever had was inexcusable. I suppressed my tears, rose up from my seat, and grabbed another cold one. The small crowd of indigenous Pittsburghers made their introductions to Joey and I. They were all dull, and forgettable. I couldn't tell you a single name from that party. My mind was preoccupied on other things. After a few minutes I began to question why I made the miserable choice of leaving the confines of my comfortable house to put up with something as boring as this. Bobby has seen me in my worst, time and time again. In the hopes of diminishing my anguish he put on the Frank Sinatra greatest hits volume one, classic vinyl. Listening to the "Summer Wind" only set me off further. This is the album we used to listen to when I brought my ex over for cheap beer and good times. I continued to drink like a drunk on a rush. Joey couldn't keep up, in fact, with the way I was drinking, nobody could. The record kept spinning, and the small talk got smaller. It was all about men in tights, football and stats. The kind of dialogue that could push an unstable man over the edge. Occasionally, I would interject a crude comment about men being obsessed with men, followed by a condescending look to solidify my contempt for all things sports. The madness in my eyes was evident, so they nodded in caution. Bobby was feeling apprehensive, not saying much. Usually he's the one rambling on like a coke addict about absolutely nothing. Panic had arrived in Brookline. Five beers later I took off to the bathroom. My first massive piss of the night was aimed in his grungy bathtub. I felt at one with the steam that ascended from the urine. She's been gone for over a week, and with her, my happiness, muse and all around wellbeing. Joey stopped me at the bottom of the steps and said, "Mario, this is boring as fuck. These dudes are all lame, and I haven't drank shit beer in months. What's the chances of any girls showing up?" I pointed to the hole in the ceiling, and said, "It's a bring your own policy, bro. And even then you better be careful. This place has been known to scare off the most liberal of women." We made our way back to the beer, then back to the table of men talking about other men. Frank Sinatra was still singing. "So what's new, man?" said Bobby. "I've been jerking myself off to oblivion, losing sleep and putting cigarettes out my arm. Life is a beautiful fucking thing." The crowd looked worried after my words. I stood up from my seat, lit a cigarette and began to pace back an fourth. "It's all bullshit," I said. "Once you've finally attained a piece of sunshine, it's only a matter of time before it's lost in the shadows. It's funny how greatness can turn into shit, and be flushed down the toilet, leaving nothing but a faint odor!" "Mario, it'll get better. Just try to forget about her, man." I took my unopened beer, and wailed at him, screaming "I fucking told you not to bring her up!" The beer hit the wall, exploding all over Bobby and the sports enthusiasts he called friends. Bobby screamed, "Mario, what the fuck are doing?" "I'm crashing your fucking party, asshole!" Joey stood up and flipped the table onto the floor. The crowd was covered in ashes, beer and debris. I punched a hole in his wall next to the record player. It felt wonderful. I lost a piece of resentment in the drywall. All his friends scurried out the back door as fast they could to the safety of their Toyota Camry's or Ford Escorts. Most people cower away from violent situations. His friends were those type of people. After that I chased the homeowner out of his own house. Bobby was long gone, and I was feeling elated. Joey and I laughed like degenerate assholes at the destruction we caused. I heard sirens coming closer, so we grabbed the rest of the beer and made our escape. Not before leaving close to an ounce of weed scattered in plain site all over the floor.
Free Orgasms On The Free Market
I'm nothing but an old man now who can't get it up. Even if I could I wouldn't go for what's at my disposal. Mario and I always said we'd never fuck a fat bitch. It's a good thing he's not here to witness what has taken place in my thrilling life of elation. My wife has become that fat bitch. I have become that guy next in line for a hip replacement. This is my life! I'm reminiscing, traveling back to the past. I'm nostalgic. Mario just up an left one day without saying a word. This was about thirty years ago. I'm assuming he had enough off the quasi-liberal filth of Pittsburgh. I don't blame him. These people are intolerable. A bunch of bigots walking around in shorts at the winter. And they wanna point their righteous finger at you like you're the moron. Anyway I heard he moved to Oregon with all the other illustrious writers of America to write poetry. Whether its true or not is a different story. All I know is I never heard from him again. He was a funny character. I got a call from Mario one night. He was furious. He told me to be outside in a few minutes. That woman of his back then, was nothing but a headache. She would bitch and nag all day long. He put up with it cause he couldn't do any better. She was a hot number. Mario pulled up to my apartment complex on Brookline boulevard with Marco riding shotgun. I hopped in the back, and off we went. "Mario, where we going?" "Off to Allentown. I gotta pick something up." Marco turned around to say, "We're going to pick up a whore. Preferably one that isn't a crack whore. This is how Mario gets his retribution when that bitch girlfriend, he so fondly refers to, acts like an asshole. Pretty cool, huh?" Mario punched Marco in the arm and said, "What the fuck, you dim witted bastard! I wanted it to be a surprise." "Whoa, hold on a second," I said. "I've never fucked a whore, nor do I plan on starting now. You're a sick bastard, Mario. You know that?" "Shut the fuck up," said Mario. "Yeah, shut the fuck up," said Marco. "Dude, fuck both of you sick bastards. This is ridiculous. Plus, I don't have any money." Marco turned back around and said, "Mario's treat!" Mario looked in the rearview mirror and said, "I'm buying." That was the point of my capitulation. Back then I had no luck with women. Looking at my present state of affairs, I guess the same could be said. Be that as it may, I was out to bust a nut. We were driving down West Liberty avenue towards the tubes, listening to the Circle Jerks album, Group Sex. Those were the good old days. Mario made a left turn at the light right before the tunnel. Then we drove up the dilapidated road until we were on Warrington avenue. Back in the late nineties, Allentown was the whore capital of Pittsburgh. They came in all shapes and sizes. The affordability was a bargain. It was like shopping at Wal-Mart or the Dollar General. You were guaranteed to get a bang for your buck. Once we reached the light at the intersection of Beltzoover avenue, the buffet of pussy manifested. We drove slowly in Mario's old 87 Ford Escort. The whore's on the block were waving, shaking their tits and smiling. I noticed a lot of missing teeth. That's when the vogue of crack became evident. Not like it stopped that creep, Marco, from whistling at every piece of crack whore ass that showed him any attention. He was a weirdo, man. I'd say up towards Vito's Pizzeria is where we found the one who Mario had to have. She was a knockout. A bleach blonde bimbo, wearing fishnets, a black leather dress that barely covered her ass and a dirty white tank top, no bra included. Mario pulled over so quickly, that he nearly caused an accident. "What's your name, sweetheart?" said Mario. The whore with two large bags in each hand said, "Whatever you want it to be, honey." Mario looked at Marco and said, "What's your mom's name, bro?" Marco with a dubious look on his face said, "Tammy." Mario turned his attention back to the bleach blonde prostitute and said, "Alright, Tammy. Let's go for a ride." She hopped in as both Mario and I laughed profusely at Marco. He didn't seem to have a sense of humor about the joke. I looked at her smoking hot body as I said, "You're the hottest whore I've ever seen." Then I put my hand on her upper thigh, and slowly worked it on up. That's when she said, "Ok. Listen up. I don't normally do this many guys at once, but I'm in dire straits, and I need the money. It'll be thirty dollars total for all three of you. Nobody fucks my asshole except my boyfriend. None of you assholes are my man, so don't bother asking. Deal?" "Do you except credit cards?" said Mario. She rolled her eyes like it was an annoying question that's been asked one too many times and said, "No! I don't fucking except credit cards." "You whore's need to keep up with technology," said Marco. I had two fingers in her vagina when she said, "Fuck you, motherfucker! My gaydars going off right now just talking to you. What are you doing here? Trying to prove to your friends, you're not a faggot?" "Bitch, I will smack your whore mouth," said Marco. Mario raised his voice and said, "The Fuck you will! You leave Tammy the fuck alone! You hear me, bitch? You fucking hear me?" "Alright, man. Fuck. I hear you, bro." "That's what I thought, bitch. Tammy, don't worry. I have your money and your best interest at heart. This asshole won't do you any harm." She seemed turned on by the toughness of Mario. After the argument up front, her vagina became moist. It was around that time she said to Mario, "I wanna fuck you first, honey." He just smiled and kept on driving. A few minutes later we're up in our old stomping grounds, Duquesne Heights. Mario made a right turn off of Grandview avenue onto Sweetbriar street. Then he drove down by the old abandoned Giant Eagle. He pulled over and I slipped my two fingers out of her vagina. My heart was going nuts. I've never made it with a prostitute before. Apprehension began to set in. Tammy pulled down my pants and started to give me a blowjob. Mario was smoking a cigarette keeping a lookout. Marco kept turning around to watch the action. This was making me uncomfortable. "Marco, turn the fuck around, bro. What's the matter with you?" Tammy put her head up and said, "I told you he was a homo." Mario flicked his cigarette out the window, looked at Marco and said, "Dude, are you of the homosexual persuasion or not?" Indignantly, Marco replied, "I thought you were a sexual libertarian, bro." "I am, but that's not the point." "Well what the fuck is then?" "Your sexual preference, bitch. That's what." "Dude, I'm straight!" Tammy looked up again and said, "You don't smell like it." Marco with hostility in his voice said, "I'll dig you out right now!" Mario told him to "Prove it." Tammy declined by saying, "Don't waste my time." Marco on a mission to verify his sexual persuasion got out the car and jumped in the back. Completely inconsiderate of my orgasm. I let it go, though. There was obviously a point to be made. Tammy pulled his pants down to embrace her profession. She sucked away for a couple minutes, but nothing happened. Marco couldn't get it up. "See," said Tammy. "I told you he was a cocksucker." Marco's face turned red. He looked like he wanted to scream, but couldn't. He was in shock over being called out on his secret sexual preference. Mario turned around and said, "Get out the car, you fag! You can walk your lying ass home over this shit. I don't have a problem with your kind. I have a problem with deception! Now fuck off!" Mario peeled out before Marco could say a word. We now had an extra ten bucks for pizza. Up the street was the church of my first baptism, St. Mary Of The Mount. I thought this was the best place for an orgasm, so I asked Mario if he could pull over. Tammy and I walked into the house of God. I sprinkled myself with holy water, and said hello to Jesus. This was when they still left the church doors open. It was night time, and the church was vacant. I took her in to the confessional to discredit the notion of fornication. All it took was three minutes, but it was a damn good three minutes. I left the used condom on the floor. Evidence of broken commandments. Proof of copulation. Then I retrieved Mario, so he could have his turn. By the time I finished my cigarette Mario and Tammy were walking out the house of God. We all got back into Mario's Ford shit box, and drove back towards Tammy's corner. First we stopped at the Quick Mart for a pack of Newports. "Awesome," said Tammy. "I need a pack of cigarettes and a yoo-hoo to wash the taste of cum out my mouth." Both Mario and I gave each other disturbing looks after that bit of whore dialogue. "Cool," said Mario. "I was going to ask if you could run in there anyway, since I'm banned for shoplifting. Can you grab me a philly blunt?" He gave her fifty cents and she said, "Okay. I'll be right back." The minute she walked into that convenience store is the minute Mario put it in reverse and said, "That bitch just got beat, bro. I'm keeping the money!" Then he drove off laughing. As we ran the red light by the beer distributor I looked over at Mario and said, "Have you no respect for capitalism, man?" Mario was driving back down Warrington avenue, shaking every piece of clothing from Tammy's bags out his driver side window when he said, "Welcome to the free market!" I stuck my head out the window. All you could see was a quarter mile of clothes in the middle of the street, and the contemptuous looks of street walkers who didn't have any dental insurance. That was one of the most memorable days of my life. Mario was indeed, a funny character. I wish the best for him. Maybe one of these years we'll reunite. Until that day comes all I have is hilarious memories of the times we've spent together.
Bio: Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he's not writing, he's volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man's work, please check out his blog :www.thoughtsofapoeticmind.blogspot.com for his latest poetry and short stories.