SEXIS WRONG

take longer than I’d been expecting, and I need something
to sooth my jangling, coke-wired nerves if I’m going to get
through this. Jonathan pours me a large glass on the rocks.
“Why don’t you take this and jump in the bathtub,” Jonathan
firmly suggests, rather than asks, as he hands me the alcohol.
Though I’d prefer to simply get my blowjob and go, I find the
whisky and steaming hot bath relaxing, and soon the cravings
for another shot subside enough to allow me to function and
communicate more coherently without twitching and searching
the room for something to steal.
Donning the oversized terrycloth robe Jonathan put in the
bathroom for me, I walk into the bedroom of the spacious
apartment where he’s waiting, lying on the king-size bed.
I’m unaccustomed to the feel of something so clean as this
“Let me take this off you.” I lean forward so Jonathan can
pull the robe off over my shoulders, raising my arms over my
head and exposing my pierced nipples. “You are very beautiful,”
Jonathan tells me as I lean back against the pillows. “I’d
like to give you a massage, treat you to something special.”
Jonathan picks up a bottle of baby oil and rolls me onto my
stomach. The feeling is incredible, erotic and sensual, Jonathan’s
hands caressing me gently where appropriate, firmly
where needed. I float on the clean sheets, letting the fears
and anxieties of living shot-to-shot fade into the dark recesses
of my mind, relishing the rare contact with someone who not
only turns me on but is going to pay me for this pleasure.
Jonathan eventually rolls me onto my back and continues the
massage until I’m fully aroused, almost begging for release.
He goes down on me, taking his time, gauging the reaction of
me in his mouth and throat, pulling away each time I’m close
to coming, prolonging the most intense sexual bliss I’ve experienced
in years of difficult, isolated existence. Finally, it’s no
use and I explode, Jonathan swallowing every drop, wringing
me dry. Exhausted, I lie there with my back propped on the
feather pillows, sweat soaking the sheet underneath me as I
smoke a much-needed cigarette.
“See, the deal is, I pay $25 for every
orgasm.”
robe, enjoying the sensation as it brushes softly on my naked
body.
“Oh my, what a drastic improvement,” Jonathan exclaims. I
have to admit, the bath felt great. I’d been more than filthy,
both me and my clothes, and I’m embarrassed when Jonathan
notices the condition of my socks. “Remind me to give
you a new pair of those when you go,” he says.
I’m feeling the whisky, not being a drinker by habit, the
warmth of the alcohol tingling in my skinny body. The cocaine
jones further recedes.
“Come lay down.” Jonathan pats the bed next to him, so
I do, placing my glass on the nightstand next to the radio
clock. I’ve never really been averse to making money this
way, not since my initial hesitation. I figure if I can have fun
and make money at the same time, no harm done and more
power to me. Besides, life as a street-bound junkie can and
often is a lonely existence. I’m starved for affection, for the
touch of another human being. Though some of the tricks
I’ve done in my time have left me feeling unclean inside more
than out, those I usually put behind me quickly, choosing not
to dwell on the particulars, even while engaged in the acts
themselves. This time is rather nice already, so I allow myself
to let go, to enjoy the moment.
“Did you enjoy that?” I can’t lie, so I tell him I
most certainly did.
“That’s twenty-five bucks I owe you now. See,
the deal is, I pay $25 for every orgasm. Feel up to another try,
or should we leave it at that?” Jonathan smiles as he gives
me another squeeze. This is the first mention of money between
us, though it’s been implicitly understood from the beginning
that this is nothing more than business, that as nice
as this is, I’m here for the money.
Immediately, I’m thinking about how much more cocaine and
heroin I’d be able to buy with $50 instead of $25. Thinking
only moments before that I’d been wrung completely dry of
every drop of cum, I’m suddenly ready to go again. Besides,
how could I really say no to such a pleasurable way to get
paid?
“I’d love to try again,” I smile, sliding down the pillows till
I’m flat on my back. Jonathan sets to work. This time it takes
much longer, slowing me to further enjoy the close contact,
to close my eyes and imagine other places and times, with
girlfriends I’ve loved and lost to my affection for drugs, to drift
in the most base, carnal pleasures without guilt or shame.
I finally come again, much to my amazement and glee. But
tonight’s sensations are brief respite from the daily grind of
my life, a dream from which I now wake, knowing I can get
paid. As soon as I realize I’m finished, the drive to score takes
over, and I quickly climb from the bed, asking for my money
as I look for my clothes. Jonathan sighs, then grabs his wallet.
He hands me two twenties and a ten, along with a new
pair of socks.
Dressed, I let Jonathan give me a kiss goodnight and goodbye,
then head for the elevator, already envisioning the emotion-killing
shots I’ll be able to inject from this evening’s earnings.
Regretting nothing and feeling good for now, I hit the
night sidewalk, to blow the money I just made, alone.
218 EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SEX IS WRONG