Hookup Culture: 101

The auditorium was filled with hopeful students. These students were mostly rejects, far-removed from a sometimes too-efficient community. Most were middle-aged men, recently released from their heterosexual couplings to find what they considered to be freedom. Gayness, easy sex, what could be better? Monogamous dating and roses are fine, but these men just wanted to get their rocks off and with as many guys as possible.

The room was filled with chatter, a husky baseline was like an anchor for the higher pitched rantings. This composition was interrupted by the entrance of the professor. I won't waste my time describing what he looked like. Just imagine your ideal and go with it.

“Good evening. This is the Introduction to Hookup Culture course. I will start right away... ahem (glitter flies from his mouth). There are three ways to ask a complete gay stranger for fellatio. One way is to ask for it, flat out. Another way is to pull your penis out and shake it in the direction of the potential sucker. Depending on the situation, the stranger might oblige. But a more formal and polite way is to invite the stranger for coffee.”

A collective “ohhhh” filled the room, accompanied by a couple of squeals. A breakthrough was made.

The poor baristas won't know what hit them in the upcoming weeks.  

The Broken Man

Deep into the pocket of his dusty dungarees laid an unforgettable memory. Better yet, a broken promise or a betrayal. Its presence caused him so much pain both physically and emotionally. Emotional because the memory of his wife was crippling, physical because his pants were so tight that the ring in his pocket dug into his skin.
       He drove in his dirty pickup truck over a bumpy, neglected road. Each bang of the road caused a vibration in all parts of the truck, including its driver. His travels shook his inadequate regions, the wallet that was never full enough for her, the heart that didn’t care enough for her, and the selfish crotch that couldn’t satisfy her. His head also moved with the dips in the road, allowing the tears that he was holding back to spill out like the glass of whisky on the dashboard. If the truck shook enough, the glass would fall and shatter into a million pieces. An outcome like this would ironically match the broken man driving to nowhere.
       His left hand was oddly immaculate and wrapped around the steering wheel. His right was swollen with bits of drywall powder embedded in the cuts of his knuckles. He had spent the evening testing their durability by punching holes into the wall after he heard the news.
       “I am selfish, I want too much, and I cannot be made happy by you. I need time to try to change that. Try to change me. And I cannot do that while we are together. That is why I have to leave.” His wife confessed.
       The urge to fall to his knees and weep was overtaken by the instinct to attack. He wouldn’t dream of ever physically hurting her, but he never made any promises to the walls. Each strike delivered surges of pulsing pain throughout his body that was quickly replaced by surges of adrenaline and brief euphoria. His blood smeared on the wall after three hits, but after that he found the way to break through the wall leaving an ample sized hole. Once the process was mastered, he broke holes into the walls with each hit. He breathed rapidly to supply oxygen to his over-worked muscles while teetering between giddiness and tears.
       ‘You bitch! He thought. I ain’t even gonna tell you how I feel ‘cause you can’t take that shit. But I’ll show you. Work hard and this is the thanks I get?! Watch me destroy this damn house I built for you. Let me see the look on her face.’ He turned to her and saw an open door. She left before he could even react.   She heard the crashing noises from the outside as she entered her vehicle. But it didn’t matter to her because she rehearsed this night a thousand times before the opening act; his breakdown wasn’t at all a surprise. She knew him very well, and sadly he didn’t know her at all. He and his damaged hand walked to the door left ajar. On the table next to the door, lay her wedding ring. He snatched the ring and stuffed into the pocket of his snug jeans. He grabbed his keys from the key holder and slammed the door behind him. He intended to follow her but she was already long gone.
       That incident left him driving in his truck into the wee hours of the night. A sudden pothole caused left tire to go flat. He wasn’t aware of this and continued on. His crying blinded him slightly and he tried to wipe his eyes. Once his vision was cleared, he saw the sparks coming from the right side of his truck. He stopped the truck and got out of it. He studied the remains of the tire, spat and sat down on the ground.
       He thought about the contents of his truck, it was overly full. Supplies, equipment and such seemed to be thrown about in its bed. To the uniformed eye, its presentation would appear devoid of organization. But for Texidor the broken man, everything was in its right place. He knew the paintbrush belonged tangled under the mass of dirty blankets that seemed to be miles away from the rusty cans of paint. When working with friends, he would refer specific tools as ‘the thing, by the thing, under the thing.’ If the right “thing” wasn’t brought to him, he would be baffled at the misunderstanding.
       This time the “thing” in particular was supposed to be alongside the “other thing.” But it wasn’t there. He remembered checking the truck bed weeks before the unexpected confrontation with his wife. “Damn it, somebody stole my spare tire.” Nobody actually did, the spare was the sudden flat that has now left him in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps a more organized man would have replaced the spare a long time ago, or better yet buy a new set of tires. But sound practices like these weren't common place for Texidor Williamson.
       It was just him and his wounded vehicle. He laid his head against the cold metal of the truck as he sat down, legs stretched against the dusty ground. Hypothetical thoughts permeated into the thinning layers of common sense. He wondered many things that had nothing to do to help his situation: What if I punched the couch instead of the wall? Probably hurt less. When was the last time I spoke with my mother? Three months ago. If I lay down in the street, how long would it take for a car to hit me? One would have to try to find out.
       A polyphonic melody whispered its way out of the rusty truck. For a brief moment, Texidor didn’t know what it was and just hummed along: Silent Night, Holy Night. The music almost brought him out of his self-destructive mindset. He quickly realized that it was his cellular phone ringing loudly in his glove box. He got up on his feet, opened the door, and grabbed the electronic device. The LCD screen simply read: 1 missed call. He scrolled to the recent calls menu and read the most recent entry: Tanya Williamson (MUM.)
       “What the hell does she want?” he said to himself. “Forget it, she’ll hear from me through my obituary. I am so sick of this fucked-up world and its fucked-up people!” With that, he shoved the phone in his back pocket and sprawled out into the quiet street. The pavement was cold, providing an odd benefit to his overheated skin. He kicked his boots off, thinking that without them; being struck would cause more damage, therefore killing more efficiently. Perfect.
       The dark sky above put a dismal show of sparse clouds, and dimming stars. Nature didn’t even care enough to impress Texidor with its wonders in his final moments. ‘If I close my eyes, he thought, they wouldn’t be much difference. He grunted at the sight before him: Might as well keep ‘em open, so I can see the car coming.’ He moved the back of his head against the rough concrete, scratching an itch. He continued to move his head from side to side to the point of dizziness, laughing along the way. ‘Dead man on the road, he was inebriated without a drop of liquor. This is sweet, so sweet!’
       In the distant horizon, he could see two headlights slowly inching towards his direction. He was still tossing his head, sloshing the fluid in between his ears vigorously. Around the same time nausea presented itself, the fear of dying left as well. He was moaning loudly, simply because it felt right. You have to make some kind of noise when you leave this world. But the following noise, wasn’t a noise he expected, although he heard it before.
       Computerized chimes of silent night played from his back pocket. I’ll answer it. Make one final fuck you to whoever is calling. He answered the phone with a “yeah.”
          “Hello Baby, its mum.” A kind voice spoke.
          “Oh yeah mum!? It’s funny that you called ‘cause guess what your baby boy is gonna do right now?” Texidor began.
          “Honey I’m sorry this medication is making me sleepy, I really don’t have much energy to speak. I just wanna let you know somethin’.”
          “Meds?” Texidor said. He looked to his right and saw the headlights a lot closer than before, but far enough for him to still have more time. But it was his mother who had even less time to speak.
          “Well two months ago, I fell down the stairs, broke a good number of bones, and I have been in the hospital since then. Messed up my back too. They have me on this vicodin, it helps some. I wanna go home but I can’t because I am still all bandaged up. But the nurse lady said I can go if I have somebody to see about me.”
          Texidor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That’s why he hadn’t heard a word from his mother is such a time, because she got hurt. ‘What a jackass of me not to be there! But I can fix this’. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were hurt?” he asked.
          “Well last time we spoke you were mad because I told you my friend saw your wife having dinner with another man. That’s why. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me anymore.”
          Texidor raised himself up, stumbled a bit and casually missed the oncoming car. Horns blared loudly at him, as it sped even faster away down the street. Where he was and how he got there didn’t make a difference to him anymore: he was not a broken man, he was now a man with purpose.
          “Listen mum, I can take care of you. How about I’ll be there tomorrow morning to see if I can get you released? Which hospital is it?”
          “The same one you were born in honey, Madigan. I love you. And thanks.”
          “No problem, I love you too.” He hung up the phone. Suddenly, he knew the only time those three magic words meant anything was when his mother said it. He raised himself up, put on his shoes, walked back to his truck, and hopped onto its hood. He scrolled through the numbers on his phone. ‘I think I still have that taxi number in here somewhere, right?’

Every Treasure Hunt -Chapter 1

Every Treasure Hunt Has it's End

Demetrius walked into a run-down mini-mart outside of Tillicum. A older gentleman gazed at him from the counter. Like a stone, he didn't have the most inviting expression on his face.

“You lost or somethin'?” The man sharply asked.

”No, sir. Some friends told me that I needed to be here.” The man's face softened just a little bit. But remained rigid.

“Oh... is that right?”

Demetrius looked down at the counter, it was a dusty mess of random knick-knacks and such. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Yeah I have been sick for the longest time. I am sick of suffering, I don't want this disease to take me. I'd rather go on my own terms.”

The man sighed loudly.

“What the fuck are you trying to get me arrested? Get the hell outta here!”

Demetrius thought about leaving but firmly stood his ground.

“I came here for a reason, and I am not leaving until I get what I want.”

The older gentleman continued to gaze at Demetrius. He knew with the line of products that he sold, he needed to take some precautionary measures.

“I guess you won't take no for an answer. You must be serious. Wait one minute, ok?”

“Alright, but don't keep me waitin' too long, I've got kids in Yakima, you know.” Demetrius replied while smiling slightly.

The man smiled at Demetrius's successful elocution of the secret phrase. Had he not said it right, he would have just given Demetrius a bag of flour. The older gentleman went into the back room for a few minutes, loudly moving things about. He returned to the counter with a bottle in his right hand.

“Three hundred.” He said flatly.

Demetrius placed three one-hundred dollar bills on the counter. The man took each one and slowly rubbed his counterfeit detector over it.

“Well you're legit, brother. Here you go.”

The man handed the bottle to Demetrius. The bottle was small, the size of a eye drop bottle. Upon it was the word “heaven” written in permanent black marker.

“Heaven?” Demetrius asked, puzzled.

“Oh yes son. This bottle will take you there. Real smooth like, you won't feel a thing. They say to run a nice warm bath, get into the tub, and drink the bottle. But you have to drink the whole thing. 'Till the last drop... drink this bottle and you will have eternal life.”

1

Demetrius had the cutest, friendliest face you could ever see. But he could be mean as Hell at times. At his finest, he would elevate bluntness to historic levels. But he loved very hard. He was cruel to his mother at times, but he loved her madly. There was Hell to pay if anybody laid a finger on her; and yes, one man had to learn the hard way.

At age 28, Demetrius had graduated from the nearby university but hadn't been able to find work in the field of Social Work. For the past year, the State had put hiring freezes which made successful job hunting damn near impossible. When the freezes were lifted, Demetrius and the entire city had to compete for a few positions. This situation depressed him, and Demetrius didn't show his pain through tears. He showed it through malice.

He had a few other good excuses to be angry, he was gay and infected with HIV. A double whammy, he called it. This situation did not necessarily give him the right to be as cross as he was, but it was good enough. Demetrius never worried about being accosted on the street because he was stereotypically masculine: he played sports and dated a few girls in high school, he was crass, and he was a thick guy. Despite his upper-middle class upbringing, he could speak street slang with the best of them.

He knew he was gay since age 16, when his then-best friend, Mateo invited him over to watch porn. An explicit-adult film and two horny teenage boys made the perfect concoction for exploratory behavior.

“Damn, dude. The bitch's got some nice tits!” Mateo exclaimed. “Makes my dick so hard.”

Demetrius gazed at the tent in Mateo's shorts.

“... Yeah, mine too.”

Mateo glanced over to his friend and saw his dick fully exposed out of the open zipper. He looked at Demetrius, surprised at his boldness.

“My bad, it was getting uncomfortable in my jeans.”

“Nah, it's cool... Hey, sometimes my cousin... well my second-cousin comes over and we watch porn... and sometimes... umm... we help each other out, you know? I mean, no gay shit like kissing but it feels so bomb when someone else touches your dick.”

Demetrius tried to keep his breath under control. To keep his cool. He didn't know what to say next.

“Well, nobody has ever touched it before... except for me.”

Mateo reached over to his good friend and made contact. Their desires overrode any inhibition that previously existed. They didn't stop until their virginity was lost, unfortunately, the friendship ended not soon after. Mateo didn't come to terms with his sexuality as easily as Demetrius. Demetrius was blamed for introducing Mateo to “weird, gay shit” like kissing and sucking dick. It didn't take long for Mateo to forget that it was he that made the first move.

What Mateo didn't know was that Demetrius was madly in love with him. The moment they first made love was like a dream come true. When Mateo rejected Demetrius, he was totally devastated. He locked himself in his room for days, playing rap music, and crying. His mother would try to check on him and he would let her in after multiple attempts, but only when his face was dry. He wouldn't tell her much details about what was going on. In fact, he lied. He told his mother that he and Mateo were fighting over a girl. She believed him, she had no reason not to.

The rejection affected Demetrius for the rest of his life. Since then, he only dated guys who resembled Mateo. But he didn't want to ever feel rejected again, ever. Therefore, he made sure he was the one who ended the relationships first. It didn't matter how well the relationship was going. He started to develop a reputation, but it didn't harm his success with men. It is odd how some people are drawn to trouble, and trouble was Demetrius.

Eventually, trouble found Demetrius. By chance, while leaving the gay bookstore where many would go for cruising, Demetrius ran into Mateo. Literally. Mateo was entering the entrance at the same time that Demetrius was leaving. Mateo fell back onto the sidewalk.

“What the fuck?!” Mateo said, while getting up quickly, about ready to fight. Then they recognized each other.

“Mateo?”

“Demetrius?”

“Oh shit... damn. It's been a minute. A long ass time...”

“Yeah, it's been a minute.”

“Sure has, well... what's up man?” Mateo extended his hand.

“Not much... just started classes at the university.” Demetrius finally accepted the handshake. A quick, yet powerful charge went through both of their bodies from the contact.

“That's good, man. I knew you would do somethin' good with your life.”

Mateo found himself staring at his former friend. In fact, they were staring at each other. Demetrius found himself falling back into the past, as much as he wanted to avoid it.

“So what you been up to?”

“Shit... well I got married.”

“Married?! To a chick?!”

“Yep, one year.”

“What you doin' here then, man?”

“I dunno... I guess I like to creep every once in a while.”

“DL?”

“Nah, fuck that. I hate that term. I just do what I do. You feel me?”

Simple as that, Demetrius was back in love. It was the simplicity of Mateo that Demetrius loved the most. Demetrius constantly had to battle intense thoughts and emotions, but Mateo was peaceful. Mellow.

“Mateo, let me show you a book that I helped write.”

“Alright.”

Demetrius walked Mateo to a section of shelves in the back. He pulled a book from the shelve that was entitled, Memoirs of Urban Gay Youth. Demetrius hated the title, but still he decided to contribute an essay he wrote about his first gay experience and life since then. Demetrius wanted Mateo to read the book, badly.

“This is what I wrote. It was about... my first relationship.”

“Your first relationship. What? Did the motherfucker break your heart?” Mateo asked, not knowing that he was the motherfucker.

“Yeah... he did.” Demetrius's voice cracked slightly. He could not conceal the sadness in his face. Mateo thought that Demetrius was irresistibly cute when sad.

“He had to be a damn fool to leave a sexy ass man like you.” Mateo touched Demetrius face, rubbed his ears and neck. They began to kiss. The desire that they had for each other in their early teenage years never left. They explored each other bodies with their hands, breathing heavily in between kisses.

“Alright men, go on and find yourselves a room.” The bookstore owner interrupted.

Demetrius and Mateo left the bookstore and checked into the nearest hotel. They made love several times. Making a lot a noise. They went outside for a bit to buy some marijuana. They went back to the hotel, got high, and made love some more. Demetrius didn't want Mateo to ever leave his arms. But he did. After the night they spent together, Mateo asked for Demetrius's number, but he never called. Demetrius was hurt but at least Mateo gave him another memory. Mateo also gave him HIV.

Since the acquisition of HIV, Demetrius love life slowed down significantly. He would meet potential mates but as soon as he told them his status, they were no longer interested. He did eventually meet somebody. During the past two years, he has been seeing a husky gentleman named Gustavo who worked as a HIV counselor. Like Demetrius, Gustavo was also HIV positive. However, Gustavo insisted that they have protected sex because of the risk of infecting each other with different strains. Gustavo was short, sweet, and long-suffering. He put up with a lot of strife from Demetrius. In the good days and bad, Gustavo stayed by his side. Every time Demetrius ended the relationship, Gustavo took him back. Demetrius did care deeply for Gustavo, and in his own way, loved him. But he didn't want to admit it because he feared being rejected again. As long as he didn't really love him, losing him wouldn't hurt as much.

Demetrius wished he knew how to at least hide his dissatisfaction with life. He spent many sleepless nights, looking outside at the sky. He sometimes wished he could fly to another planet, somewhere where a society advanced enough existed that could easily cure him of the disease. He would dream about the people of this planet. About the all the knowledge they had. All the problems of society that they already resolved centuries ago. They would teach him how to make his planet Earth a better place. Towards the end of the dream, Demetrius would feel inspired, ready to make change happen. Sadly, he would eventually wake up. All the advice shared in the dream would be forgotten, and Demetrius would still have HIV. No matter how many times he had this dream, he still cried when he woke up with reality in his face.