Even hookers have to work when it’s raining. I have spent the past three days desperately searching for employment. My dedication to the search surprisingly took my mind off things of a sexual nature. My lust went into remission and I experienced a calm that always follows a terrible storm. This morning I awoke to the tapping sounds of a torrential downpour which seemed to also awken my lust. Once my wife left for work, I went to my computer and started reading the sensual and x-rated erotic adds on Craig’s List and by mid afternoon I had and erection which refused to leave me alone. Outside my small window rain was coming down without apology. It was creating a small flood in my mind which made it hard to breathe. My mood was melancholic and I knew of two remedies for this. I could either masturbate or seek out the professional help of a whore. I decided the I would spend the rest of the afternoon looking for a different kind of job.
Despite the fact that the rain was relentless I knew that hookers still had to make money even when it rained. I was privy to certain information that some hookers preferred working in the rain because they were less visible to cops. They could stand in bus stops for long periods of time without being cited for lingering. All they had to say is that they were sheltering themselves from the rain. With this information in mind I dressed without putting on underwear and ventured out into day. Three inches of rain made my car appear to be swimming. The whole street that I lived on was flooded. I would not of been surprised if Noah’s Ark came speeding around the corner. It had been raining for days. For a brief moment I thought that I best not venture out because my tires had no tread and my windshield whippers had long ago ceased to work. I was taking many risks if I drove my car, but as usual my lust spoke louder than my pragmatic mind.
I listened to John Coltrane on the stereo and drove slowly through the puddles and torrential downpour which made the city seem like the sea. As I smoked a cigarette I used a towel as a make shift windshield whipper. Rain blew into my car causing a chill to run through my spine. However, I was determined to find a whore. I drove around the areas of Oakland that hookers were normally stationed. Because Oakland is a city that is going through large amounts of gentrification, the police force has strengthened their commitment to remove prostitutes from the city so that they can make Oakland more respectable to incoming residents. Despite the purging of prostitutes there were still specific locations where they popped up. Whores are like flees- just when you think their gone, they appear some place knew.
I drove around and around the ghetto, with the inharmonious sounds of a saxophone encouraging me to go deeper into my desire. I whipped water and grime from my windshield as I drove around back alley ways and across barren train tracks. Rain covered my windshield quicker than I could wipe it away. And then as I turned a corner with the belief that I had spotted a whore with a black umbrella and tight white skirt, I was disappointed to find that it was only a phone booth. Hours passed and the inside information that I was privy to seemed to be rendering me no results. Gas on my car was going low and in America gas is no cheap commodity. I passed a few crack whores that desperately stuck out their dark tongues at me and screamed “hey baby, save me from the flood!!” but there were no hookers wondering around that looked as if they could step inside my fantasy.
Just as I was about to surrender my search- I noticed a Hispanic looking lady standing on a corner wearing a tragically sexy tight black dress and black boots. Her hair was long and dyed red and her eyes were shaped like sex. She was holding no umbrella and allowed the rain to cover her body without any offense. As I passed her a second time she smiled at me and made a gesture that I pull over. I stopped my car around the corner and with my heart rapidly beating in anticipation I unlocked the passenger side door so sex could come in. She climbed in my car wet with rain- and asked me if I was a cop. When I said no she told me to show her my penis. I was a bit apprehensive but when she insisted on me showing her my penis again, I decided to do so. I did not want to let sex get away. There was something strangely exhilarating about showing my penis to a stranger. “Stroke it twice,” she said. I was stupefied and excited. “What?” I said acting like I was uncertain about her demand but in truth, I wanted her to repeat herself. “Do it, quick,” she said looking out the back window to see if there were any cops. “Do what?” I pretended. “Stroke your cock!” Ah, that was all I needed to hear. I did what she said and immediately got an erection. “You are horny?” she said. I assumed that her question was rhetorical. Why else would I be driving around in circles through a crazy downpour looking for a whore? Yes, I was the horniest married man with no sex life, living!
“My name is Ladina,” she said. I asked if I could see her tits to make sure she was not a cop. “How bout I lick your cock, to show you?” she asked. “No, no I am not interested in that,” I said. “What you interested in then,” she asked as she pulled down her top and showed me perfectly shaped breasts with small areolas and hardened nipples. As I was about to reply “a hand job,” I had to use all of my strength to not have an orgasm while looking at her breasts. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my anus to prevent the squirt but I had not developed the muscle control needed to refrain. As I released sperm into my pants, I cupped her breast in my hands like it was the last thing I would ever touch. I utilized all my reserve to act as normal as possible so as not to reveal the biological process that was taking place in my pants.
It is amazing to me how quickly lust vanishes after an orgasm. Like rain after a storm. What was once so desirable and rapturous becomes flat and an annoyance. It is as if with the release of sperm- desire, lust and awe are also released. What is left is a space for guilt and shame to sneak in and fill the heart. I told Ladina that I was feeling a bit nervous and needed more time to think. “Ah, come on man lets have some fun,” she replied, inept to the fact that I had already had my fun. When I told her I needed more time to think, she gave me a strange look and then dismissed me with the slam of my car door. Relieved that she was gone from my life, but feeling the guilt of just having left a fellow human being stranded in the rain- I drove my ark back to the confines of my home where I would spend the rest of the evening looking for a reputable job.
I work at a busy bar in the heart of Sacramento. I do not want to say much about the restaurant because I do not really know how I feel about it but what I can say with certainty is that never before have I seen so many white yuppies, who all look relatively the same, congregate in one space. The thing about this kind of normality is that when something slightly unusual occurs, it really stands out in my mind. Like last night when an attractive youngish woman came to my bar and asked if she could get a free drink if she showed me her breasts. At first I was surprised. I was unprepared for this and as my face turned red I tried to assert my masculine confidence. She smiled and waited for an answer as I tried to figure out what to say.
ABSURdISTRY. 