Anthony Scalise

For A Fix

                                                        For A Fix

   The heat was inescapable, that dry, engulfing humidity that would paste your shirt to your back and mold your underwear to your inner thigh. It was a typical afternoon in their dry, filthy, bug ridden drug den outside of the small town of Whetstone, Arizona. It was quiet, always quiet. It was not unlike the sketchy places you saw it Hollywood movies. It was the same run down trailer park you saw passing through on family vacations.  For those few unmemorable seconds making notice of the rusted machinery, sheets of scrap metal and dead weeds that littered the front yard still one could not escape questioning why or whom would dare lay their head to rest in such a place.
    She smelled of her lingering body odor, not having bathed in two days. Every crevice of her body able to produce sweat did so. Buried between her two front legs without complaint of the chalky, almost sour taste that she produced lay his head steady and focused. Every other minute or so he would produce a satisfied but almost forced sounding moan. He would moan more than she, who would retain her signal of gratification to him by biting down on her lip. This was of no concern to him for the mere fact that female genitalia were coated with his spit would be satisfying enough.
   It was routine for him to spend 30 minutes at a time with his face between her legs as she was usually in a lazy, drunken stupor the majority of their frequent sexual experiences. The other majority of the time would be spent him masturbating himself, trying to pro long his erection as she lay motionless with her eyes closed. Their sex considered hopeless in the eyes of any other “normal couple” from the larger cities. This would never be of concern to them. Their worries consisted of the supply of their drugs and the few desperate “damp” days in between meeting their connect and the cruel three hours a day they would spend collecting cans and glass bottles to get money for their bad habits.
   He was oblivious to question how they managed to have enough microwaveable ramen and a smorgasbord of drugs readily available. He was also oblivious to the few hours a day she would disappear to go to “work”. This really meant going down on the manager at the discount food mart, whom also used to be her brother in law at one point.
He also paid no mind as to why her feet were always so soft, and oddly clean after their trips to the recycling center. In his mind, she was chatting with old co-workers in the back. In reality, the fetish of a 47-year-old man materialized as his penis glided between her size 7 foot every other Thursday afternoon. Somehow, they managed to get by, and still be happy with each other’s company. Having hardly anyone else around in town whom they shared any sort of a relationship with that wasn‘t kept secret, they had each other. They had drugs and they had freedom.
     Every other Friday, their old friend would pass through town. Making a stop off at their trailer, he would provide them their bad habits. Sometimes they would be short on cash; he would take his compensation with tit grabs, exposing his penis to her in the few fleeting seconds while her lovers back was turned. This was routine and would continue this way for months until three long, painful days had passed since their usual day of meeting. The numerous phone calls would always remain unanswered the dealer’s apartment. Frustrated and in desperation trying to cope with the onset of withdrawals their days became orgies of effortless and tired sex, which lasted for hours off and on. Their days would be nothing other than lazy rotations of their midsections towards one other, excluding the 5 minutes she would spend cooking the cup of ramen that they would share. Before continuing to fiend off the last bit of air duster cans, he made one last desperate call to their dealer before breaking down almost to tears. Frustrated with his unwillingness to make any stronger of an effort she got dressed in her best clothes she could find in the dirty hamper and left to the recycling center before it closed. Without waiting for him to question where or why she was leaving she told him she would be going to an old girlfriend’s house to call in an old debt for a quick fix. His suspicion grew rapidly and he knew she would not be returning to give him any that night. He waited until she was out of sight. Suspiciously, he scurried to trailer at the end of the park, which looked much similar to theirs. He knocked on the door impatiently in repetitions of one two, one two. Slowly the door opened and one human eye was visible to him. Not a word was said and the door slowly cracked open, just enough to let his thin, pale body squeeze through. His night ended much like other similar desperate nights before. They were both passed out in-between the arms of each other. Her name was Daniela, formally known as ! Danny tw o years prior. Daniela always would share a fix at a price only few would dare to pay. Together they would lay their passed out next to one another diving in and out of consciousness and an unsettling feeling of awkward, confusion. A sight almost vomit educing as bloody stained sheets, old condoms and strange sex toys litter the bed where their bodies lay shivering and sweaty, dreading the morning to cum.



Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en a solicitud de Anthony Scalise.
Publicado en el 16.03.2009.


Comentarios de nuestros lectores (0)

Tu comentario

¡A nuestros autores y a les gustaría saber tu opinión! ¡Pero por favor, te pedimos que comentes el relato corto o poema sin insultar personalmente a nuestros autores!

Por favor elige

Post anterior Post siguiente

¿Este novel/poem viola la ley o el reglamento de publicación de
¡Por favor, infórmanos!

Author: Changes could be made in our members-area!

Mas de"Drogas y Adicción" (Poemas)

Otras obras de Anthony Scalise

Did you like it?
Please have a look at:

Silent Mood - Inge Offermann (Amor & Romance)