Eighteen – Chapter 11

The heart knows no bounds when it comes to passion. Maybe I was out-of-bounds as I kiss my secret lover on stage in front of all my family, friends and fans. Worst of all is when my actual boyfriend Jack sees us. I’m uncontrollably shaking and vibrating from my out of control feelings as Jack runs out to confront us.

“How could you?” he accuses me,  glaring at poor Jake, the latest victim of my raging passions.

In addition to the shakes, I’m purring like a cat. Jack is bereft, stomping off the stage in tears. I’m tempted to bow to the stunned audience, after this melodrama caps an evening of multiple performances, from classical to rock and even schlock.

Tommy stands there  with his arm around his girlfriend. “Good riddance, Jack-Off. How’s it feel to be thrown under the bus?” he shouts at the fleeing Jack.

He winks at me. I’m too fucked up to smile back. The rest of the performers surround Jake and me. No one says a thing. Jill runs off to find Jack; she’s his only supporter.

I try to speak, but the purring gets in the way and won’t stop. Jake barely knows anyone and doesn’t know what to say but tries.

“It’s just in the heat of the moment. Your show is incredible. You guys played for six hours.” It’s one o’clock in the morning.

“You chase Tim all the way across the country to steal him from Jack?”  Flo, my other girlfriend, accuses poor Jake.

“It’s been going on for a while, ever since we first met,” my purring subsides. “I wanted him to see us perform.”

“You sure know how to finish a show,” Michael laughs. Everyone relaxes, shaking their heads and laughing.

“You better go find Jack,” Flo notes. “I think he crashed and burned.”

I look around. Most of the audience is still there, fascinated by our melodramatic finish.

I go to the mic. “Thanks for coming. Remember that this show was about Jace. We’ll never forget him. I guess you now know that life goes on. I’ve moved on. Jace is always in my heart, and I hope he stays in yours.”

There’s a smattering of applause. Everyone is too confused about what happened. “Gays,” is the common explanation, “they just can’t help themselves.”


I run backstage  where Jill is holding a sobbing Jack in her arms.

“Here,” she turns to me, “this is your job.”

A terrified Jack looks at me, with the tears flowing. “Why?” is all he says.

I hold him. No words are going to help. Finally, he gulps and slaps me, turning away.  I deserve it. It makes me realize that Jake is out on stage with no one to support him. I return to him, sitting on the right front edge of the stage.

“I got carried away. I’m sorry to embarrass you.”

“I’m more thrilled than embarrassed. What I need most is something to eat. Anything open this late?”

I’m amazed at his composure. The rest of the group is preparing to go to Sorrento’s,  being kept open for us.

“Are you up to being with everyone right now.”

“You know where I want to go.”

We laugh.

“Maybe you could use some calories to keep up your stamina.”

“Never underestimate my stamina,” he dares me. My dick gives a big twitch.  He’s shameless. I love it.

“We could go to Sambo’s?” I ask.

“Let’s face the music with your friends. Will Jack be there?”

“He ran off by himself. Let that sleeping dog lie.”

“And who’s been living a lie?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s so confusing here. It’s like going backwards in time.”

“That’s me all the time I’m with you.”

“This is so juvenile. I’m sorry, Jake. Do you hate me?”

“Stop acting like a guilty kid. I’ll never hate you, but I go back to Hollywood tomorrow. The only time I felt in my element here was playing with your patron’s jazz quartet. Even playing Rimsky-Korsakov seems weird with that odd keyboard.”

I hug him and we join the group waiting to go to Sorrento’s. Pizza – wonder food for the heart (of teenagers at least). Mike Sr. has us join him with his college buddies on the ride to Calle Ocho. The jazz group, including Jake, is abuzz about opening for a rock act. They avoid talking about me. Jill has come along with us. Mike Sr’s renews his ‘special’ attention he usually pays her. Maybe he’s emboldened by Jake and me.

I remain loyal to Jake, by sitting at the adults’ table. They all order entrees. I decide to grab several slices from the kids’ table. They understand I need to be with Jake and don’t try to snag me.”

“Really?” Robby asks. I just smile and walk away.


“Jeez, Tim. You produced a show of every type of music from 19th Century Russian classical to the popular music of today, as well as spoken word. Everything but Shakespeare in the Globe Theater replica,” Jake compliments me.

“Well, ‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players upon it,” I quote.

“Did that boy actually write his own routine?” Mike Sr. asks.

“The ‘gator story is entirely his. It gets better with every telling. Michael actually found the ‘goin’ west’ story in a Mark Twain book in your library.  Tommy adapted it to his own country speech.”

“Well, Jace would be proud of what you did tonight in his honor.”


Jace does cartwheels on our table. A couple of wine glasses overturn. We’re all glad to know he enjoyed his show.

Jake starts rubbing my knee in anticipation of our next stop. I know I’m about start purring. I jump up and thank Mike Sr. for hosting a stupendous New Year’s Eve party. I drag Jake away as quickly as possible.  The adults have wry smiles on their lips, knowing what my rush is all about. We grab a taxi there in Little Havana and are soon at the Grove hotel. I’ve already been purring for several minutes. Clothes were scattered from just inside the door all the way to the glass balcony door. Jake takes me from behind and we rut so hard that we both cum within two minutes of penetration. The evidence is on the balcony’s door, including a smeared impression of my lips from Jake pushing my head against the glass.  I wrench away from him, his dick popping  out of my butt. We giggle as I pull him to the large and much more comfortable bed. I’m not vibrating but have an insatiable need to fuck Jake.  I go down on him, starting at the trail of hair below his belly button, while squeezing both of his nipples. He’s writhing in sexual stimulation. I relent by taking his rejuvenated dick in my mouth.  He lays on his back as I kneel between his legs with his dick deep down my throat. He holds my head steady, thrusting upward into my lips. I move my hands from his nipples to his tightening butt cheeks, massaging them as they push upward. My middle fingers finds his butt hole, scrapping the outer ring.

“Ahh, ahh, ahhhh,” he moans as I slowly enter him each time he thrusts into my mouth. His breathing became ragged. We’d both cum once, so I assume he can control the next orgasm regardless of how much I stimulate him.

“I want you. I havta fuck you. I want you now,” I whisper.

His breathing is totally ragged as he nods vigorously. That’s all it takes. I raise his legs over my shoulders, letting his dick plop out of my mouth. Sticking the head of my dick just an inch into his butt, I grab his spit-slathered shaft with both hands. As I rock into him, I squeeze and stroke his slimy dick. Fully inside Jake,  I pause to rhythmically stroke his rigid dick. He writhes under me as I firmly hold fully inside him. I feel his prostrate pulsing against my hard-on. My dick’s tip do its turn backward, telling me I’m about to cum.

“Let’s go. Let’s go,” I order, speeding up my thrusts, with quick short pushes deep inside him. His arms hold me around the small of my back. He tightened them and holds on as I race to orgasm. Shorter and shorter go my strokes until I hold my throbbing dick motionless.  The pulse starts beneath my balls, building and building, moving through my scrotum and into the base of my dick. The vibrations start again as my whole body shakes more and more. The orgasm approaches the head of my dick. I let go just as Jake spurts all over us.  I throw my head back, giving a final thrust. Every muscle in my body goes into uncoordinated contractions as I explode deep inside Jake. I collapse and pass out.

The next thing I know, I come to with Jake laying next to me. The sweat and smeared cum  is washed off. We cuddle under a single sheet. I’m not shaking or even purring. I’m satisfied. It’s complete. Jake is smiling at me.

“You passed out.”

“I used to do that when I was a kid at 15.”

“All grown up now?”

“Obviously not,” I giggle.

“You are so cute,” he kisses me chastely, maybe even tentatively. Is he afraid I want to fuck him some more. “And so hot.”

I just want to curl up with him and sleep. He kisses me on the forehead.


The next I know it’s mid morning and breakfast is being delivered. Jake is embarrassed by the look he gets when the bell boy sees how young I am. I giggle at his discomfort. It isn’t my fault I’m only 18.

“What are we doing today. I’m done with the band for now.”

“Well, have some coffee and read your review in the Miami Herald.”

I jump up, apparently recovered from performance fatigue.  Jake laughs at the sight of my naked, swinging dick running over to grab the paper.  I sit in his lap, much to his surprise.

“Read it to me,” I order. Jake smiles, showing me the photos Jimmy took. He reads:

‘False Gods,

Return to Glory

False Gods, our local rock heroes, returned to performance after a twenty month hiatus. The site was a Shakespearean era replica of the Globe Theater at the home of local civil rights attorney Mike Antonio, on New Year’s Eve. It was a reprise of the 1974 New Year’s Eve tribute to their murdered founder, Jace Conning. They played for four hours that year to ten thousand fans. This time they played for six hours to mostly friends and fans-in-the-know. The boys all graduated. The range of their musical interests has blossomed in many directions. You cannot call it a rock show when a suite of Rimsky-Korsakov opens, followed by a jazz quintet entertaining the older group’s cocktail party, a sixteen year-old doing a Mark Twain spoken word tall tale, then a country music segment, followed by a Doo Wop a Capella serenade, turning into a 50’s sock hop/dance by the popular party band, the Out-Crowd. At that moment the original False Gods band reprises their reflections of Miami life plus songs from guitarist Tim Castle’s times in Iowa and singer Jack Stone’s new band at Harvard. Not to be outdone, drummer Michael Antonio and his girlfriend Jenna sang a Carpenter’s duet to each other, Miami’s own Romeo and Juliet. Back came the 16-year-old to countdown the seconds to midnight. Guitarist Castle relate difficulties he’s encountered at his work on a movie in Hollywood, singing several songs by Tom Petty, his partner in crime at the Lynyrd Skynyrd concert, . The songs, ‘I Won’t Back Down’ and ‘I’m So Bad’, reflect how he won over his fellow workers by beating down a bigot. A final tribute to Jace was Rod Stewart’s ‘You’re in My Heart,’ performed by backup singer Jill Wilkie, as everyone joined arms and swayed to her sweet voice. The music complete, Tim and Tommy sat at the stage’s edge and told about their days together after escaping from the corrupt juvenile detention camp, The Program. Tommy recounted the tall tale about their encounters with a 28 foot alligator called ‘Gatorsaurous.’ This ended the night’s celebration. I counted 21 different performers, doing music from classical to jazz to country to doo wop to 50’s dance pop to goth rock to English soul to South comfort rock as well as spoken word. The only thing missing was heavy metal, unless you include an Iggy Pop-imposter swinging from a balcony in the middle of False Gods’ monkeyshines song.

This concert/performance was a one-off, never to be repeated. But we look forward to what these kids will do next. They prove that there’s more to music than sitting at home and listening to records. I look forward to the movie Tim is working on. It’s called ‘Animal House.” That sounds just about right for these kids.’

Good old Jimmy Olson, cub reporter,  always comes through for us. Inside the Calendar Section there were additional pictures, including a shot of the jazz quintet. Jake is front and center.

“Hooking yourself to my star,” I point to his photo.

“Not quite front page news yet,” he laughs.

I wiggled my butt on his lap, which instantly perks him up.

“A little sex, to go with your coffee,” he needles me.

I shudder and purr into his ear. I’m insatiable. We were back in bed, soon experiencing morning delight.  Jake takes it easy on my butt. We’re under a time limit as Jake’s flight to LAX leaves in the early afternoon. Hotel check-out is at noon. We take the shuttle bus to the airport, riding together, unable to say goodbye until the last moment. We get stares from strangers for my odd behavior of purring when I hang onto him. Finally, his flight is in final boarding.

“I’ll see you soon,” is all he says. Then we kiss, drawing real looks of surprise. He disappears into the jetway.


I’m so depressed. Jake is gone. Jack is broken-hearted. I know I’m not in love with Jake.


It’s such a strong sexual and intellectual connection, but the romance is not there. We both know it’s a fling, yet the future is still coming, just unsure. That is part of the excitement. Apart from the teen drama, we had the greatest weekend together. I need someone to straighten out my head. Jace appears – Teen Jesus to the rescue.

“Experiencing buyer’s remorse over your new boyfriend?”

“I know we’re not meant for each other, but he makes me so horny.”

“You’re just frustrated that Jack is such a little nerd.”

We laugh. “I still love the little nerd, but he’s locked me out of his heart.”

“I can still talk with him. How about a conference call?”

“He must hate me right now.”

“Then just listen in. He’s so clueless, he won’t even know.”

It’s like the time I went to Switzerland and saw him in the seminary. Jack is laying on his bed, crying his eyes out. I gulp, from guilt, but keep silent.”

“What’s up, Jack-Off,” Jace uses Tommy’s nickname for him. “Tim abusing you again.”

“I hate him. He’s just so mean.”

“Not willing to share with his middle-aged lover?”

“It’s worse than with Tommy. Then it was just perverted child molestation.”

“Hey, remember I’m still fifteen. Tommy’s older than me now.”

Jack stops crying. “I’ll always love you, Jace. We were the same age when we started fucking.”

“That’s when we all had the sex pact. Tim’s called it off, since I never grew up.”

“I still love you, Jace.”

“Then let me fuck you,” Jace kids him.

Jack’s in tears again. He has lost both of his long-term lovers at once.

Jace smiles. “Maybe you need to talk with Tim.”

“How can I? My heart won’t open to him. First I was afraid he had stopped loving me. Now I know it’s true.”

“Well, tell him right now.”


“Yeah. He’s right here. He still loves you. You’re too much of a nerd to realize it.”

Jack is in a panic, having exposed his real feelings.

I step into the dream. “If you would just trust me again, you’d know I’ll always love you,”  I swear.



“I couldn’t help myself.  It was not planned to happen this way.”

“How can you love him. He’s so old.”

“We’re not in love. It’s strictly about sex.”

Jack bursts into tears again.  It gets to me but he still locks me out of his heart. He is so stubborn.

Tommy shows up. His first psychic love time-travel. “Why’s he’s crying, Huck. Is it payback for throwing me under the bus in I-o-way?”

It was always all about him.

“Naw. He thinks I’m in love with my composer.”

“The old guy. He’s cool but his music is lame,” Tommy’s advice from the peanut gallery.

Jace pipes up, “Jack’s too insecure to trust  Tim in his heart.”

Jack is not happy we’re dissecting his love life. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to love me, Tim.”

“I’ve loved you since the night you thought I had fucked you when it was just a wet dream.”

Jace and Tommy laugh.

“Don’t always believe wet dreams. They’re just a sticky reminder that your sexual needs are not being met,” Tommy is now a sex counselor. Jack moans.

“You want the real truth, Jack?” I see his eyes grow wide. “I was glad you weren’t in my heart and able to see all the sex I’ve been having in Hollywood, and even in the City.”

The tears are running again. “You fucked Burroughs?”

“I just jerked him off, after a trick took his money and left him hanging.”

Jace and Tommy are laughing their asses off. Jack is less than pleased.

“He’s seventy years old.”

“Seventy-three in February, But he is a Harvard grad.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“It has nothing to do with you. I felt sorry for him.”

“Now you feel sorry for me.”

“No. I’m just sorry you feel this way. I can’t be in your heart unless you trust me.”

“How can I? You’re such a slut.”

Everyone agrees on that score.

“You love Jace, and you’re not jealous that he’s fucking Tommy.”

“I’m fucking him,” Tommy asserts.

“And anyone else who will have you,” Jace retorts.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jack was still dismayed.

“Nothing’s wrong. You just are too possessive. My dad says it’s how all rich people are.”

“You don’t love me because I’m rich?”

“You’re just insecure. And you insist on getting your way. You made me throw Tommy under the bus. He was only fourteen. He was bound to grow up and change. Jake’s 42 (they all gasped). He won’t change but I will.”

Finally, Jack sees some sense in my logic. “How can you cheat on me and still think you love me?”

“Wake up, Jack. I’ve always loved more than one person at a time. I still loved Scott even after I was in love with Jace. We just didn’t know it yet.”

Jace smiles. He knows I always loved him.

“Does that mean you can’t leave Jake to be with me now.”

“Jake’s gone back to LA.”

Jack’s face falls. It meant he can’t prove I love him more.

“You don’t want me to come over?” I ask.

“Pool party,” Tommy exclaims.

“More likely to be a sex party.”
“I ain’t havin’ sex with ol’ Jack-Off.”

“That’s a relief,” Jack snarks.

“All made up, now?” Jace’s reputation as couples counselor is established.

“Of course,” I readily agree.

“I guess,” Jack still feels abused. His heart remains shut to me.

“Jist the way ol’ Huck is,” Tommy assert. “Git used ta it.”

“Then, come pick me up. I’m at the airport.”

“Fucking two-timer,” Jack sniffs.

He is there in twenty minutes. I jump into the pink Cabriolet  and give him a quick kiss. Being mocked by Tommy has dampened his enthusiasm for a reconciliation.

“Let’s go to Sorrento’s,” I suggest, pizza to the rescue. “You missed it last night.”

“I was exhausted after the show,” is his excuse.

“I’m sorry you saw that kiss. It ruined a wonderful show for you. Did you see Jimmy’s article in the Herald?”

“Mummy showed me. I ran off crying. I never read it.”

“Let’s go to my house. Max and Winston will cheer you up. We can read it there.”

“Okay,” he sniffs.

Lying in my arms in the window as I read to him, he seems to relax.

“He only mentions me because I go to Harvard.”

“Check out all the photos,” as I pass him the Calendar Section.

He instantly sees himself playing the Rimsky-Korsakov with Jake. He crumples instantly, back into a pout.

“Com’n Jack, He’s a great guy. You played so well together. Stop competing for my heart. If you win, I’ll lose him. I’m not in love.”


I’m not in love
So don’t forget it
It’s just a silly phase I’m going through
And just because
I call you up
Don’t get me wrong, don’t think you’ve got it made
I’m not in love, no no, it’s because


© EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, SCHUBERT MUSIC PUBLISHING INC.


As I sing to him, his doubts disappear, accepting that his place in my heart was secure. Then, the doubts rush back in, as he realize I may be singing about Jake. As I complete the song, he clutches me, not willing to let go. He finally opens his heart to me. Maybe it’s worth cheating to break him down enough to open up . Jace joins us in my bed. Max sits beside us  and barks.

“No. We’re not going to Robby’s,” Jack declares.

We all laugh, knowing how Jack changes when stoned. He is so insecure.

As if by cue, Robby swings in my window.

“All made-up, my little chickadees? Time for make-up pizza to celebrate our grand return to fame. How much did we get paid for last night?”

“Mike Sr put a thousand dollars in each of our trust funds.”

“That sucks. I havta go to college to spend it.”

“What about Mr. Clark’s offer to get you into Rollins?”

“That’s just high school with ash trays.”


We all piled into Jack’s Cabriolet. Jace is sitting on the trunk, whooping it up, while Max chases us down the street, barking.  Soon all the neighborhood dogs have joined him barking. Only Winston won’t leave his yard. Good boy.

After ordering pizza, Robby rolls a joint as an appetizer.  He refuses to let Jack smoke.

“You’ll just hump Tim ‘cause ya got yer boyfriend back and then start cryin’ again ‘cause ya lost ‘im in the first place. Here,” he hands me a joint, ‘spark it up when yer alone together. No one wants y’all fagging off whiles we eat.” Robby winks.

“How about you and Mr. Clark?” I switch our attention to Robby.

“There ain’t nothin’ ta tell.”

“Maybe if you grow up and go to college, you’ll find you actually have a heart. He’ll be so pleased.”

“Don’t be fantasizing about my non-existent love life.”

“You and Mary no longer together now that she’s in college?”

“She ain’t got time for me.”

“Maybe she don’t want to hang out with the junior high stoner club in your bedroom.”

“Don’t stop y’all from comin’ over.”

“Max makes me. He craves his daily fix of second-hand smoke.”

“When will you grow up and stop believin’ in ghosts?”

Jace slaps him. He looks all around. Everyone else laughs. I relent my anti-pot crusade. Pizza has arrived. I slip out and call Flo from a pay phone, asking the three of them to come to Sorrento’s.  When they arrive, the boys whoop and welcome them. Hanging with just guys is just not mature any more. Flo slips into the booth next to me and promptly snaps my briefs.  It pleases her that she still turns me on. Edi has Jack’s attention. His disgruntled mood disappears. Michael calls Jenna, who arrived to take him away to high school life again, just as we finish .

“Michael’s still living out high school drama,” I remark after they leave. “I told his dad to get him a job so he doesn’t miss college social life.”

“I think he joined one of those frats where we played,” Robby is more in the know.

“Oh, the horror,” we laugh. “We should get the Out-Crowd to climb that mango tree and bombard him.”

We sit there reliving old band days.

“Now that yer in Hollywood, why not get us to reunite there and storm the music industry?” Robby suggests.

“My job is to line up a band to play 50’s covers in a movie. At first, I thought it’d be perfect for ‘False Gods. But I hired a black band instead.”

“You asshole,” Robby feels betrayed, just like the Weirdos. “I’d die to go to Hollywood.”

“I can’t be in a cover band anymore,” I explain. “Even last night we mostly played covers. And the songs about our lives don’t really say what we do now.”

Maybe rock n roll is a high school fantasy and college is where you give up on that dream.

“So, you’ve just moved on, like ya did on poor ol’ Jack,” Robby is never one to stop rubbing salt in a wound.

“We all have, except for you. What’s keeping you hiding away in your bedroom with 15-year-olds?”

“Don’t give me shit. At least I stay high. You obviously don’t maintain.”

“I’m maintaining life, not the past. Com’n out and see for yourself. There’s always bands in Hollywood that need a good drummer.”

He just stares at me.

I turn to the girls. “How’s college life? Your parents still bein’ over-protective?”

Flo speaks up, “That ends when they marry us off. College life is great. I might actually be learning something. We’re planning on getting an apartment off campus together.”

“Parental warning.”

“Maybe we’ll come out to Hollywood, too. But not until the summer.”

“The Jacettes – ready to storm Hollywood.” My tiny apartment will be great grist for a soap opera.

The waiter brings us our bill, no longer on the godfather’s complimentary list. I pay by credit card. Dave and Jeff stare bug-eyed.

“Let’s go swimming at Jack’s,” I suggest. On the way out, I call Tommy in Lauderdale. He’s out the door before I hang up.


Mummy and Daddy retreat to the sitting room when we show up. Jack assures Mummy that all is fine again between the two of us. I swim laps until Tommy shows up. It turns into a raucous splash party with everyone in the pool.

As we lay on the deck, working on our non-existent tans, Mr. Stone draws me aside.

“Dorothy says you boys made up.”

“For the twentieth time, yes.”

“I realize you’re both just eighteen, but I’ve become very fond of you. Not just because you’ve drawn Johnny out of his shell. I hope you know I’ll always consider you part of the family.”

Dad’s voice reiterates his premise that the rich remain possessive of everything, especially people.

“You’ve already done so much for me. My dad’s middle class values insist that I be able to reciprocate, and not just by loving your son. I’ll always try to make you proud of me.”

“I’ve come to like being middle class. Just don’t tell Mummy.”

We laugh. Still no BankAmericard, but I have my own bank account and a trust fund – a true sign of being middle class is aspiring to move up.


Isabelle cooks for the whole crew. Everyone but me gets steaks. Somehow a chicken cordon bleu appears before me. That lady loves me. I love her cooking.  After dinner we retire to the sitting room. Mummy requests a song. Everyone but Jack and I are exhausted from the previous night. I get up and sang my sappy love song to Jack, without accompaniment. He loves it. Of course, Mummy is in seventh heaven.

Love II


“I never feel this way.

Happy and full of play.”

I wake up every day,

You’re by my side,

You reach and touch,

I say goodbye.


There is no future,

But we have now.

Don’t ask,

some way,



“We’re perfect for each other,

I never think of another.”

Can’t be love, but who can say

I know you’re here to stay?”


There’s no future,

But we have now.

Don’t ask,

some way,




‘We can’t live by ourselves.

We need people that we love

We hate those who hate themselves

We know what they’re made of.


Love, love, love


I need your love

I need your love

I need your love

I need you


No histrionics and I don’t go down on my knees in front of the little nerd. Everyone but Tommy is entranced. He’s the only high school kid there. He has to leave by nine to get Auntie Em’s car back on time. I walk him out to the car. Sitting together on the front bench seat, he slides over to me and we cuddle.

“Y’all was right, Huck, I ain’t rilly gay. But there’s times my asshole just aches fer yer. I’s taught my girlfriends to use their finger up there. Gets me off so hard, they wants to do it all the time. Only trouble is, all I’s thinking about is y’all, up my butt.”

We laugh. I had no advice about that problem. We kiss for the longest time. I figured I’m kissing away his faggy youth. He’s just sixteen.

Next it’s time for the Jacettes to leave. Flo and I take a long walk, talking about all the changes in our lives. She never doubts that I love her and cherish all the memories of our semi-sexual encounters. She prides herself for not betraying her virginity and is happy I showed her ways to be fully satisfied without vaginal coitus. That’s not what we talk about. It’s our hopes and plans for the future. Living off-campus with Edi and Mary has her all excited. She even thinks Jenna might join them next school year, although she doesn’t think a rich girl would want to live with three Puerto Rican chicas.

“As long as you all go to Church, her parents will be fine,” I predict.

“We can’t give up Pastor Santos,” she exclaims.

“It’s not the sect that’s important but the fact that you’re trying to lead a good life. Our college girlfriends’ parents were shocked that we made their daughters go to Catholic services, but their attitudes are ancient.”

“What is your college girlfriend like?” Flo is conflicted about sharing me.

“She’s just like my twin sister, Angie. She calls me on all my crazy ideas and keeps me grounded. She counsels everyone.”

“Is she pretty?”

“She’s pretty fierce. I don’t think she has time to bother with making herself pretty.”

“Am I prettier?” she has to know.

I draw her closer and we kiss. “You are one hot mama.”

She snaps my briefs but I’m already hard. She is ready to blow me, but I’m not about to have her on her knees in front of me. She snaps me again and I cum.  Control is two-way street. I’m careful not to spray her. Her eyes get bigger, as I go off several times. Luckily we’re behind a tree in Jack’s fancy neighborhood. We walk back into the house, both looking guilty. Robby is quick to figure it out. Mary and Edi drag Flo away to get the details. Jack just shakes his head, confident he’ll be next.

Finally, we’re alone in his room. Jace went home with Tommy, and Max is with Winston at my house.

“How can I love you, if I’m just one of the crowd?”

“Come here, lover. Listen to my heart,” I order.

He scoots over on the bed, laying his head on my chest.  As I put my arms around him and my heart rate speeds up, my chest starts to purr. He tries to make himself purr with pitiful results. I laugh at him.

“It’s not something you can turn on and off,” I explain. “I get freaked when it won’t stop.”

“I love it,” Jack complains. I knew not to say he isn’t the only one. There’s even Gerber in a corner of the Whiskey.

“I guess I’m too uptight to just let go and have my body take over.”

I never thought of it that way. At first, I was afraid I was having an epileptic seizure.

“Don’t worry about your sexual proclivities and technique. You have to stop being so insecure. You still resist coming into my heart for fear you’ll find I’ve rejected you or find you inadequate.”

“I’m such a nerd,” he admits.

“l bet you tried to nerd off with Isaac over Christmas, didn’t you?” I accuse him.

He turns bright red. “It was so lame. We both wanted to be the bottom.”

I can’t stop laughing, visualizing them holding each other’s dicks,  both unsure how to proceed.

Somehow this makes both of us horny. I pretend to be Isaac and acted insecure and unwilling to admit I want him.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks when I fail to jump him.

“I’m Isaac, a pitiful nerd, in need of a blow job,” I squeak.

That’s all it takes to get him started. I twist his pebble hard nipples as he takes my straining dick into his mouth.  He writhes and squirms as I torture his tits. His teeth snag on my shaft, starting me writhing in actual pain. He keeps nibbling, taking out his frustrations on my dick. I shove it deeper into his throat. Now he is nibbling on the top of my ball sac. I shove first one and then the other testicle into his mouth. He tried to spit them out. I rock back and forth into him. He isn’t breathing, choking on my dick. I think about us being found together; Jack, blue from lack of air and stiff from rigor mortis, while I’m unable to escape the jaws of death. I quickly change positions. Jack is shaking as he chokes, but not complaining. I pull out, causing his dick to erupt, some S&M trigger. He looks embarrassed.

“Tommy’s right. You’re so mean,” he accuses me.

“From the size of your ejaculate, you must like it that way.”

“I want you to love me.”

“You’ll never know how much I love you unless you trust yourself to be in my heart. Why do you think I’m having sex so much when we are apart? I miss you.”

“You need to have sex with someone 73 years old to replace me?”

“He’s only 72.”

Jack is indignant. He can’t let go and be in my heart. I’m leaving in the morning and may not see him until the start of spring semester. It’s more important that he learn how we can be together psychically than just a one night stand by which to remember each other.

I lay there with Jack’s hand on my throbbing dick. “What do I do?” he ask.

“Don’t ask me. Ask your heart to be in mine.”

He tries so hard, but it is like Robby, unable to see Max; or, Minehan telling Jace to fuck him, when he can never let that happen. Mind control doesn’t work on your heart. These computers that let Stephen Hawking speak will never sound human; computer code and mind control have no soul.

Jack finally gives up. I instantly appear in his heart.

“Just let me in and I’ll fuck the shit out of your heart.  Someday you’ll let go of the control and be able to love me back.”

I remember the last time I mad crazy fucked him. We writhe together on the bed without touching. He geysers quickly. I tease two more orgasms out of him, before I let myself cum. I’m laying on my back with my eyes closed. When I finally finish, I look over and realized Jack has been staring at me the whole time.  We are both covered in spent jism. I giggle. He looks aghast, but finally giggles himself. After S&M, we indulge in psychic sex. Both ways are perverted but highly satisfying.

We run to the shower and clean up. Jack wiggles his butt and allows me entry for regular doggy-style gay sex.  Jack feels better that we’re back to normal. He sleeps in my arms the rest of the night. In the morning, we skip wake-up sex for Isabelle’s Eggs Benedict, eating with Mummy and Daddy. He comments that we were not in the Sunday Herald Arts Section.

“But that Anita Bryant woman is still ranting about your sex lives. She says you pervert classical music by using an electronic piano to play Rimsky-Korsakov.”

We all laugh. Next we go to my house to say goodbye to Mom, Dad and Winston. It appears that Max had come home for good, with Jace mostly at Tommy’s.

“You know, Dad, You’ve always been skeptical about Jace still being in my life.”

“I understand you need to believe that.”

“What would you say if Max is staying here now, to be with you?”

He gives me his most angry look,  but underneath I feel he might really want it to be so.

“You are still so weird,” he comments.

“But it’s true. Just ask Winston.” I turn to Winston and ordered, “Where’s Max?”

Winston barks at Max who was sitting quietly waiting for his next hit.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Dad argues.

“Winston just told me where Max is sitting. You can’t see him because you refuse to believe it. But you can feel him. Just call him over.”

Susan was watching us incredulously, unable to believe Dad can be so gullible. Of course, Dad refuse to try. I called Max over. “Shake hands with Dad, Max,” I order.

Max thinks this trick will get him second-hand smoke. He lays a paw on Dad’s hand. Dad jumps up so quickly, I think he’ll go through the roof.  He glares at me. “Enough of your tricks. I miss that dog and don’t appreciate you making fun of me.”

Once Max heard Dad say that he misses him, he jumps up and puts both paws on Dads chest.

“Enough,” Dad freaks.

“Sit, Max,” I order.

“Can’t you just accept that Max will always love you, Dad. Don’t worry about ghosts and spirits. I know they don’t exist in your world.”

He glares at me. Max whines. Dad hears him and looks conflicted.

“Okay, Tim. I know your imagination has been the key to all your success. If you want me to believe Max is here, I’ll try. But it won’t make up for missing you,” as he pulls me into a hug. Susan  smiles at the progress her hubby is making in becoming human. I pull her into the hug. Jack insists in joining, which breaks the spell. But it’s our finest family moment.


Off we go to the airport in the pink Cabriolet. I made him put up the top and gave him a blowjob in the parking lot. I nibbled on his dick just enough to get even and cause him to explode prematurely. We were still teenagers.

Our goodbye was long and slightly tearful. Jack promised to trust me more after I demonstrated what happens when he doesn’t trust me. I added my three-way roommates at the Chelsea, Paul and Monte, to the list of my cheating, with Jake and Burroughs. I knew I need not make a full confession just yet. Maybe it would spark his curiosity to find out more. All he needed to do was look in my heart. It doesn’t lie. By the time we finish saying goodbye, no one in the gate area thinks we were just family or friends. It was 1977. 1976, the Bicentennial of the Revolution, is over now. Get used to it.

It’s a relief to be going back to LA and Hollywood.  How had my life become so complicated? I was juggling lovers at home – three girlfriends, two boyfriends, and an old geezer, plus the three-way twins. Maybe I need to be more discriminating. LA is fun and no one cares who you fuck and who you don’t. I’m the ‘New Kid in Town’ again.



I’d even had a four-way with Jack Nicholson. My exploits with Belushi leave a trail of co-eds and groupies. What about Gerber, good for humping in a time of need? With Tony and Jimmy, it’s more about meeting Doug’s needs and running around teasing the Santa Monica Blvd johns. I fall asleep on the plane, coming out of a nightmare as we descend into the LA Basin – all my fucks gang up on me and are chasing me through the streets of Hollywood. I can’t find the Wreck in order to escape them.

Exiting the jetway, I spot Jake waiting for me. I rush into his arms for a hug.  It’s a relief that I don’t start purring or vibrating. He seems disappointed. I assure him it’s a positive that I don’t  meltdown when I get near him.

“But it is so cute,” he explains.

“Look how much trouble it got me into.”

He laughs. “Welcome back to la la land where no cares if you vibrate.”

“Me, the human dildo.”

“No, you’re such an animal, an armadillo.

“That’ll be my new song. Or how about a band called the Armadildos?”

“You could wear rubber armadillo suits.”

Joking reminds me that it’s Sunday afternoon, time for locals only at the Whiskey. I figure Jake is maxed out on our rock n roll circus. He drives me to the Canterbury, agreeing he’ll only come up for a few minutes. Two blow jobs later, he drives me to the Whiskey. I spot the Wreck parked at Tower Records  – Nicky and Alice are at the show. I kiss Jake goodbye, thanking him for picking me up. We agree to go out to dinner after work on Monday.

I run into the pit area and am instantly surrounded by my new friends, the LMPs, Safety and his coterie of chubby girls, Craig from the Bags,  and people from Orange County I’ve never met but just want to be excited  about something. Nicky and Alice hand me the Wreck’s keys.

“I suppose we’ve lost our ride,” Nicky complains.

“Just when I’m at work, but you never get up that early,” I winked at him.

He punched me on the arm. “You gots to build some muscle, boy,” he always has crazy advice.

I pull out one of Robby’s specials, accepting that my popularity has more to do with my unending supply of joints than any personality traits. High school dealing proves to be good training for adulthood.  After getting everyone high, we start dancing to the recorded music being played by the sound guy in the booth. He has cool taste with many of the new English bands. The new Sex Pistols single has come out, ‘God Save the Queen’. Everyone is all excited, bouncing around.



The LMPs want me to sing the Sham lyrics to ‘Kids United’. After the first verse, everyone joins in. The band waits for us to end, as we have everyone jumping up and down, with our arms around each other.



We keep it up, with the sound engineer keeping the band powered down. Finally he plays the newest Sex Pistols song ‘Holiday in the Sun.’ I become all sentimental (or mental) thinking it is me, escaping from cold, wintry Boston.



It was what I need – ‘a reason, the Berlin Wall.’


The show is halted while we turn it into a punk disco.  Finally the band walks off stage in disgust.

“Come back,” we yell, not wanting to ruin their moment of fame.


Nicky and Alice grab me, pulling me outside on the sidewalk.

“Ya can’t help yourself. Back five minutes, ya havta be the center of attention.”
“It’s called performance addiction. Here, smoke this,” I hold out a joint, ‘you can be the center of your own attention.”

“Fuck that shit,” Nicky never smokes. Alice takes it and lights it up. We quickly have a crowd on the curb.

“Better go to Tower and hang by the car,” Nicky is keeping an eye out for cops. 

I put the top down, noticing that the electric motor is burned out. It has to be done by hand. The Wreck complains, with squeaks and groans. I’m not about to be denied. It’s the last time the top is up. There are about ten of us hanging out at Tower. The manager comes out and takes our photo.

“Are you going to bust us?” someone asks.

“No way. We’ll use it to show that real people shop at Tower Records.”

We feel elated, being called ‘real.’ We’re really the dregs of society, at least in our own minds. I’m liberated from Harvard exceptionalism. I’m entitled to hang out.

We never go back in the Whiskey, instead heading for Oki Dog. I have the munchies. Oki Yoki is pleased to see me back. It’s another slow Sunday night on a holiday weekend. We all get oki dogs after promising to entertain the cruisers looking for rent boys. We have no instruments, so Nicky starts pounding on a round plastic picnic table, while I sing ‘Bob Dylan don’t bop tonight’ to Helium Bar. Nicky yells at me to stop singing nd he sings the correct lyrics. Like most drummers, he can’t sing. At least I learn the correct lyrics: ‘Bop to Helium Bar tonight.’ Since it’s a one line lyric, everyone learns it and join in. Nicky thinks he’s the conductor. We all promise not to tell John Denney.

One of the johns parks in the parking lot. Instead of going to buy an oki dog, he tries hitting on one of the LMPs, Steve, the battered housewife.  All the LMPs jump in to ‘save’ Steve, who looks conflicted. The john escapes with a minor beating. He outweighs the kids by 50 pounds but is terrified. Oki Yoki is pissed that we were scaring off his clients. The real hustlers are mad that we’re cutting into their trade. We all go over to Astro Burger. I have to pay. It’s worth it, as they had onion rings on the menu.

“Yer a rich bitch, ain’tcha?” Steve observes.

“I have a job. I actually get paid to do this.”

“What? Beat up faggots,” Eddie asks.

“No. Get bands for a movie.”

“I heard you rejected the Weirdos.”

“They’ll never forgive me.”

“How come Nicky’s your friend, then?”

“Free food,” I answer. Nicky is eating everyone else’s fries. He remind me of Minehan, without musical talent, except drumming. I wasn’t sure what talent that took, except stamina and rhythm.

The LMPs are watching the pickup action across the street.

“Get over there, Ennis. Make us some money,” Eddie orders.

Steve looks distressed, but does as ordered, obedient as ever. I feel sorry for him, after he gets no action at all. It’s a slow night. I buy a bunch of fries and tell the LMPs to watch. I go across the street and get the real prostitutes to sing a Capella to Mott the Hopple’s ‘All the Hung Dudes.”



Traffic picks up, with all the boys singing for their supper. Oki Yoki  looks pleased. I grab Steve and bring an oki dog across the street for Nicky. Again Steve looks like he had missed out on something he wasn’t sure he wanted.

I needed a hetero fix. We drive to Larrabee Studios. Jimmy says Joan was back from the Japanese tour.  The Runaways are in hiatus, so Kim Fowley isn’t paying for studio time. She’s living down the street from the Whiskey. We drive back to Tower Records, telling the LMPs they are on their own. Nicky, Alice and I go and knock on her door on North San Vicente. After pounding for a minute, she finally opens it, looking totally stoned.

She stares at me, until she realizes who I am.

“Tim, what’s up?”

“This is Alice and Nicky. They’re in bands. We want to hang out.”

“Oh, man. Not a good time. I’m pretty wasted.”

“Really?” I grab her and give her my best lip lock.

“Whoa, cowboy,” she complains. “Com’n inside.”

Her all girls-in-leather posse are in a corner, as well as several nodded out junkies on the couch. It’s my first trip to an opium den. There are no surprises, after Joey’s, then Robby and Iggy’s, exploits in NYC.

“How long you been back?” I ask.

“Since Christmas,” she mumble. “I got my pay from the tour. I haven’t been outside since.”

She points to the shambles that is her apartment. I believe her. Her posse looks at me, hopeful I can rescue their heroine from heroin.

“You’re such a junkie,” I laugh.

She glares at me, and then laughs. “Yer right. Too much cash and too much time.”

“I’m taking you away from here,” I decide.

“I can’t leave. I’ll get ripped off,” she worried.

I looked around. There was nothing to steal.

“What can they take?” I ask.

Joan thinks a second. “My guitars and amp.”

“Perfect. We’ll go to Oki Dog and serenade your fans from the boulevard.”

She likes that idea. The posse jumps up, ready to go anywhere after a week of Joan’s nodding. Nicky walks with me to get the Wreck. I drive to her place and load two guitars and a practice amp in the trunk. Alice tries to sober Joan up a bit without much success.

“I thought she’d be more together,” he remarks, apparently forgiving my pot habit, heroin being higher on his list of no-no’s.

“Super dick to the rescue,” I crow. “She’ll perk up.”

“Ten minutes ago, you were trolling queers on the Santa Monica. Now you’re Mr. Straight?”

“Straight is great. Gay’s my fate,” I quip.

He punches me again.  I remembered the no gay rule for being a Hollywood punk. I’ll try harder.

The posse rides in the back, as the four of us sit up front. Oki Yoki is pleased when I show up again. It had been a slow night.

“I found a guitarist,” I point to the half-comatose Joan. “We’ll get these dogs sold.”

He gives me a thumbs up. We plug in at the side. Joan and I tune together. She’s been slacking on her equipment.

“Let’s do, ‘All the Young Dudes,” I suggest, knowing the boys knew the words from earlier. She knows that one. We soon had all the tricks singing with us. Nicky is banging on the table again. Alice does back ups,  echoing the chorus, like in a round. It doesn’t take long for the cruisers to start circling the block.

“Let’s do a song for the boys,” I suggested. “Cheap Trick.”

“Cool,” Joan agreed, “’I Want You to Want Me.’”



The boys with long hair (all of them) shake it round and round, their asses going in the opposite direction. They are going to cause accidents, as drivers lose their focus staring at blonde boys shaking it on Santa Monica.

Joan grins at all the boys shaking their asses to get laid for pay.

“Hey, don’tcha know that ‘Love Hurts’ when ya bend over?”


Joan runs out to the curb and taunted the cruisers, “Don’t You Want to Touch me.”



Traffic comes to a halt. I hear sirens. We throw the guitars and amp into the Wreck and go to get our reward – oki dog supremes – extra chili, extra cheese. The Sheriffs arrive. We pretended to be innocent diners.

“Okay,” they recognize me. “Your concert is over tonight.”

We pretended to look offended at being interrupted from our dinner. The cops laugh. Oki Yoki brings them their oki dogs. No one is arrested for having fun. We end the evening singing a Capella ‘Ain’t That a Shame.’


The Sheriffs join in, thinking we’re doing Fats Domino or Pat Boone.

Joan has perked up. We jump in the wreck and drove down to Larrabee Studios, but it’s closed. Business is slow with the Runaways breaking up.

“Why’d you break up?” I ask, not able to imagine ever giving up success.

“Cheri’s a bitch, the other two are pussies, and I’m the junkie.”

No argument there. “What’s next?”

“I’m taking a break.”

“Break’s over,” Nicky crows.

“Argh,” she groans.

“No time to slack off. Let’s go.”

We jump into the Wreck and head for the Canterbury.

“I’m going home,” Joan gives me directions.

“Back to junkieland? No way. You’re coming home me with me,” I insist.

Nicky and Alice giggle, happy to have me back in heteroland.

“But. But, what about those lowlifes at my place?”

“They’ll leave once you haven’t provided their next fix.”

I turn to her posse. “Where should I drop you.”

They are just happy Joan is off her binge. I take them to Beverly Hills where one of them lives.

As we drove back up Santa Monica, we all sing ‘Cherry Bomb.’



Nicky remembers someone has given him actual firecrackers. We toss a string of them out at Oki Dog. The troops scatter. Yoki Oki shakes his fist at me. I wave.


It’s just after midnight when we get to the Canterbury. Alice and Nicky have an agenda, much similar to mine. Joan is bemused. I’m pleased that her bag of tricks, including the strap-on, is still at North San Vicente. No need to be distracted from hetero fucking. It will be all me tonight. I’ll make sure to prime the pump before getting down and dirty. I don’t want her missing her posse.

“Nice,” Joan comments on my Spartan one room place.

“Functional,” I reply, swinging the Murphy Bed  around and dropping it on the floor.

“Oh, no preliminaries?”

“Oh, I know what you need,” I announce, sitting her on the bed. I sit next to her and put my hand up the back of her tee-shirt. I start scratching the cool, clammy skin. She moans in appreciation.

“Keep doing that.”

“Lay down on your stomach,” I order.

She is quick to comply. We lay together as I work on her back, scratching up and down. She completely relaxes. I pulled the tee-shirt off. She isn’t wearing a bra. I pull her jeans off, leaving the panties for later. After about five minutes, she starts responding to my fingernail massage.

“How did you know to do this?”

“My cousin’s a junkie. He taught me when he was coming down.”

“So, you feel I’m like your cousin.”

“No way. He lacks tits,” as I pinch the flaccid nipples. They perk right up.

Joan shiver. I scratched just below the folds of her tits, making her writhe.

“Stop. Stop,” she complains. It was too much stimulation.

I return to scratching her back. Then, I run my fingernails through her hair. She responds by rolling her head side to side.  We keep at it, a slow tease to bring her down from the heroin high and slowly ramp up her sexual desire.

“So, did your cousin take advantage of you?” Joan has a perverted twist of mind.

“Naw, but I fully took advantage of him.”

“When did this happen?”

“When I was 14.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Don’t worry. He made sure I learned to appreciate girls.”

She wants to talk as I work on her. I relate all my experiences with Joey.

“He’s the one you came out to rescue last spring?”

“Yeah. He’s running a club back East. We played there several times while I was at Harvard.”

“Maybe we should have a band,” she suggests.

“Yeah. The Runaway Perverts.”

We giggle. I go to work on her feet. It tickles and makes her laugh more. I run my fingernails up the inside of her legs. She writhes like a snake, twisting and rolling on the bed. I sing in a sotto voice, Tom Petty’s ‘You’re so bad.’


My sister got lucky, married a yuppie
Took him for all he was worth
Now she’s a swinger dating a singer
I can’t decide which is worse

But not me baby, I’ve got you to save me
Oh yer so bad, best thing I ever had
In a world gone mad, yer so bad

My sister’s ex-husband can’t get no lovin’
Walks around dog-faced and hurt
Now he’s got nothin’, head in the oven
I can’t decide which is worse

But not me baby, I’ve got you to save me
Oh yer so bad, best thing I ever had
In a world gone mad, yer so bad’



© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.


Joan rolls over and sings the chorus with me, over and over.

“Who’s song’s that?”

“Tom Petty. He has all these song that tell crazy soap opera stories. I’ve hired him to work on the movie. He’ll learn how to make films and make his story songs into videos.”

“I wanna do that. Music videos are so boring, just watching the band play. Hire me, too. I need a job now that the Runaways are done.”

“Really. You’re really breaking up?”

“Yup. I hate those bitches and Kim has been ripping us off.”

“Welcome to Hollywood.”

“Hire me,” she demands.

My Hollywood casting couch – the Murphy Bed.

“Okay, but never tell anyone that I hired you in the middle of fucking?”

“Then you better get to it. I’m sick of the tickling.”

She rolls over and presents herself to me. I slip her panties down, giving her butt cheeks a final scratch. She arches and wraps her legs around my waist. I’ve been hard for ages. She pulls down my pants, shaking her head at the fancy briefs.  They are soaked from pre-cum. She licks the tip of my dick through the briefs,  before pulling them down. Giving my dick an appraising look, she smiles and takes it fully down her throat. We haven’t even kissed yet. I decide that will come after we  fuck. I slide her legs up to give me access to her pussy. I nose around, realizing that a week of heroin abuse doesn’t include showering. Time to forget niceties. I lick the labia and start probing inside with my tongue.  She’ll have no more of it, insisting on real dick. I’m willing and fully able. I slide her back down, with her legs crossed on the small of my back. My pussy eating has made her nice and wet, plus my excessive pre-cum. I smear her pussy by rubbing my dick head across and into the folds. Joan is already squeezing on my dick’s tip. Time to enter the kingdom of pussy. We rock together. As she pulses, I pushed deeper and deeper with each squeeze.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” She screams as I fully invaded her cunt.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” I moan back, thrusting with each word.

Fully inside, we roll back and forth. Her cries became growls as my thrust reaches the furthest depths – her pussy soul. I thrust faster and faster. She comes for the first time. I remain rigid and locked-in, as the orgasm peaks. A flood of pussy juice spurts past my dick, soaking the Murphy Bed. That’s a new experience. The girl can cum. It’s not just lubricant. She’s a gusher. I start to laugh. She’s insulted. I go back to fucking her seriously. Her need becomes growls as a second orgasm approaches. She’s intently staring at me, wanting us to cum simultaneously. I visualize a breaking wave hitting the backwash of a prior wave retreating from the beach.  Her growls reach a peak. Holding her butt with both hands, I go rigid. Her whole body jerks. My dick goesoff, deep inside her cunt. The backwash sprays the bed sheets again. My groin and thighs are soaked. We collapse into the pool of mixed fluids, slithering together. I go instantly to sleep, old habits never completely die. It takes her a few minutes to gather her wits. Then she slaps me awake.

“I need a shower,” she decides. “You, too. You smell like rotten hotdogs.” Thanks Oki Dog.

We clean up in the shower. Jack bought spare sheets. I strip the bed and we remake it. I slip into her arms. I go instantly to sleep.

About an hour later, I woke up with Joan shivering beside me. Withdrawal (from drugs, not sex). I start scratching her again. She calms down. I put a blanket over us, continuing the scratching and eventually rubbing her all over. We both fall asleep. 

I woke up with Joan warm and relaxed beside me. It was time to go to work. Before I leave, I woke her, saying I’ll be back at noon to get her. She nods and goes back to her dreams. I know they’re about me. What a dick.