Jan 04 - Chuck
I was only trying to be nice. His name was Chuck. There wasn’t any room in the other room for him to sleep. I was only trying to be nice. I led him into my building. Down the hall. Showed him the bathroom. Gave him a pillow on the floor. Got into bed with my clothes on. I was trying to be nice. I can’t fit on this floor, he said, I just can’t lie down. Okay, I said, but no funny business. How about a foot massage, he said. It was the worst foot massage I’d ever received. I was only trying to be nice. He got up and turned on a tape recorder. So there can’t be any accusations, he said. I should have taken that as fair warning. He climbed into bed with me. His tongue against my gums. His hips pressing mine flat. Cock hardening. I don’t want to fuck you, I said. He pawed my chest. I don’t want to fuck you, I said. Hands moving around. I don’t want to fuck you. I let him kiss me. I don’t want to fuck you. I was only trying to be nice. How about now, he said. No, I said. The tape recorder whirred on a milk crate across the room. I wondered what was considered evidence. What words were accusatory enough. I made up a story about a boyfriend in Denver, invented a love, an understanding between me and that guy Jeremy who I stayed with that one time, the anarchist who gave me my first blow job, who forced me to give him one afterwards, despite the I don’t want to’s, the No’s, and all those other empty statements. Chuck was a manager for Sandkicker, on tour with Thursday, who were staying at a friend’s apartment. I was only trying to be nice. I didn’t want to fuck him. So we didn’t exactly. But things happened, arms were pinned, and in the end I was near naked, crying a little as he took over my bed and I was crushed between the wall and the mattress. He was so heavy, it took an angel just to push him off me, I couldn’t salvage any part of the room as my own, he filled it all. And the worst part, perhaps, in the morning I awoke to his monstrous boner erupting underneath my sheet, and I mounted him, and rode him, underwear on, reclaiming my sense of want and when I wanted it, the ownership of my cunt, negligibly and pathetically. I took a shower and cried. I changed in there and when I came out he was standing, naked, and pulled me to him. I jerked away and he called me a Bitch. Typical. I wondered about the tape recorder. About the audacity of the sun to still shine, regardless, somehow always brightest on these sorts of days.