I posted something recently - JIMMY THE ONE. But it sort of got me thinking. And I hadn't scribbled an M piece recently - though I'd wanted to. And, like I said, it got me thinking. A bit like Katie in SUNSET and MIDNIGHT. As in, what about Jimmy?
It got my fingers itching. I'd apologise - but I probably wouldn't mean it (blush) :-).
So here it is. Jimmy's story. It's long - I hope not too long. Is it erotic? That's for the reader to say. So here's JIMMY TWO TIME. Over to y'all...
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JIMMY TWO TIME
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You’re here. Just like you’re here every year. Of course, you never see me, and that’s not really surprising. But I see you. You – the best girl I never fucked.
But I still loved you. Still do, always will. And I wonder, even now, if that was maybe why. Why I loved you like I did. Because we didn’t fuck. I mean, I loved Billy. Really loved him. But I loved you – not more. For fucking sure not less. But with you? With you it wasn’t love and sex. It was just – well. Just love.
I was used to it. Which didn’t stop it hurting – hurting inside, when I had to leave someone else I actually cared about behind, and hurting outside. Three broken ribs and a broken arm will do that. That was this time. Other times? Just different bones, a different name left behind in different dust.
Oh, it wasn’t because I wanted to. I told mom and dad one time how I wanted to stay. To stand up for – well, for me. After I ended up in hospital, again, the cops said they’d look after me. Keep an eye on me. They did. Boy, they did. I remember one holding me down, while his partner called his son to bring his crew. Told them where to find me. So his son came on by to say hi. With a can of gasoline. I got lucky – somebody saw the flames before they got to my face. Before they burned too deep.
Fuck, skin grafts hurt.
So here I was. Another town, a new place for some new kids to find out what I was. A new place to fall in love with someone, and a new place to take advantage of the best available hospital care. Because I knew that would come. It always did, just as soon as the local found out.
I guess I’ll never know. What I’d have done, I mean. If I’d known this time was going to be different. That there’d be you. And a price. Because there’s always a fucking price, even for you. Would I have run? Run before I met you? Fucked if I know. I hope not.
You were worth it. You are worth it.
I’d heard mom and dad talking. Dad still thought if he prayed for me enough, I’d turn out to be straight after all, and the last few years would all just be a bad dream. Mom, she wasn’t so sure about god. She just thought I hadn’t got between the right, or maybe the wrong, girl’s legs yet. She figured when I did, some great ass was going to fuck my brain right back on the narrow and, yeah, straight. This time, they both thought they’d hit the jackpot. See, my dad had met this guy at his church. And the guy? He had a daughter. Apparently the girl had gone a little bit off the rails. Dad’s new friend hadn’t been giving details, but whatever he had said, there was sex in there somewhere. Dad figures a girl from a good church family is my pass out of boy-town. Mom, she didn’t give a shit about the church thing, but a hot girl eager to get her itch scratched was all she figured I needed. So they both thought it was a great idea when dad’s friend suggested maybe his kind and theirs should go on a date. I thought about fighting it, but I figured the girl was probably being strong-armed into it somehow anyway, and we could work it out between us. So dad backed us a table at the best restaurant in town. Which wasn’t as big a deal as it sounds. This was Middle-of-Nowhere, Fucked-if-I-Care. The town had two restaurants. Dad booked me you into the one that didn’t put all its meat between two halves of a bun. He gave me some green to pay, and I had a little talk with the waiter there. Told him I was going to try to get first-date lucky, but didn’t want my folks to know. Gave him half the green to say we showed if anyone asked. The waiter told me the best I’d get was chance and fat, in that order. I asked him what the fuck that meant, and he told me how, yeah, the local girls put out. But there wasn’t a doctor in the county putting out pills, and the local drug store sent a daily bulletin to parents if kids bought rubber. So yeah. I’d got a chance. But yeah, whoever it was was going to get real fat soon after, and I’d have another date – with her daddy, a shotgun and a preacher. But it was my funeral, and why should he care? So long as I was paying, anyway.
Small towns. Gotta love them. Mostly by hating them, I guess.
So there I am. I’m waiting upstairs, ready for dad’s friend to arrive with his daughter, the one my parents think is going to straighten me out. I hear a car, I hear the door, I hear them talking, and my mom calls me. So I go downstairs. I go down, and I pretty near run right back up again. I mean, yeah. You’re there. But you’re in this fuck-awful pink dress that looks like it’s an escapee from a six year old’s birthday cake. It’s got lace on its lace, and I fucking swear if I licked it, I’d get a sugar jag. I tell you I like your dress. That’s the thing about being what I am. You get used to lies, and you get used to lying. Your dad tells me to have you home by ten. You do the ‘oh dad’ thing, and he says OK, eleven. Me, I wonder if I can get rid of you by seven. There’s a band playing in a club I heard of the next county over. From what I’ve heard, the club’s my kind of place, and from the posters for the band, I’m hoping the bass player plays a bit more than bass, because I’ve got a horn he can blow any fucking time he likes. Or I try and tell myself I am. But really, I know I’m not. Because I’m not horny. I’m not looking. I’m not even lonely. Because what I am? What I am is alone. And I finally know it for real. And I know it’s not just me. I know nobody asked you what you wanted either. But the difference? The difference is – nobody’s going to give you a gas-can facial, and light a match so you can see the effect.
I’m tired. I’m tired, and I’ve had enough. And tonight, I’m not going to dump you so I can go see if I can get a base player to blow my horn. Tonight I’m going to dump you so I can… Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
So we get in my car, you and me, even if we’re not you and me and I’ve no intention of there ever being a you and me. We get in, and I ask you if your dad chose the dress. And you say no, and you’ve got a look in your eye that says ‘fuck, this?’ I guess maybe you might be human after all. So I say thank god for that. You tell me you’re not religious. Like I fucking meant it that way! But, what the fuck. I say I’m not either, and I smile, because I need you on my side. At least until I can drop you off. Then I’ve got places to go.
Well. One place.
I ask you what you want to do. You say, like, ‘whatever’. And I know I was right. You want to be here like you want cramps three times a month. So I tell you what dad set up, and I tell you what I’ve got set with the waiter, so we’ve got an alibi. And I ask you where I should drop you, because I say how I know you’ve got better things to do than hang out with Mr and Mrs Church’s kid. How I heard mom and dad saying how you’ll be ‘good’ for me because I’m… but I stop. You don’t need to know that. And anyway, I won’t be any more.
Not for long, anyway.
But you don’t play. You don’t tell me where to drop you, you tell me to drive to The Head. And I know what The Head is – fuck, every kid in school knows what The Head is. So I say, like, whatever, but I’d rather not. But you say how, whatever the waiter says, if our parents hear we didn’t go eat, but they hear we went to The Head, they won’t ask any more questions. And fuck, you’ve got a point. So I drive, and we park, and there’s cars, but they’re all parked away from each other. Which isn’t surprising, because what’s going on inside isn’t a spectator sport, apart from in bad porno. So we park, and you ask me, like, what the fuck? And I say what the fuck what, because this was your fucking idea. And you say how, OK, I didn’t want to go to some shitty restaurant, and that’s fine. And you say how, yeah, it’s a shitty dress. But you say it comes off real easy, and what do I think you are? Fucking road kill?
And I think that was it. One word. Kill. I see it all, all over again. The fists, the feet – the gas can pouring over me. And it’s like maybe there is a god, even if he doesn’t give a shit about... about people like me. And maybe he’s giving me a sign. That I’m right. To tell me to just get the fuck on with it. And I know it doesn’t matter what I say. I know nothing matters any more. SO I just tell you you’re not my type. And you say how I’ve got no fucking idea what type you are, and how you can be any type a guy wants, and what the fuck do I want you to be? And I almost say ‘I want you to be a bass player who likes blowing horn’. But I don’t. Because, like, fuck it. It doesn’t matter. Soon, nothing will matter. So I say how it’ll get out soon enough. And then my parents will have to take me to some new town, as soon as the bruises are gone, or the broken bones are mended. And you say what bruises? What bones? So I say, the ones every guy in these cars will give me. When they find out why I’m not your type.
And I see it. In your eyes. You get it. And you look round at all the cars, and I wonder if you’re going to scream, or to laugh, or just to call everyone over to see the new kid in town. The gay boy. And I look at your – at your eyes – waiting for the laughter, or the screams – and I know I’m crying. And I know I’ve got nothing left, and even though I hadn’t planned it this way, I think, fuck it. I think it, and I say it. And I get out of the car, and I walk to the edge of The Head.
And the waves are crashing on the rocks, and it’s like they’re the only thing in the world that wants to meet me.
And then it happens. Then you happen. Because my car lights come on, and I figure it’s just a spot so everyone can get a good view of my plain header over the cliff. But you come running out of the car. You run out, and your dress is unzipped, and it’s down, and your breast is out of your bra like we’ve been doing the Small Town Saturday Night Two-Step since we got here, and you grab me. You grab me, and you whisper to me to fucking roll with you. Then you wrap your arms round me, and you kiss me. I mean, fuck that! I was looking at boys before my mom even knew I was getting hard-ons, and you’re fucking kissing me! And you tell me how, if I don’t grab your tit, you’re going to rip my balls off. So I do, even though I’ve no real idea what to do with it. And your tongue’s in my mouth, and kids are getting out of their cars, and I have no fucking idea what’s going on. And I guess you can tell, because you wink at me, and you whisper how even if you’re not my type, I should get with the fucking program. Because I’ve got one hand still free, and your butt is this week’s special. So I figure, like, what the fuck. And I grab your ass, and I pull your shitty dress up. And It’s pretty obvious you don’t believe in over dressing, because my hand’s finding skin, and lots of it. And I’ve no idea what to do next, but I feel you sort of slipping. So I slide my leg between yours to brace you. And you don’t brace. I mean, fuck, your hips are rocking like no band are I ever heard, and I can feel my jeans getting wet. And you’re moaning, and you’re groaning, and if I didn’t know better, I’d fucking believe we were fucking. And then you slide down my leg, and you somehow grab my zip, though I’m fucked if I know what with because your hands are all over me. And you unzip, and you unbutton, and your mouth takes hold of my cock. And you don’t give a shit I’m not hard, you start working like I’m iron, and you’re the furnace going to melt me. So what the fuck can I do? I make like you are. And when I make like I’m done, you stand up, and you’re licking your lips like you just had the best meal of your life. And you tell everyone how you hope they enjoyed the show, but we’re burning rubber, because we’ve got rubbers to burn. And you wink. And you tell, well, I guess the girls, how they’d better keep their hands off. Because I’m all yours. And you pull me to the car, and you tell me to drive like fuck. So I do.
But the first pullover I see, I slam the brakes and stop. And I know I’m crying, and I have no fucking idea why. But that’s what I ask you. Like, why? And I don’t know if I’m asking why you didn’t let me jump, or why you did what you did – or even just why the fuck I’m crying. And you kiss me. You fucking kiss me! And it’s not like ‘now get my fucking dress off’ kissing. It’s like – I have no idea what’s it’s like. Maybe like you’re the sister I never had. But I know I like it. And you grin, and you say how I’d better get you home, because if we don’t go steady now, I’m going to get mobbed by every girl in town. And I know you know what I am, so I say, like, what the fuck ‘steady’? Because I told you how you weren’t… And you say you know. And it’s OK. But nobody else is going to know. Because we’ll be going steady, and they’ve seen what they saw. And you say how we’ll have to go places and be seen sometimes. But other times? Other times people will think we’re just somewhere doing what comes naturally. But we won’t be. Because those times, I can be some place I can be with someone who is my type. And would I get you the fuck home so your dad doesn’t ground you? But you smile. You smile, and I know somehow – some fucking how – things are going to be OK. I know the rocks at the bottom of The Head are going to stay lonely.
And that was it. Me and you – you and me. Your dad kept telling me how he thought I was great, because since we started hanging your grades had gone up. And he took me one side one time, and he said how he knew what we were doing, and it was OK so long as we knew what we were doing. But he knew we were right for each other. And he gave me five packs of rubbers. I mean what the fuck? And a time after that, your mom took me into the kitchen one time, and she said how I was lucky your dad thought kids were all pure and shit, but it looked like something she’d been worried about wasn’t anything to worry about after all. And she gave me ten fucking packs. And all the time I knew you were getting great grades, and it kind of was my fault. Or maybe it was Benny’s. Because it turned out Benny wasn’t just a great bass player. He was a fucking fantastic horn blower as well. And it turned out he was more than that. A lot more. And you’d come with me, and you’d crack books in the car while Benny and me got further and further away from The Head every day. Because Benny, he’d had his own bruises, and his own broken bones. And some nights, the only music we had was crying in each other’s arms. But we’d cry, and we’d know you were outside in the car, and we’d know you were why we were able to cry – and not to bruise and bleed, and maybe break on the rocks below The Head. And Benny, he used to say how I was two-timing me with you, and how if I ever stopped, he’d break my fucking arm. Because he loved me, but he kind of loved you too. And he’d smile when he said it, so I knew we were OK.
Fuck. OK. I should have known. That’s not how the world is, is it love?
So one night, I’m with Benny. It was a great set – like, fucking great. And Benny and me, we’re sweaty as all hell, because that’s what a great set can do to you. His tongue’s in my mouth, and his cock’s in my hand, and it would need a speed camera to know which one’s going faster, my hand on his cock, or his tongue in my mouth. And I hear my car start up, and Benny’s all ‘what’s going on? Should we…?’ But I just kiss him, and I say how girls get itches too, and when a girl’s got an itch, what’s she going to do? And Benny looks at me, and he says ‘do you mind? When she does?’ And I look at Benny, and I say, do you think she minds? When we do? Then I kiss Benny some more, because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, and I say to Benny how he’s not just an itch, and how I know you’re happy for us. And I slide down Benny, and his cock is still hard from my hand, and I open my mouth. And it’s another great set.
But like all good sets, there comes a time to break for the next gig. So I call a cab and I go home, because you’ve got my car. And I go to bed. I’m sleeping, and there’s rain on my window. And I turn, and I half open my eyes, and I know it’s not rain. It’s gravel. And there’s only one person throws gravel at my window. So I open it, and, yeah. It’s you. I slide down the gable roof, and I go over to you. And I see you. And I know I could ask who did it, and I know I could say something dumb about the cops, but I know neither of those is right. Not right now. So I do the only thing I can. I wrap you in my arms, and I kiss you. I kiss you, and I hold you, and I listen to you cry. And then I look at you. You’re for fucking sure nothing I can fix from the First aid cabinet in the house. So I don’t. We get in my car, and I drive to Kenny G’s. Kenny’s not just good for folk who want a little extra joy. He’s a nurse at the hospital. When one of the street girls gets some rough trade, Kenny’s where they go. And Kenny, he fixes what he can. He wants to bandage you, but I tell him the stitches and the local anesthetic will have to do. Because you’ve got to go home – so we need Suzie. He says OK, and I drive you to Suzie’s. Suzie, she works the strip joints, doing makeup. The girls there, yeah, and the boys too, they get bruises from the crowd now and again, in the private rooms nobody in town admits to going to. So Suzie, she covers what she can, and hides what can be hid. And I drive you home.
And next day, you come over early, and we skip school. So I drive you to The Head, and I ask you what happened. And you tell me. I mean, like, what the fuck? I tell you you’re fucking crazy! And you start crying. Because that’s either totally the wrong word for me to use, or the right one. And you tell me how, one time, you’d been on a date, and you got back late, and your dad whupped your ass. And you say how he wasn’t kidding, and it fucking hurt, but something else happened. Because the more it hurt, the hotter you got, and you came! You came because you’re dad was spanking you! And you didn’t know if you had a thing for your dad, or you just liked pain. So you figured you’d find out, and you couldn’t really start with your dad, right? And I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Like, not at you. I laughed because I was relieved. So I tell you to come over to my place on Friday, because mom and pop are going to be out of town. And I give Lady Whiponacci a call, because she and Pet have worked the clubs Benny plays a few times, and I figure she’ll know what to do.
So you come over, and I ask you if you trust me, and you say, like, how you trust me more than you trust anyone. So we wait, and I hear the door. I ask you to wait, and I go let Lady Whip in. She’s got Pet on a leash, and I take her to you. And Lady Whip, she says how she can take it from here, and maybe I should give a girl some room? So I go to my room, and to Benny.
And I can hear you. Like, hear you. And I figure I was right. Lady Whip knows what to do.
Then I feel it. Benny’s arm round my neck. And he pulls me down, and his cheek’s against mine, and I can see he’s crying. But it’s somehow happy tears. And he holds me, and we listen to you. And you are definitely not hurting. And Benny, he smiles, and he looks at me. He reaches down, and he unbuttons me, and he unbuttons him, and he unzips me, and he unzips him, and he spits on his hand, and he holds me, and I’m already hard. He holds me, and he strokes, and he spits on his hand, and he strokes – and he whispers – do me. Just that. Do me. And his head’s down, and his ass is up, and he’s waiting, and he’s already breathing fast. And I get behind him, and my cock’s against him. And I can hear you, and you cry out – and I slide into Benny. And I hear you, and you cry out, and I slide out. And you cry, and I slide, and you cry and I slide – and I do it. I smack my hand down on Benny’s ass. And I hear him sigh. Like, ‘oh, _yeah_’. And you cry out, and I slide, and I smack Benny, even harder. And he sighs again. Like, ‘oh _yeah_’. And you cry out, and I slide, and I smack, and you cry – and it’s like there’s no gap, and no difference – and I come. I come, and I fill Benny, and I hear you scream downstairs.
And I pull out of Benny, and I hold him, and I tell him it’s not you, it’s him and I hold him so tight, and it’s like I’m nearly crying. And Benny, he says he knows. He knows we’re us, Benny and me, and he knows we’re us, you and me, and it’s OK. He knows I don’t want to fuck you, and he knows you being happy makes me happy – and it’s OK.
But it wasn’t, was it love? Because it never is. Not for people like us.
Because Benny, he told me he’d asked around, and he’d found out who beat on you. And did I figure we should leave it at that? And of course, we didn’t. Because I loved you, like I still love you, and Benny loved you too, in his own way. And we found him, the guy. We found him, and what’s one more hit and run in that part of town? And I knew he wasn’t getting up, but I wanted to make sure. So I got out of the car, even though Benny told me not to. I got out, and I heard someone shout. And I think they saw me, love. I think they saw me, or maybe the car, because I made Benny stop so I could get out. And one night, Mike Taylor comes into the club where Benny’s playing. And it’s not a club any Mike Taylor should be in. And Mike, he says how he saw a car outside he’d been asked to look for, and he’d come in to check whose it was. And what do you know, he bet it was mine. And I told him to get the fuck out, and he told me he wasn’t going to be staying. And he grinned. He grinned, and asked me what I thought my girlfriend would say when she found out I was just a fucking gay boy. But he told me not to worry. Because I wasn’t going to be one for long.
And that was it. The night I died.
They found me when I was driving home. They pulled in front of me, and made me stop. Then they pulled me out of the car. I guess the guy who beat you had friends. They could have put a bullet in me, but they didn’t. I guess they wanted it to last. It didn’t hurt for too long. I think I died while they were still kicking me. Then they took me body, and I watched them drive to my mom’s, and drop me on the porch. And later I see you come, and I see you crying. You, who’d have been better if you’d never fucking met me. Crying over my dead body. And Benny, he asked around some more, and he found out about Mike fucking Taylor, and who he’d been talking to. And you and Benny, you must have been fucking crazy. Because I saw what you did, that night Mike thought he was finally going to get your ass, up on the head. I saw what you did, and I watched his car fall to the rocks.
And I still go and see Benny, though he never sees me. And he still plays bass, but he doesn’t blow any horn these days. He cries a lot. Does that count? And I see you, every year, on this night – the night I died. I see you in some bar, like this one, though you never see me, love. And there’s always someone, some maybe-Jimmy, maybe-Jemima. And I hear you tell them. I hear you say how it might work, if they want to try. But you say how the best they’ll ever be is number two.
I love you. And I’ll wait. For you – and for Benny.