Monday, December 18

Mornings After-Short Story

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The Mornings After

              Sex in the morning, well of course it sounded great, damn sure something to be wanted, dreamt of, imagined. Yet Wayne was…well, first he was not a big fan of “that” word. It always got to him, embarrassed him. He hated that word, mostly because so many of his, “more worldly”, friends, like all of them, enjoyed using it to tease him. Which they did unceasingly and often, chiefly because it was true, and they knew it, oh he so longed for it not to be.

                        Yes, Wayne was a, “Virg*n”, an eighteen-year-old Virg*n, well with women anyway, don’t misunderstand, except for a few wandering juvenile fantasies, he was boy Virg*n also. No, what I meant is that Wayne, I suppose out of necessity more than anything else, had long ago mastered the two-handed technique of, well, shall we say, self-satisfaction. I don’t say, “master”, as any sort of pun, no, he truly was exceptional at it. Hell he was so talented, practiced and versed that by his sixteenth birthday he could do it for hours, and often did, with the most incredible and honest intensity, and the pleasure! Then there came the …well the… the most…amazing, no, startling results. He often found himself wondering how a woman would ever compete with that, with himself and those, those endings. Mostly what he wondered was when.

Sometimes he even wondered if he might be gay, maybe that’s why the girls weren’t so interested. Perhaps they could somehow see it and he could not, not yet. Perhaps it was there all along, in his speech, or movements, or tone of voice. Maybe they had some sort of internal, sub conscious, self-protective sonar or something.

He never had those doubts when looking at a girl, only when alone and lonely, but he did wonder. At least gay people had a little help, doing it, doing what he had to do alone, better than nothing he often thought.

                        “Oh well”, he mused.

                        No answers were likely to come today. Those odd thoughts, kinky bits and fantasies, now, seemed best kept for another time. He had other, more common distractions to deal with this morning.

So yes, sex in the morning, what a wonderful concept, thought, fantasy or dream, yet sadly for Wayne, one destined to remain, for now, only that.

                        The coffee was black, cold and bitter. The steel handled, glass pot, browned with use, sat upon the edge of the dingy, once white Formica counter, no doubt a left over from the revelry of late last night, that and the two half-filled cups of cool, black water swill.

He didn’t like coffee, but he was trying to learn, just as he was trying to learn to appreciate beer and cigarettes. Just a matter of time before they too, began to taste…good. Of course, his coffee still needed two spoons of sugar and milk or cream to soften and lighten its harshness and make it palatable. Still, drinking coffee, smoking, chugging beer, all manly things, essential things needing mastery in order to attract the, women.

                        “They are all acquired tastes”, his older friends told him, like women, wine, or cheese. Just keep using them, one day you’ll just wake up and like it.”

                        It all made sense in some strange sort of illogical way, except that bit about women…acquired taste. If that were so, he acquired his quite early, for all the good it did him. He fell in love, the first time, with a tiny snub of a girl in second grade. They never spoke, he was too afraid. Once after that he even had an all night kissing session, third grade it was, with a beautiful, noodle thin catholic girl, hair as black as that icky liquorish candy some people love so much. From then on, it was one long endless parade of female flesh, one after the other, catching his eye, his heart and most of all, his groin. Yet at eighteen, here he was, high school behind him, while a lonely, pathetic Virg*n, yet remained.

                        Wayne arose early on Saturdays and Sundays this time of year. He held a job as bus boy and general gopher at the Patio Restaurant on weekends. The Patio sat just twelve blocks down, North, on Military Avenue, just past his elementary school, on the eastern edge of Classen circle.

                        It had only three tables outside, small wooden ones with bench like seats all painted bright green and a sort of reddish, muckish orange, stuck in the sixties it seemed, yet the name stuck. It was a tiny place inside as well, the kind of homey, comfortable place that sat on its tiny bit of corner for over thirty years. The kind of place everyone knew of and all had been to, one time or another. Famous for its three egg omelets, the size of small footballs, filled with over a half pound of oily cheese and the, “Smith Burgers”, the ones with the special pink sauce, really nothing more than 1000 Island dressing. Then there were the schnitzels, fried eggs and chili, over easy, the greasiest and most scrumptious Caesar dressing in the whole world, still hand made in tall plastic tubs, with raw eggs and pure, clear cooking oil with hard, stone cracked, black pepper corns, one could gain ten pounds just smelling it.

                        Others came for the cold, over priced beer or the flirty, short-skirted waitresses, all over forty, well tipped. Well tipped and worked over, mercilessly, day after day, by the large assortment of used up and braggart lawyers, football coaches, aging, balding, once handsome, pot bellied drunks. Also present and accounted for, during weekend breakfasts, were the sweat, skinny, swishy boys from upstairs, the “Hi Lo Club”, coming down for a quick repast, refill and chatter before their long…afternoon naps, well deserved after a night of cross dressing, Broadway musical, reviews.

                        On weekends, Wayne arrived early, to empty the trashcans from the night before, haul them one at a time down the long darkened hallway beneath the gay bar, to the dumpster out back. There he’d search the contents for forks, spoons or knives inadvertently tossed as well as unused creamers or squares of jam or butter that could be rinsed off and used again. He then helped Liz, Fay and Johnnie get setup and ready for their day, Liz worked the back kitchen, flowering the chicken fried steaks, cooking the beef tongue, liver and onions, chili and soups, Fay had the burger grill, Johnnie, the fry grill king, ham and eggs, bacon, pancakes, sausage and more.

                        Soon would come the mornings, ever looming, mad rush of businessmen, idle rich, frumpy housewives and football loving as*holes, but for those few moments all was quiet and peace. Liz and Fay sang softly their old Negro spirituals, Johnnie whistled happily, teasing all, lightly popping wet towels against huge asses.

                        Yet not all was pleasure, as there was much work to be done. Tubs of grated hash browns potatoes had to be hauled downstairs from the commissary, one floor up, around on the outside of the restaurant, where Virginia lived. Plates, dishes and glasses had to be washed and stacked.

Virginia

                        Football loving as*holes, well that seems one’s cross to bear, the price one must pay, for the privilege and honor of living in Oklahoma. This time of year, OU, Oklahoma University, played Saturday afternoons. You might think the world had stopped, if not for all the beer and drippy, cheese filled omelets the rich crowd kept swilling and stuffing into their face holes.

                        “OU sucks”, spat Wayne under his breath, looking quickly around, just to make sure his capital treason remained undetected.

                        He poured himself another cup, warming it in the brand new microwave oven, just installed in the house only last week. Big and long as a weekend ice chest, it was truly a marvel of invention. Just think, in only two minutes, boiling water.

                        He looked out the dining room window towards the back where, to the right, he could just see the faintest glow of another dawning sun, birthed in shades of orange, purple and pink, yawning above the dark horizon. A bright red cardinal perched atop a small, sickly looking apple tree called out to the morn, singing his passionate song of new day’s love and night’s last sex. His girl joined him, for but a moment, caught his eye, winked, then fluttered off again. He soon followed.                            

                        Wayne heard them come in last night, sometime after two Am it was, He and her. Of course, this was her home, she could do as she pleased. He had no idea who the he was, he seldom did, unless they somehow earned the pleasure of a return performance, or two. Heck some often lasted weeks, or even months, but mostly…not.

                        As they arrived, Wayne lay in his room, left at the top of the stairs, silently reading, until he heard the gray gravel churning, crunching under the spinning tires. It usually started with drunken laughter, stumbling, an oops or two, glasses crashing to the floor, jokes and fumbled stories, charm and cool. This followed by an unsteady trip up the stairs, bumping into walls, giggling, shushing loudly, ass pinches. This night was no exception.

                        “Shhhhhhhhhh…………you’ll wake the others”, she’d say.

                        “Who the hell cares, I’ll damn sure wake them soon enough anyway, soon as I get you to singing babe! Who’s place is this anyway.”

                        More laughter, doors closing loudly, clumsy attempts at dancing followed by loud, heavy slams on the bed…then silence, at first.

                        It always began with an odd, eerie sort of silence followed closely by a steadily growing rhythm, often short lived; other times lasting incredible lengths of time, growing, rising in intensity volume and speed all the while. Thumping, bumping, headboard knocking, bed squeaks, deep grunts, soft high sighs, oohs and ahhs, a few, My Gods! Then suddenly a muffled scream or guttural, loud, rumbling groan, rarely both, quickly followed by a few, soft, unintelligible giggles, whispers, flushing toilet, running water, then silence until morning, interrupted only by loud, raspy, wheezing snores.

                        This morning was no different, albeit a bit quieter. They seemed a bit more self-conscious in the mornings. Yet, here it came, the thumping, giggling, louder, faster.

                        “Sh*t, I got to get me a new place, soon!” Wayne spurted, munching loudly on his dry, milk coated cereal, attempting to drown out the sounds from above and disconnect his thoughts from his visions of young girls, no clothes, his headboard banging and his ever growing, dampening, erection.

                        A loud, jaw jarring thump against the wall, then all was silence once more. Well for a bit anyway, Soon, from the second level, heavy steps upon the oaken floors, doors opening, water flushing downward, loud yawn at the top of the stairs.

                        Wayne ate faster, gulping the last of his coffee just as a large rotund figure burst through the swinging, saloon type doors, to the kitchen, dressed only in wrinkled blue briefs and barely credible lengths of dark black hair that covered his chest and back like wild badger fur.

                        “Hey there bud!” It called out. “Good morning. Hope ta hell we didn’t wake ya,” he added with a crooked smile and perverse wink.

                        “Na. just getting ready for work,” Wayne replied. “Gotta be going soon”, he added, scooting his chair backwards.

                        “Hey kid, anymore of that coffee? toast, eggs. Got any toast?”

                        “Yeah sure, coffee’s there, on the counter, bread in the basket just there, eggs and all the fixings just here by the back door, in the fridge. Help yourself. I‘m sure…she’ll be down to help ya…soon.”

                        Laughing loudly, leaning back on his feet, the stranger with the tightly stretched pregnancy, about to burst from his lily white, hairy stomach, jeered.

                        “Hell son, wouldn’t want to bet much on that, if ya know what I mean! Kind of thinking the lady might be in need of a bit of rest, after…well after…hell you know kid. Let’s just say I leave em pleased and sleepy, every time.”

                        “Ok…well like I say, help yourself. I gotta go.” Wayne fidgeted uncomfortably, attempting to rise.

                        “Now kid, fore ya run off, sit a bit, let me get my coffee down, kind of want to tell you a few things you ought to know. Ya know, between us men and all. That woman upstairs, Wow! My God boy! Let me tell ya, what a lover she is! I mean she damn near sucked the life…I mean she…The way she…um… ya  know when she… and then…Aw hell!…she just wore me the hell out. Ain’t every woman is like that son, you best know that now. No, that up there’s, well she’s a special find she is. Yes, my God what a lover….”

                        Wayne stood, flushing red and warm, as the strangers eyes seemed to gloss over, fade into the distance and somehow vanish as if dreaming of some far away shore with bare skinned, topless beauties, brown of skin, pink of nipple.

                        “Hey…uh. Mister. I really gotta go! Be late for work.”

                        “Sure kid, sure. Hey, remember what I said. It’s a damn shame you’ll never get to know what I mean, I mean with her that is. But heck, I’m sure you got plenty of em young lasses all to yourself now anyway. Just take my advice son, find you one like that, that what’s upstairs and…and…well just let life take you for a ride. You’ll never regret it.”

                        With this he plumped his large ass down into the chair, leaned back, rubbing his hairy fingers around the huge ball of stomach blubber he’d been nursing for unknown years and let out one long continues belch as if to say, all is well captain, full speed ahead.

                        “Sure…Ok…see ya.”

                        “Sure son. Get ya some. I know I will.”

                        Standing, Wayne headed quickly for the swinging doors, exiting the kitchen and stopping by the stairway railing. Looking up he called out loudly, once, twice..

                        “Mom!… Hey Mom!…I’m going to work now. See ya later, after five…Ok?…Bye!”

                        He waited a moment, listening, hearing only silence.

                        Exiting the door he begin the one-mile walk to the restaurant, happy to be out of the house, alone, enjoying the beautiful morning and cherished escape.

© Tim Wilkinson/Wayne Wilks 2011

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