Last night, I was contacted by the piss guy again and at about one AM after drinking many beers while watching Rebel Without a Cause and Closer, I headed out into the sprinkling snow with Prince on my headphones. He lived far out on the L, past any part that any realtor could even hope to market as "East Williamsburg". I got to his house, said hello in the hallway and he shooshed me saying his uncle lived upstairs. I am pretty sure now that I think about it that this was his uncle's house and that this forty year old man lived with his uncle, that this is how he could afford to have me come piss on him three times in one week.
The other two times were brief and rushed since they occured at his job. This time both of us got naked. He set out on a sheet on his living room floor and told me that this time he wanted me to piss all over him since he wasn't at work, that he didn't just want to drink it. So with a full bladder from those beers earlier, I took my time and pissed all over his face, in his mouth, on his chest, on his cock. This time he wanted me to jizz in his mouth also. By the time I had finished pissing, I was pretty hard, from the erotics inspired by the power dynamics at play. I jacked off over him, shoving my cock down his mouth occasionally and then creamed all over his face. I wiped the semen off of my dick onto his face and he came shortly after. He paid me, I got dressed, walked out of his uncle's house, put on my headphones, and yes, you may notice that with all these interactions, these little stories I have been telling, I keep on talking about how I put on headphones as I stepped out the door, and you may think it is becoming a stock action in these stories, a crutch. But I want you to understand what it feels like in that moment after you have just been paid for some type of sexual service. You are feeling elated for multiple reasons, the two strongest being your bolstered sexual confidence, and perhaps even feeding that confidence is the second strong reason here, your pocket full of money. And so you are feeling this weird high, and you leave the mildy creepy guy, are on your own again, and with this wonderful soundtrack to make it seem all the more striking, that moment.
I think my life is a sequence of attempts at creating cinematic moments. I know I have tried to talk about this before and I don't know if I can ever get it right, exactly what this feeling is that transpires, and how I do and do not consciously try to stylize these moments. Is this a result from blogging about my life so much that just about everything I do, in the moment of doing, I can concieve a narrative for it, even try to add the backing soundtrack? This time it was Prince's "Cream" that was playing, and yes, too appropriate, I know. I think while I was picking out a CD to put in my discman, I was even vaguely aware that whichever album I chose would serve as the soundtrack to my walking to and from his house, and so it should be one that would be apt, even perhaps add some other level of meaning to the actions that will be and that were performed.
But yes, there I go, the snowflakes gently falling, me, headphones on, Prince as the soundtrack, to this boy walking down desolate streets. Patches of ice obscured by the falling snow, the boy slipping occasionally and deciding to instead walk in the clear street. Having just pissed on someone for cash, down that black street he walks alone toward home, down that line of blackness cutting through the white sidewalks, the white of snow pushed to the sides of street, burying even automobiles, cutting through it all, the line he walks, money in pocket, moist snow on forehead, nose, and cheeks, Prince crooning: Get on top.
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