Sunday, May 15, 2011

the threat of rain, its promise

The rain held off all day long, held off until I was back in Union Station in DC this evening to catch my return bus back to New York. Waiting to board the bus in the parking garage, I could smell wet concrete, the smell that streets have after bursts of rain in warm weather. It evoked past days, vague and distant and non-specific, a comforting smell that I don’t encounter too often in New York for whatever reasons, probably chief among them that I am not hanging out on roadways and in parking garages too often in New York, ever really.

We just passed through a heavy rainstorm on I-95 that slowed the bus down to a crawl, everyone’s neck straining forward to look at the roadway through the heavy rain streaking the front windshields, everyone a little nervous, stories of these commuter buses having fatal collisions and accidents too frequent over the last few months. The clouds now are ominous and dark, a threat, that crazy person on the subway that you are leery of, not sure if their demands for money will morph into them pulling a knife out and slashing you in the face, commuter nightmares perhaps not based in any discernible reality. However, these clouds do hold real threat, will pull out that switchblade and throw it down straight into your shoe.

Chemical plants and strip malls dot the landscape. The green foliage on the side of the road is thick in the way things are in late Spring, heavy and bursting with life, a sight you haven’t seen in many months, all this water and these mild temperatures nourishing these things, bringing them forth, the same water slowing down our travels.

I went to DC to see a man that I saw a few years ago for sex work. I had written him an email recently to say hello and that led to an invitation to come visit him. It’s a ridiculous situation to spend a good eight hours in transit, essentially taking a bus all the way down there, seeing this guy for an hour or so, and then taking a bus all the way back. A waste of day if you want to think of it that way. But I got good reading, good dreaming, good road trip gazing/mind wandering done. That, and the large amount of money I got paid.

I was surprised by how sunny today turned out to be while I was in DC. The sky was clear and blue, the temperature was perfect, and it was an absolutely beautiful day. I saw the Capitol dome when I stepped out of the station and personal memories washed over me, of having worked nearby at an organic grocery store for a summer, of having grown up in this city’s suburbs and making trips to this area with my family, with my school, with my teenage friends, with college friends. This all washed over me and so did collective memories of our democratic republic, gatherings held here, things decided here momentous and life-changing for many. I am always taken aback by the sight of these national institutions, stirrings of awe aroused by such visions.

Right now, the rain has started lightly falling again and the sun has probably set or is doing so out of sight behind these really dark clouds. There is a blurred trail of red taillights going forward and across a grassy median a stream of white headlights illuminating a little patch of rain ahead of each one, this stream moving forward steadily. There is such a comfort I take in this sight, again it all going back to vague and non-specific memories, innumerable car rides throughout this life of mine through rain.

I walked from Union Station to Adams Morgan, a three mile walk, me with a couple of hours until our appointment time, DC’s traffic circles and jumpy streets only occasionally disrupting my journey. I paused in Dupont Circle, taking in all the beautiful people lounging in the sun, gay couples on blankets unashamed, straight people sitting on the edge of the fountain, crazy people muttering to themselves, and everyone seeming to enjoy themselves. I took a shit in the Starbucks there and then continued on my way.

I didn’t remember exactly what I had done with this guy years ago but remembered that he was into feet, that that was his thing, that he liked me to rub my feet all over his face. He asked me if I remembered what we did last time when I first got there, after offering me some water. I said yes, though I didn’t really. He said good. We went upstairs. He again asked if I remembered. I said yes, but tell me what you want so I know. He told me and we proceeded down that route.

He lay on his stomach and I gave him a long massage, eventually turning him over, and standing over him, pressing my feet on to his face. He pushed them down harder on to his face, making clear to me that he wanted me to be rougher. I was. I got real pleasure, perhaps it coming from a not good source, when I was choking him and his face was turning purple, thinking what would happen if I gave this fat old man a heart attack, how absolutely embarrassing that would be to have to call the medics and explain that to them. I eased up on the choking, but he kept on encouraging me, and so I did so harder, watching him turn darker and darker in the face, me getting harder and harder knowing that I was hurting this person, that if I wanted to I could easily strangle this man to death. He moaned Good Boy, Good Boy.

I smothered his mouth, covered it up with the force of my hand so he couldn’t talk, so he couldn’t breathe. I would choke him with my foot, stand on his neck, this man loved this. I smothered him again with my hand, made him unable to breath as I jerked him off. He came and I let him breathe again, left him spent and catching his breath on his bed while I washed off my hands in his sink.

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