1. Dating The Devil

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Rent(minus)Control New Book Project 0 Comments

This is a chapter of a new project I am working on. Enjoy!

1.

Dating The Devil

            Up until about ten minutes ago, I was in what appeared to be a committed relationship. Let me rewind twenty minutes to the point before the snow was blanketing me.
            “Where are you?” Kyle sounded genuinely concerned, though it may just have been the loss of his favorite drinking partner.
            “Just getting home. I drank too much.”
            “Call if you need me. I’ll be here for a while.”
            Hanging up the phone, my key didn’t want to open the lock to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend. We’d been living here for more than four years, this wasn’t the first time the lock had been a problem.  Pulling back on the handle and giggling the knob did the trick. Pushing forward the door remained firmly in place blocking my entrance. The deadbolt, which was never used, had been locked.
            Drunken eyes were making it incredibly difficult to locate the key I never used. Finding it, access was granted to the apartment. The place wasn’t very big so the light radiating around the closed bedroom door was enough to guide my way. Tossing my keys and jacket onto the sofa, I made my way to the bedroom. Sleep was the only thing on my mind. Hopefully the light meant The Devil had fallen asleep early and wasn’t up late working.  The Devil is a nickname I had given my boyfriend on our second date; a tattoo on his back inspired me.
            Once again a locked door was stopping me. Having locked myself out of enough places, I snatched my keys from the sofa, shoving the small mail key into the doorknob. The cheap handles that were used on bedrooms opened easily, I assume they were mainly meant to slow unwelcome visitors. My eyes burned as the light of the bedside lamps shot into the darkness of the living room.
            Watching for a few moments, the black sheets writhed in a rhythmic motion. My presence was finally noticed when the keys in my hand slapped against the hardwood floors, The Devil jumping from the bed. I can’t say if the shock was clear through my sedated state, but I had not anticipated walking into a bedroom of full frontal that involved a stranger.
            “I can explain.”
            How was I supposed to respond? I turned away from him. There was a chance of tears and I couldn’t let him see that. Walking away, my arm was pulled back.
            “Ryan, wait! Let me explain.”
            “Explain what? I know what you were doing.”
            “It’s not like that.”
            What is it like?”
            “It just happened. We’ve been working together a lot, he came over to help me finish up a song.”
            Biting my lip, responding was a bad idea, but I was too drunk to stop it.
            “It just happened? How did it just happen? When you crawled on top of him and stuck it in, how did that just happen?”

            “Maybe you should stay at a hotel tonight. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
            That was the final nail in the coffin. Being told to leave when I wasn’t the one that had slept with someone else was beyond humiliating. I shoved my way past The Devil into the bedroom where his dark-haired whore was still lying sprawled across my bed.
            “I will gladly go to a hotel so you can finish.”
            The Devil and his toy watched me fill a suitcase with all the cloths I could fit. Our bedroom wasn’t large, evident as I tripped over the foot of the bed, trying to move between the closet and my bag. All of my focus was on keeping both feet to the ground. Falling on top of the guy that had weaseled his way into my place wasn’t an option. I finished off the closet and my drawer in the dresser before shoving the bag into the living room.
            I didn’t bother to shut the door as I drug the bag behind me towards the stairs. Luckily for me the apartment is on the second floor. Tossing the bag down the stairs, I followed close behind the explosive bangs as the bag made its way to the floor. I waited the mandatory ten seconds outside the front door of the building, snow piling around my feet. When The Devil didn’t come after me it was time to find a place to stay. Searching pockets for my phone it wasn’t there. It occurred that it was in the pocket of my jacket now on the sofa I never planned to see again.
The city hadn’t plowed the streets and no one had touched the sidewalks. I trudged through the snow, nearly a foot deep at this point. The subway wasn’t far, fortunate because there was no chance of finding a cab in Brooklyn at this hour. The ride wasn’t nearly as long as the wait. Thirty minutes standing in a frigid station for ten minutes in an empty train car. There was only one place I could think to go and it wasn’t a hotel.
            My friend Rachael had an amazing apartment in a horrible building. Her dream apartment included slanted floors, dark hallways, and an unlocked front door; it was hard to forget the time a cop had warned us that crack heads often lurked in the stairwells of these buildings. I was now one of these people. Tired and drunk, I propped myself against the door of Rachael’s apartment in the hope that she would show up before the sun made an appearance.
Giving into the intoxicating sensation of the beer from hours before I passed out. What felt like only minutes passed when I was being poked sharply in the chest.
“Why are you sleeping in my hallway?”
Opening blurry eyes to see an orange mess of hair, I had to ask,
“What’s on your head?”
“I started shopping at this wig store down the street. This way I can be anyone… and not do my hair.”
Rachael pulled me to my feet, trying to maneuver her keys into the lock as I stumbled about. 
“Why aren’t you home?”
I didn’t want to answer the question. I knew why I wasn’t at home, but I wasn’t prepared to play twenty gay questions.
“What home?”
“Oh…” Rachael’s face said enough. “You can stay here as long as you need.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean you can stay until I get sick of you,” she smirked.
We had one of those unique relationships that can only be found between a gay man and his straight girlfriend. The two of us were a dynamic duo of laughter fun and messiness. The fun generally got in the way of her relationships, not many straight men are interested in frequenting gay bars with their girlfriends. Rachael had two passions: beer and sex. You can’t blame her; the two go well together, especially when the beer comes first.
My passions began with beer and ended somewhere far from sex. For as long as anyone can remember, sex had never been on the agenda. Like any semi-normal person I did it. Typically it was to appease whomever I was dating at the time. The latest in my long line of bad decisions was The Devil. Five years and he had gotten more sex out of me than most. Typically getting me into bed is like playing one of those claw machines in a grocery store. You keep putting in dollars, dropping the gripper, but just as you think you’ve got it… nothing.
“What happened this time?”
Judging by Ray you wouldn’t know the sun was coming up on her after a long night of nasal Christmas and binge drinking. Her perky meter was at a ten, making me feel even worse. Not only was I exhausted, but I wanted to sprawl on the floor and shower myself in pity.
“I caught him.”
“With who?” There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation to contemplate what I had said.
“I don’t know who!”

“Calm down, I’m just saying, if we know who it is then we can kick their ass.”
It was impossible to not love her for trying. This wasn’t the moment for cheering me up. The initial shock from what had happened was gone. Leaving behind the bitter emptiness that often accompanied a break-up.
“Can I change the subject?” Rachael asked, eagerly waiting to tell me something.
“I met the hottest guy at the bar tonight, and he had the biggest dick I’ve seen in a long time.”
“You screwed him?”
“Always.”
If I were smart a lecture would have followed, but hearing the story sounded like more fun.
“We did it in his car.”
“Where did you meet someone that has a car in the city?” You rarely met a New Yorker that lived in Manhattan and drove a car. That rule of course does not apply to the individuals with incomes in the high six-figures. We are not those people.
“He’s from Jersey… or somewhere. The car isn’t the point though. He had a piercing in the end of it, and let me tell you… wow!
“That’s disgusting, and a little bit scary.”
“No, it was hot. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
“That’s because it’s usually considered a bad idea to stick a wad of metal up your who-ha.”
“You’re so funny. I’m not sure I it was just him, or the piercing, but he shot the biggest load I’ve ever.”
“Ok stop.”
“Really. I was drenched. I could have literally floated home.”
“Story time is over. We’re going to sleep.”
“Don’t be such a sour puss, or I’ll rub it all over you. It’s still juicy.”
“I love you, but you’re fucking disgusting. I’m gay and even I don’t like cum that much.”
“It’s amazing! I just wanna roll around in it.”
“While screaming, more, more!
The two of us laughed as we climbed into the bed that lived among the mess of the back bedroom. Rachael somehow managed to afford a two-bedroom apartment without a roommate. I never really asked how she did it, knowing that she was barely making enough from her temp jobs to survive. Our friends all had theories on where she came up with the cash, but I didn’t care. If she were to tell me out of the blue that she was an 8th Avenue streetwalker I’d buy her a box of condoms and take her out for a drink.
The sun blazed through the lavender sheets that had been pinned over the oddly tall and narrow windows of the room. Rachael was asleep before my head could come to rest on the pillow. No longer having her to distract my racing mind, the thoughts of another failed relationship enveloped me. One more to add to the list, but this time it hurt.

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