spring

“Spring is a unforeseen afterthought. It is a bursting geyser. Winter tries to kill everything but the light instinctively changes and then there are tiny frogs leaping and bony birds hungrily squeaking. Spring is renewal and gratitude. Hi, Mom.” — O.S. 2000

 

They meet at a taco stand on the tough streets of Tucson’s Southside. Odysseus sits eating a bean burrito in the Toyota. He hears a murmur and looks up. She gives him an eye and teeth. He grins. There are deep lines in her tanned face. He guesses her age around forty-something. She is about 5’8” and built lanky, wearing a short sleeveless dark blue dress with silver locket around her neck and rope sandals.

She nods and he nods back. She walks around to the passenger-side open window and asks, “Hey, can I get a ride?” He asks, “What’s your name? And where are you heading?” “Frank. Call me Frank or Frankie” she mischievously grins. He feels uneasy because of the girl and police sting incident. He asks again where she wants to go. She beams and says, “Anywhere you want to take me. Hey, why are you so jittery. I don’t bite.”

He looks out at her through weary eyes that have spent a lifetime searching. She is very pretty with doe like hazel eyes. He feels a spark. He shrugs as he unlocks the passenger door. She jumps in and immediately questions, “Who’s that playing on the radio?” He answers, “It’s Rage Against The Machine.” She says, “I love that song. ‘Now you do what they told you. Now ya do…’” He says, “The song is called ‘Killing In The Name’ and it’s off their first album.” She moves closer, placing her hand on his thigh. He feels a thrill.

She rides home with him. She says, “Wow. Cool crib. Nice paintings. You live alone?” He is afraid to answer, afraid to reveal anything. She asks, “Can I smoke?” He points and answers, “Outside on the deck.” She sits in a chair and rolls a cigarette at the table. He paces. She says, “You sure are jumpy. Want some head?” He stands frozen.

She says, “Come over here and drop your trousers. Put your hands on my head and push down how far you want me to go.” He holds her head for a long time in one position then slowly she begins bobbing in long unhurried movements. His hand reaches under her dress. He feels her furry moistness. She takes her time and that is what good sex is about. It is the best sex he has experienced in years.

He hands her a twenty-dollar bill. She places it inside her bra then says, “I’ll step out on the deck and smoke that cigarette now.” He answers, “Yeah, cool.” She slides open the glass deck door and steps outside.

He lights a stick of incense. He looks up and sees her watching him. Stepping back inside she asks, “Got a cold soda?” He replies, “In the frig.”

He says, “Hang out if you want. I probably could use some company. I don’t know. How long has it been since you had a steady?” She starts to say something but holds back. Her eyes glance around the room. She points to a large painting on the wall and asks, “How long did it take you to do that?”

They sit and talk for an hour then have more sex. He offers her more money. She turns it down. She banters and makes him laugh.

He says, “Want a shower? Something to eat? Maybe you should consider sticking around? I wouldn’t mind a girlfriend as pretty as you. What do you think about that?”

She opens her hands and tilts down her chin. In a little girl voice she speaks. "Your girlfriend, huh? I could try to be if you take good care of me." He gazes into her eyes. “I’ll take good care of you but you must promise not to see other men.”

Her forehead creases up as she looks past him. With a strange expression on her face, she speaks. “You need to know two things about me.” He questions, “Oh yeah? What two things?” She answers, “Sometimes I like to smoke crack.” He asks, “Sometimes? How often is that?” She answers, “I don’t know. When I feel like it. If I stick around, you’ll find out.” He says, “Crack, huh? Never tried it. I’m kind of past my drug days.” His fingers rub his chin.

He queries, “And what’s the other thing I need to know?” She grins and makes a squealing sound then raises her hand up in the air. “I’m a butthole surfer of America!” He questions, “A butthole surfer huh, is that what you just said? You mean like the band? What exactly do you mean?” Her tongue presses against her teeth then she bursts into a giggle. She says, “Get down on all fours and I’ll show you.”

“Hold on. Hold on. I have hepatitis-c. It’s a blood-to-blood transference. They’ve tested monogamous couples and…” She cuts in. “I know about hepatitis-c. I don’t see any sores or bleeding coming out of you. You don’t look like a risk to me. Assume the position!”

 

She stays the night and treats him to a wild time. The next day she sits naked with her legs open in a chair across from him. His caution gives way to her. She scrapes resin in a dirty brown glass pipe then fires it up. The flame burns hot. He smells the sweet trace of crack.

"There’s nothing in there, is there?” he asks. She rolls the pipe between her palms and replies, "That’s ‘cause you won’t buy me none." He says, "You’re damn straight. I believe you’re worth trying to save. I’m not providing for your monkey."

She replies, "How ‘bout my monkey for sucking your butt?" His face turns red. He asks, “Are you in the mood?” She nods agreeably. He pulls off his jeans and T-shirt. She says, “Hey, nice body, a little on the skinny side. Hell, you’re so scrawny, you’re dick is the biggest part about you.”

She takes him to a place where the room blurs and disappears. All that exist is the rhythms of her tongue and hands and his genitals. Afterward he expresses, "You’re so good. Thank you, thank you." She grins as she wipes her mouth. She acts like she enjoys it more than him.

Later she tells him he is nice looking and smells better than any man she has ever known. She is the only one in years who has shown him affection. She is the one he desires. She is skinny and hairy with dark long eyelashes, Frida Kahlo eyebrows and huge green gray eyes.

 

She tells him she was once a dancer who earned a lot of money. He puts Bob Marley on the stereo. He asks, “Dance for me.” She sensually snakes around the room then dances close in front of him, grinding her hips. He can see she still has the right moves. He says, “That was hot!”

She says, "No man has ever looked at me the way you do." He asks, "What do you mean?" She says, “You act like you never seen a woman before. I’m not so special. What is it with you? You been locked up in prison?"

She describes episodes from when she was a dancer. “One old geezer paid me a hundred dollars to eat my shit. He was specific about what I ate the night before. Another older hippie paid me to fist-fuck him up to my elbow. He shoved his body up my arm trying to get me to go deeper. He freaked me out. Some guy paid me two hundred dollars to lick me on my period. Lots of dudes paid to look at my chonch while they beat off.”

Odysseus reluctantly listens to her confessions.

 

He asks himself why he wants to associate with a crack whore who admits to a partial grammar school education? Desperation? Identification? Is his self-esteem so low that any love is cause? She says she wants to learn to sky dive instead of doing crack. She tells him she wants to learn how to use the computer and go bicycling with him. She promises him she will quit the rock.

He wants to believe her. He enjoys her chatter and likes her spirit. He worries about her on the streets. He wants to clean her up and reunite her with her children. She has a son and daughter both living in state-run homes. Maybe there is a chance or is he just fooling himself? He questions if all his hopes are actually self-deceptions in denial of reality?

She brings him back in touch with his crazy side. They share similar experiences of struggling, faltering, abuse, betrayal, abandon, and feelings of worthlessness. She reminds him of his younger brat-self with her daring risk, wildness, sex appeal and inability to function in society. She is gullible like him and spirited and fun and exciting to be with.

Beneath all of her exaggerations and pain, he believes inherently she is a good person. Just another lost soul like himself. There was something else. He has never mixed so intimately with a woman of such sexual depravity, crude expressions, blunt starkness, bold gestures, creative illiteracy and social incongruity. It is an adventure.

 

She is half Irish and half Mexican with some Apache on her mother’s side three generations back. She has suntanned skin and dark brown hair, high cheekbones, a light trace of a mustache and a tiny mole high on her left cheek.

She looks and portrays herself like a natural born actress. Her eyebrows arch and large fluttering eyes cast an Ophelia-like gaze. Her arms and hands wave theatrical gestures. She is always in the throws of a performance. Her favorite is the damsel in distress. She wears a little silver ring of the tragic/comic masks on her left pinky finger.

She climbs fences, sleeps on roofs, runs from cops and squeezes through jams like a cunning fox. She has incredible physical agility and athleticism. She is tawny, intrepid and coarse. She has an aggressive tongue and knows how to use it.

Her vagina deserves description. Her bush is quite thick without being too hairy. It grows well beyond a V, almost more like a circle. Her scent is musky, salty and sweet. Her labia are fleshy and deep pink. Her clit is medium size and sensitive. She prefers he use his tongue and not touch it with his fingers. When she permits him to relieve her, she lies like a corpse. She says nothing nor increases her breathing. Suddenly her body violently jerks.

 

She routinely sits naked and open legged in a chair across from him. He asks, "Did you ever read “A Passion in the Desert” by Honoré de Balzac?" She retorts, "Of course, Professor, but remind me what’s it about?"

He explains, "A man who falls in love with a mountain cat." She rebuffs, "Hmmm. You’re too deep with your ornery ball sack. Go fuck yourself and tell me if it’s as much fun as fucking my ass." He says, "Come over here, my mountain cat."

 

One time when she is trying to get him off, he grows discouraged and gives up. He says, “It’s just not going to happen right now. Maybe later.” She grins and will not let go of him. Her fingers roll over the head of his erection. She squeezes his balls and fusses with his ass. Her lower lip drops and bottom teeth jut out. Her jaw remains frozen in that expression. He stays semi-hard and in doubt as she continues to play.

 Suddenly she discovers a rhythm and stroke. He grows hard fast then shoots on her breasts. She laughs as he says, “You’re incredible! I gave up on myself but you kept trying.” She says, “Blame it on a dirty mind.”

 

The sky is a dull steel blue as the moon sinks in the west. A lone rooster crows. Awakened by gentle licking between his thighs, he stirs from a dream. She sniffs around exploring. His mind drifts trying to remember the dream. She sucks and probes, pulling him into consciousness. He is an object of her passion. He fantasizes he is a little boy being overpowered by an older girl.

 She orchestrates a symphony of sensations, lunging her tongue or smooshing her nose and face while squeezing his balls then gliding her hand up and down. She alternates between each area with more intensity. She mumbles and grunts, harmonizing rhythms as his body arches in submission, becoming tense, trembling then exploding. He collapses spent.

She confides, "I love when you orgasm. You’re muscles spasm and snap around my tongue." He questions, "You like that?" Her voice grows loud and excited. "Yeah, I like it. You got the best smelling ass of anybody in the world!" “Shhhh!” He warns, “The window is open. Hope my neighbors didn’t hear what you just said.”

 

He begins to think of his anus as a vagina. He compulsively washes and scents it for her. He wants her to go there. He wonders what gender blend he truly is inside himself. He definitely needs a female and specifically Frankie to bring this questioning out in him.

Does he want to be her bitch? His thoughts race through wild fantasies. Does he want complete control or does he want to surrender his power? Does he want a mommy to drink his pee and lick his butt? It amazes him how unknowing he is of his own deep desires.

Later after further consideration he realizes he does not want to be anybody’s bitch nor does he want a mommy to drink his pee and lick his butt. He knows his sexual fantasies are out of control. His passion for her pushes his desires to ridiculous extremes. He recognizes he is the dominant and she is the submissive and that is the way he likes it.

 

They sit at the table. She poses naked, open-legged with her arms behind her head. He asks, “How did you manage to provide for yourself before we met?” She answers, “You know I was a dancer once.” He says, “Yes but that was years ago. How have you survived since then?”

She says, “Well, I tell most people I clean houses for a living but the truth is, I’m a professional cock-sucker!” They both burst out laughing.

He asks, “Do you get any other requests?” She reveals, “Not too often. Most men just want head.” He asks, “How many dicks have you sucked in a day?” She admits, “Who knows, six or seven, maybe more. It’s not like I’m keeping score.”

He says, “You realize how dangerous it is getting into some stranger’s car?” She says, “I’ve always banked on the sympathy of the moment. Guess I’m naturally lucky.”

He shakes his head then inquires. “Anyone ever ask you to do what you do with me?” She answers, “Just my ex.” He questions, “Your ex? You did with him what you do with me?”

She speaks up. “Yeah. He was even wilder than you. He was my sex goddess. I’d strap on a dildo and fuck him. We’d lock the door and fuck for days.”

She raises her legs up and spreads them open, curling her toes on the edge of the chair for him to get a better view. She accuses, "Everyone has a hidden agenda. What’s yours?"

He considers then answers. "Loneliness and longing for love and attention." She says, "I don’t believe you. What are you hiding? I think you want a sex slave."

He answers, "That’s not true. I choose you because you’re gorgeous in my eyes and fun to be with. I enjoy your craziness and savor the sexual pleasure you share with me. Hopefully I can help you make a positive change in your life."

She says, "All you really want is free sex, Odys." He says, "I want love, affection and companionship." She sneers, “You want me to come over there and slip your dick in my butt hole and ride you!” He cracks up in laughter.

 

He ponders about their conversation. For him, their sexual exchange is a way to anesthetize his loneliness. He loves exploring her constantly available body.

Her desires or preferences are pleasuring him. Sex for her is about survival and control. As long as he has the money, he is in control.

He always reciprocates, getting her off and trying to help her find a way out of her habitual routine. He hopes she will break the connection between sex and reward. He hopes she will feel sex as unrequited affection and sensuality. He wants to help change her and hopefully create a steady positive relationship.

 

One afternoon while she is stroking and licking him, she inserts one or more fingers inside. His muscles tense. Was all her tonguing preparation for this initiation? Is she going to pierce him the way she did her sex goddess? Her fingers press deeper and he pulls away.

She asks, “What’s wrong?” He answers, “I’m not ready to be fucked in the ass. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

He fantasizes her benevolently dominating and penetrating him. He feels embarrassed to reveal it. He wonders why the question of his sexuality keeps coming up with Frankie? Is it her tough masculine qualities that trigger the feminine in him? Does it go back to Mom’s domineering? He remembers teasing Reiko then retreating into a traditional male role. He wonders how much subservience is actually inside him.

He explains, “I’m too sensitive there. Your fingers felt overwhelming. The sensation was too intense. I couldn’t concentrate on you jerking me off.” She says, “Okay, I’m sorry. How about you sticking that rod up my butt?” He replies, “Yeahhh! You know I love that.” She curls and wags her forefinger, “Come here, Professor Picasso, and give it to me good.”

Afterward she says, “I need to go home to take care of some stuff. I’ll be gone just overnight. Please can I have fifty dollars? I’ll call tomorrow and you can pick me up. All right?” He asks, “Do you need a ride?” She answers, “I’ll be fine. I can manage on my own. Fifty dollars, please, Professor Picasso.” She holds out her hand. He gives her three twenties.