Joey Cloudy online

TRAMP Jen 26

“And I go insane, like I always do

And I call your name, she’s a lot like you”

-Lindsey Buckingham

After nearly a year of celibacy for the sake of his art, Aaron lost his virginity, poetically speaking, with Jen. Mona saw Jen first; she was hard not to notice, not because she was beautiful, which she was, but because it only took one look into her wild green eyes to see that she was completely insane. Having just been released from Green Oaks Hospital, an upscale mental institution built in an old Spanish villa on the northeastern outskirts of the city. Jen dressed in grunge by number layers of clothing a red plaid shirt unbuttoned over a long sleeved black t-shirt, strategically torn designer jeans and a pair of doc marten sandals as she read a graphically detailed, violent poem about growing up being molested by her father when she was a child, and terrified everyone in the cafe except Mona and Aaron.

Tavah sat across from Mona puffing on a Marlboro Red between sips of coffee in Aaron’s favorite booth in the back of the café next to the rear exit that led out to the patio. She could see him getting all wobbly as they fell into lust for each other. That hyper-fueled, supercharged feeling you get in the core of your being when you see somebody who’s perfectly constructed for fucking. Tavah and Mona observed Aaron and Jen as each acknowledged the initial attraction with knowing smiles. Mona watched and smiled, sipping her coffee as she looked over the night’s signup sheet. Her body and his body would look good naked together.

Jen, with her short dark hair, looked a little like Mona but shorter and with those huge, crazy, precious moment Faruza Balk eyes. Some people can mask their insanity, and you don’t know that they are nuts until they do or say something undeniably crazy. Jen’s insanity was obvious; it was there for anybody to see when you looked into her wild storm grey eyes. It was a cacophony of screaming lunatics, deranged psychologists, rapist interns, and pedophile fathers.

They wanted to fuck each other to death, but couldn’t because of his vow of celibacy. Mona saw that she had a crush on Aaron before he noticed her advances, as usual. He had been doing the celibacy thing now for almost a year, and both he and Mona were getting tired of it. So, it was no great feat for Mona to talk him into hooking up with Jen after the reading. They walked through the streets of Deep Ellum towards Jen’s car.

“Are you going to let her take you home tonight?” Tavah was afraid for Aaron because Jen was obviously a deeply disturbed young woman, possibly dangerous. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay with her baby boy?”

“Yeah, me and her are going to be just fine, don’t worry, I’ll call you tomorrow after work.”

“No, I’ll page you during my lunch break, and if I don’t get a call from you tomorrow by noon, I will take a taxi all the way out there on the other side of town to see if you are still alive and if you aren’t dead when I get there, then I will kill you myself.”

Tavah tossed an arm over his shoulder and hugged him as they walked through the streets of Deep Ellum in the middle of a group of a dozen or so others who had been at Insomnia. Now most were heading to the Denny’s on I-75 to eat pancakes, drink cheap coffee while they read and write poems for a few more hours before they scattered until next week.

“Cool, cool.”

Jen’s poetry had frightened her even more than Aaron’s did sometimes. She remembered what the man said to the psychiatrist about his wife How do you know that she’s insane? I’ve gone into dark places in my mind before, and I’m alright. To which the psychiatrist replied The difference is that you were diving while she is sinking. You are swimming while she is drowning.

“Is anybody headed north on Central? I need a ride.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Tavah, Mona, and Aaron all turned in the direction of the voice to see little Jen standing next to the front door.

“Thanks, what’s your name?”

“I’m Jen.”

Aaron reached out to shake her hand

“Nice to meet you, Jen. I’m…”

“I know exactly who you are, Aaron.”

They all walked down the street talking as Jen chatted with Tavah, Mona pulled Aaron close to speak to him alone in front of the plate-glass windows of one of the closed head shops.

“You know she wants you, right?”

“Nah, she’s just being nice and giving me a ride because she’s going the same way.”

“No, she isn’t; she wants you.”

“I’ll just explain about my vow of celibacy, and we’ll hook up in a few months.”

“Aaron, as of tonight, your year of living celibately is over!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, now take that girl to your room and do whatever she wants you to do to her.” They both peeked at Jen out of the corner of their eyes.

“OK, I’ll do it, but only because you say so.”

The quartet piled into Jens’ car, a year-old laser red Audi A4. First, she dropped Tavah at the Old Santa Fe Lofts building, then Mona at her new attic apartment over Jake’s house on Mission Street. Jen hardly talked as she drove the girls home once Mona was gone, and Aaron climbed into the passenger seat next to her. She opened up as she expertly worked the gear shift of the 5-speed manual.

‘Nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to drive a stick.”

That made her laugh, and she relaxed as they headed north on Central Expressway to the Forrest Lane exit to Aaron’s hotel. It was small talk about poetry and writers as she dug like Heart Cranes ‘The Bridge’. Once they parked, they continued the conversation in the car as she dug through the multitude of PBS book bags, school backpacks, and a Prada Hobo sport bag looking for CDs, clove cigarettes, a new notebook, and her vintage Zippo lighter. They sat in her car with the engine idling in the parking lot outside of his room for an hour, smoking pot, listening to music, and taking turns reading to one another.

Suddenly, Jen shut off the engine and took the keys out of the ignition before Aaron could even ask her if she wanted to come in for a drink. She marched to the rear of the car, popped open the hatchback, and began rummaging around in the back until she found a large mahogany corduroy purse. She smiled as she slipped it over her shoulder, then followed him to his room. Once inside, she asked which bed was his before she plopped herself down in the middle of his mattress, dropping her bags to the floor beside her as she kicked off her sandals.

“So, she said, lighting a cowboy killer, how’s about that drink?”

Aaron grabbed the bottle of Courvoisier, explaining to her that it had been a father’s day gift from Mona and Nat as he filled both their clear plastic cups with a long pour.

“I think my brother stole the pair of brandy snifters that came with it.”

Jen got up to inspect the room as she sipped her drink, occasionally taking a drag on the black clove cigarette as she perused the stacks of books on the dresser. She stopped to pick up a book on pagan practices, a real bubble gummer of a rag called “Ride A Silver Broomstick”

“What is this?!”

“It’s a book.” Aaron relied sheepishly.

“Don’t get smart with me, mister, Jen said with a mock tone of disappointment as she pouted. I know it’s a book, what I want to know is what are you doing with this bullshit?! God, please tell me you’re not really into all this Wiccan white witch bullshit, baby.”

She sat on his lap, facing him, while he sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes dancing maniacally inches away from his. She held him spellbound in her gaze. He could feel the heat of her sex pressing against his crotch. His reptile brain was beginning to make it difficult for him to speak in human languages. Or use his human tongue. Completely entranced, as he gazed drunkenly into her emerald eyes, he could deny her nothing.

“I don’t know, I just think it’s cool to know what people think. Otherwise, the only information I have on these people is what? A blurb on the evening news. Do I require knowledge filtered through the narrow minds of the provincial hicks that read the news to us?”

Jimi Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland began to play on the radio. Aaron fired up a joint and blew Jen a charge. She inhaled the smoke, then took a sip of cognac.

“You like Hendrix?”

“Yeah. I like his early stuff, but I dig the stuff that he wrote after he came back from England the most, you know. The stuff he wrote after he met Bob Dylan was as if it were written by a different person.”

“Why are you talking to me about Jimi Hendrix?”

She hurled the book across the room, got up, and began searching hurriedly through the canvas bag she had fished out of the trunk of her car, retrieved her 35 mm Canon camera/Canon EOS-1N from the bag, and began to frantically photograph Aaron while she slowly circled him.

“You don’t need that pagan bullshit, baby; you are the real thing. Don’t talk to me about Jimi Hendrix. You are Jimi Hendrix!” she shouted, her wild laughter and the clicking of the camera’s shutter joined the music as she danced around the room, lying on the floor, climbing up on the dresser, standing on the bed, photographing him from every angle imaginable. Jen reached out and gently removed the black bandana that kept his dreads tied back from his face. “I like it when you wear your hair down, babe.” Then she was on him.

The camera discarded carelessly as she dropped onto the carpet, then wrapped herself around him while he sat cross-legged on the bed, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, her lips wrapped around his mouth.

When the sun came up, Jen and Aaron were still in bed. He stopped long enough to do something he hadn’t done in the year in a half that he’d been working at the Empty Walls art gallery; he called in sick.

“So, are you really sick are you just hungover?” Ginger queried.

“I don’t get hangovers, I just wake up still drunk.”

“So, are you really sick, or are you just getting your bone crushed?”

“Look, just tell them I’m sick and that I’ll be in by lunch, OK.”

“OK, but I want all the dirty details.”

“Fine, I’ll bring you pictures ya perv.”

“See ya later, sick boy,” she giggled as she hung up the phone.

Next, Aaron called Tavah’s cell and left a brief message so she wouldn’t be worried. Jen climbed out of bed while he took care of things on the phone. She padded barefoot and naked around the room, smoking a black clove cigarette as she poured them fresh drinks before rolling a joint. As Aaron hung up the phone, Jen handed him his drink, then gently placed the doobie between his lips before she lit it with the Zippo lighter.

She climbed back into the bed, snuggled up next to him, and the two spent the rest of the morning, as well as several hours of the afternoon, leisurely screwing, talking, and eating leftover steamed dumplings, eggrolls, and vegetable fried rice in bed.

While they ate brunch, Jen looked as if she had something serious on her mind.

“Can I tell you something weird and you not freak out about it?”

“Okay shoot.”

“I’ve never made love to a black man before.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“You are one of the nerdiest people I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.”

“I think I only wanted to sleep with you at first to piss off my father. But I also felt attracted to you when I saw you on Roy Williams’ show while I was in the hospital.”

“You watched that interview?”

“Yeah, that’s why I came to Insomnia. They said that you hosted an open mic there every Tuesday at 7-9 pm. I’ve never been to Deep Ellum or any kind of poetry reading before last night.”

He looked at the scars on her wrist for the first time, noticing that they were long healed by but you could clearly see that she had cut the length of the veins, which is how they taught him how to do it in the Marine Corps if you had to take yourself out.

She saw him staring at her wrist and self-consciously covered her arms with the bed sheet. Aaron smiled, lifted the covers, and planted kisses along the length of her scars. She felt the wetness of his tears falling on her forearm and wept with him.

Later, they showered together as he got ready for work, and they fucked once more quickly, fully dressed, before they left the room. It was almost three o’clock by the time Jen dropped Aaron off at the gallery.

“He don’t look sick to me. Does he look sick to you, Celeste?” Madeline asked sarcastically. Her hands on her hips in a comically exaggerated angry boss pose.

“Nope, Celeste, the middle-aged Latina receptionist, drawled; he looks pretty tired though.”

“Who was the girl you were making out with out there in the parking lot before you came in, the cute little brunette, the one that just dropped you off?”

“That looks like a new one to me.” Celeste smiled as Aaron looked as if he could blush; he was so embarrassed.

“So, what’s her name, or are you just giving them numbers now?” Madeline asked sarcastically.

“So, mister celibate for a year for my art, are you using a Mayan calendar or something, because according to our calendar, you still have at least a month until the new year, so what’s up with that? “

“Nothing’s up.”

“Well, we can see that now, Jenifer teased, eyeing his crotch. But something was definitely up last night, all morning, and half of the afternoon.”

“OK, OK, so I missed my date by a few weeks. Mona said it was OK, she’s the one who set me up with Jen.”

“Whoa. Hold on a minute, let me get this straight. Your little Goth Girl fuck buddy hooked you up with the girl that just dropped you off?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m scared of you, boy.” Madeline bellowed as she laughed, slapping her thick denim-covered thigh.

Stevie was the new girl 21, 5-2 short spikey blonde hair and Alabama accent as thick as Mississippi river mud, Ginger 26, 5-7, a top heavy redheaded punk with a pageboy cut, Celeste 34, 5-5, black hair with a grey streak, pale skin soft brown eyes Mexican whose family has been in Texas before anyone remembered the Alamo, the sales manager and Cyndi 17, 5-6 long straight black hair that hung below her waist. Her parents were from Spain, she worked part-time as a sales associate, she lived next door to the gallery owners, and she had been the babysitter for their adopted Russian daughter.

They had all been waiting for Aaron to come in just so they could give him a hard time. They had all except for Stevie read quite a bit of his poetry since they were the ones who typed up the majority of it. They had all become pretty good friends over the last year, and the girls all liked working with Aaron. He was kinda goofy, the way many socially awkward nerds can be.

He was quiet, professional, and good at his job. He worked in a gallery full of attractive women, and he treated them all like they were just one of the guys. He never hit on anyone at work. Aaron had only gone out with Stevie because she invited him over to her place to watch Almost Famous and eat Chinese after work, he still thinks she just wanted to watch a movie.

None of them were fucking him because they knew too much of his business. But he had crept into each of their fantasies occasionally when they were fucking their boyfriends or masturbating; they occasionally imagined he was inside of them. He had occasionally fantasized about all of them except the frame shop manager, Madeline, who was such a mega Butch dyke that fantasizing about her would be like fantasizing about sex with an ugly man.

Aaron decided it would be best to just put in eight hours. Since his hours started at two thirty today, he figured he could be out of here with plenty of time to catch the last bus home. The gallery’s staff was gone by five. Aaron locked the door and went into the frame shop to get the real work done. An art gallery makes most of its money on framing. Up to eighty percent of the gallery’s profits are earned by the frame shop. That’s why the framers usually can make three to four times what the people on the floor in sales earn.

Mona paged Aaron at four thirty. He figured that she must just be waking up since she and Nat normally slept until around four in the afternoon. Aaron felt the pager vibrating in his pocket. He hoped it was Jen. He was a little disappointed to see Mona’s number on the LED readout of his purple Smart Beep pager. Still, he called her back to see what she wanted. Mona knew it was Aaron calling when she saw Empty Walls on the caller ID.

“Hello!?”

“Hi, this is Aaron.”

“What cha’ you doing?”

“Working.”

“I was thinking of coming out that way anyways, so do you mind if I stop by?”

“No, I don’t mind. Let yourself in, all the lights in the front will be turned off, and the closed sign will be up I will leave the door unlocked until you get here. I’ll be in the back working.

“ok”

“I’ll see ya’ when you get here.”

“See ya.”

Well, that was a damned strained conversation. But then most dialogue between them had been damned strange lately. Aaron went into the back of the frame shop and went back to work chopping molding for the next job. He knew the bus schedule, so he stopped working long enough to meet her when Mona arrived at the front door. She threw her arms around him and hugged him as soon as she walked into the gallery. She took a step back and smiled.

“So, you’re not celibate anymore?”

Aaron locked the front door.

“No, not after last night.”

“Good.” She cooed as she took him by the hand and led him into the back of the gallery. To get away from the plate-glass walls in the front. He followed her into the cutting room. Mona was dressed in her favorite pair of combat boots, a black, cropped halter top, with a long, black, flowing, tiered cotton peasant’s skirt, and no panties.

She placed her palm on his chest and pushed him until his back was pressed against the cool steel of the rear exit, she starred into his eyes as she slowly leaned forward her lips parted with lust she kissed his cheeks gently moving from left to right, then she repeated the process on each eyelid, his forehead, the tip of his nose, each lip, his chin, returning again to his lips. Her hands caressing his neck, shoulders, chest, then slowly sliding down his abdomen until she found what she had come here for and began to caress his erection through the fabric of his jeans.

Once she was satisfied that he was ready, her hands returned to his chest. With the palm of her hand, she pushed him down to his knees on the concrete floor. Thinking she wanted him to eat her out, he quickly hiked up her skirt and leaned forward to nuzzle his bearded face against her mons pubis. She closed her eyes as a lust-fueled moan escaped her lips as his fingers worked their way inside of her.

She stopped him before he could use his tongue on her. That is not what she came here for. Mona looked down at the face of the beautiful dreadlocked black man kneeling between her thighs, his skin still glowing from last night’s erotic encounter, and smiled as she gently but forcefully shoved him onto his back. She kneeled between his legs as she pulled his jeans halfway off before taking him into her mouth.

Mona could smell the pungent aroma of Jens’ orgasms in Aaron’s pubic hair and taste her pussy on his cock as she sucked him off.

Now, with her face buried in his crotch, she worked him to the edge of orgasm before she stopped just before he came. She pulled up her skirt, straddled his hips, his hardon pulsating in her hand.

“I want you to cum inside of me. She moaned in his ear, lowering herself onto him. I’ve missed us.”

“I’m worse at what I do best
And for this gift, I feel blessed
Our little group has always been
And always will until the end

Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello”

-Nirvana/Smells Like Teen Spirit

-about the author

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, TX.