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So I suppose it's about time I get off my ass and do something with this blog again. I've neglected it for far too long which is unbecoming of a gentleman of my craft. So, without further adieu, I give my latest short story, "Jude".
Enjoy...
She says to me, "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything," and sets a vulgarly large, black purse on the bed. She pulls her saintly white dress over her head and slinks over to me like a cat. She whispers in my ear, and her breath sends an electricity through me that I won't soon forget. I grope eagerly for my wallet and pull out a wad of bills I can't bring myself to count, as well as a decayed looking condom. She takes the money from me, and places it in one of her shoes. Before I can tear open the condom wrapper, she snatches it away and says, "You don't need it." Her hand dives into my pants and my member stiffens at her touch.
"Don't you worry about disease?" Her lips are by my ear again and she whispers,
"I never worry." She nibbles at my ear lightly and my lust for her builds,
"A stranger's blood can kill you." she kisses my neck.
"I'm sure your blood is clean." She wraps her arms around me and her hand falls to the gun clipped gingerly to my belt. Her hands slide to my belt buckle and remove the whole setup in one quick motion. She holds it up and smiles. I shrug. Fuck it, she already has my money. She tosses the gun aside and says, "You won't be needing it." She unzips me, and I feel her tongue sliding up and down my throbbing shaft. Her head bobs up and down as I caress her chestnut hair, and suddenly I can contain the beast in me no longer. I shove her to the floor. There's a strange tattoo between her shoulder blades, a third eye staring back at me. She rolls over, and I slide myself in between her legs. She gasps as I penetrate, and surprises me with a tender kiss on the mouth...
I awaken shivering so baddly that I have to lock my teeth together to keep from bighting off my tongue. I'm in a bathtub filled with half melted ice that feels oily and sickeningly like mucus. There's a bathrobe hanging from a hook behind the door less than three feet away. It looks warm and soft. I try to reach for it, but find that I cannot. In my left hand is a piece of paper, a note written in a girlish script:
If you want to live, call 911. There's a phone between the tub and the toilet.
Told you I'd make you famous. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.
Love Always,
Jude
I read the note over and over again in the dimming light, half in anger, and half in shock. I fight the numbing cold, and will my arm out of the grip of entropy. I grope for the phone. It takes me five minutes to dial the three digit number. The phone rings once, twice, thrice.
"Emergency Operator. You have dialed 911, do you have an emergency?"
"I need some help." I say.
"Please describe your situation."
"I'm in a bathtub."
"Are you injured?"
"I was with a woman; a prostitute. And now I'm in this bathtub, and I might be dreaming."
"Are you injured? IS THIS AN EMERGENCY???"
"I don't know. I'm cold, and there's something in the water. I think it's blood."
"Can you tell me where you are?"
"I- I don't know. Just please come as soon as you can. Don't know how much more of this I can take."
"Okay, sir. I need you to stay on the line. I'm going to put in a call to the police. They can trace the call, and then I'll send you an ambulance."
"Thanks. Please, just hurry." My eyes feel heavy. Everything goes dark...
I fumble for my wallet and walk onto the dance floor. There are belly dancers cut from cardboard, and surf music drones on incessently in the background. I pop a seat at the bar. I stare at the dancers and suddenly the aroma of women's perfume fills my nostrils. The dancer's cardboard skirts sway to and froe, and the smell increases, closer now. I think I'm imagining this, and then a voice says,
"Stare any harder and they might come alive." I let out a start and my dark eyes meet hers for the first time.
"They're not real." I say. She lets out a sexy laugh and her hand falls to my thigh. A familiar desire begins to build inside me.
"You're a clever one aren't you, Mr---?"
"Edles, Sam Edles."
"Sam. I like that. It's the name of a strong man. I'm Jude."
"A beautiful name, for a beautiful woman." I say, and I feel her hand beginning to stroke my leg.
"Fancy a drink?"
"What's good here?" The bartender brings us a glowing pitcher of tequila sunrises, and two tall glasses. I grimace; it tastes like children's vitamens to me. Jude drinks hers with a straw, teasing it with her tongue. My eyes fall to the dancing cardboard cutouts again.
"Ya know, I used to be a dancer," she says, "When I was thirteen I wanted to be famous. Never did make the cut though."
"How sad." I say. My eyes are transfixed with the cardboard cutouts now.
"Didn't you ever want to be famous?"
"No." She giggles.
"There's something wrong with you."
My eyes open slightly. I'm in the bathtub again. Jude is gone. The smell of women's perfume is replaced with that of hospital or morgue; the smell of disinfectent or formaldehyde. The alcohol is almost gone from my system now. I stare down at my limp, pale body. My genitals are shrunken like those of a corpse. The scar from the war staring hungrily from the inside of my thigh like the mouth of an unborn twin. My knees are blue with cold. The ice is red, but I don't see a wound.
"Sir? Are you still with me? Sir?" an alien voice says from the phone's receiver.
"Yeah... Still here..."
Two pitchers lay empty on the bartop. I have one hand well up Jude's dress. She has swimmer's muscles, and goose bumps along her thigh. Her kiss is so sweet and lovely, that it almost causes a man to weep. She whispers, and her breath against my ear threatens to unchain my pashion for her right there in the middle of the bar.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" She asks me.
"Yes." I say, and begin to search my pockets for my key.
"Room 411," she says, a key dangling lazily from one of her blue nails.
"That's my key." She presses her lips to mine and says,
"Of course it is." I try to fondle her in the elevator, but she pushes me away.
"This'll cost you two hundred." I sigh. A prostitute. Of course. Why would a beautiful woman like her show interest in a loser like me unless she could make a couple bucks off of it. No matter. One night with a goddess of beauty is enough for me. The elevator stops, and I stare at the floor so that I can hide my shame from anyone deciding to get on. No body does. She laces her hand in mine, "Do you have two hundred dollars?"
"I do." My eyes transfix themselves with the floor once again. She groans.
"What's wrong with you???"
"Sir? Are you there sir?" My mind snaps from the stooper and I let out a groan.
"Yeah..."
"You are at the Hotel Peacock. Room 411. Is that right?"
"I guess so. The room number sounds familiar at least."
"I need you to determine the source of the blood for me. It'll help the paramedics when they get there. Can you do that for me?" I crane my neck and try to peer through the ice again. I see it. It's a slow trickle, but it's there.
"It's coming from my left side."
"Try to reach it. You may have been shot."
"Not shot. I can feel thin pieces of metal, a half inch apart. Staples maybe."
"Did you say staples, sir?"
"Pretty sure."
"Try to remain calm sir. Help is coming." My vision clouds, and my arm no longer has the strength to hold the phone to my ear.
"Why don't you want to be famous?" Jude's next to me again, pulling my face so that my eyes meet hers.
"I'm terrified of crowds." The elevator comes to a stop again. We exit. She unlocks my door for me.
"That seems like a silly reason. I can make you famous if you want me to." Her hand dives into my pants. I shy away slightly. "Seriously. What's your deal." My head falls in shame.
"I've never been with a woman before." She smiles, and leads me to the bed. She says to me,
"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything," and sets a vulgarly large, black purse on the bed. Only now do I hear the difinitive metallic clink, and realize it is a medical bag. She slides her dress over her head, and slinks over to me like a cat. She whispers omething in my ear.
"What did she do? What the fuck did she do?!" I feel my eyes open, "Can you hear me?" I nod, "Remain calm, Sir. Tell me what happened."
"Not sure... Staples in me..." The paramedics wear black rubber coats. They touch me so delicately, yet I feel the freezing water slowly sliding from me. They strap an oxygen mask over my face, and I feel the dull ache of a needle pierce my arm. My vision fades. My lips are pressed tightly to hers and I feel something metallic bite into my flesh. I can't scream; I can scarcely move.
"Don't worry, you only need one kidney." The rush of my orgasm fills her, and everything goes dark...
I come to as they load me into the helicopter. We lift off and for a moment the city lights resemble an overturned Christmas tree. It's the drugs they gave me, but I feel fine. She made me famous, and I feel fine.
Jude...
