Moral Zero

by Set Sytes

  Red smoked again, and blew a deep cloud up into the air. He twirled the cigarette in his hands. I’d rather follow an imperfect leader than a perfect leader, y’know? Perfect leader is just as likely to send you all to your deaths for some cause just cause he don’t understand what bad is, and it’s all reason and sense. Imperfect leader gonna fetch you back at his own risk, gonna dig his guys outta the mud and blood to live. Take you to a tavern for drink and whores. It’s inhuman otherwise. You know who make the best good guys? Bad guys. They know.

  I guess they do, said Mr White.

  One hour later and Mr White stood awkwardly by as Red argued with a blonde haired girl in a red dress. He had bought her a drink and then tried his luck and she was not having any of it. This had prompted the ever-eager Red to only try harder, to attempt seduction by conveying the various manners in which he could please her, in which he could please any girl. Some of his previous exploits. Various testaments to his prowess. The excitement of degradation that the girl interpreted as a destruction of integrity. Taking advantage. Cruelty.

  The conversation between them had quickly progressed to an attack on Red’s character.

  I don’t know what it is with folks like you. Red threw his hands up in the air as if calling to the Heavens. You got it all mixed up inside. You think, what, that guys like me abuse girls? You’re out to insult if it’s the first fuckin thing you wanna do.

  You sodomise innocent girls, said the girl in front of him, her lip curling with distaste. Admit it, you have no real interest in their pleasure. It’s all for you. You wish to dominate, humiliate and degrade them. That is what you want. You see women as subjects to be put into their place.

  Well now, said Red, there’s a whole bunch of words there that you’re givin a bad impression of. He grinned cheekily. The girl scowled.

  Look miss, he continued. There ain’t no such thing as an innocent girl. If there is then they’re sure too young. Now I get how you see guys like me, cause I get how you see sex, how you see women. You think I’m out to put these women down? I give em what they want. God help you woman, you can’t see others for yourself in the way. Anal ain’t a man’s world.

  I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.

  Yeah, actually, I do. I may not be a woman but you ain’t all women. You know what? Every single of the most degradin, dirty, obscene, dark fuckin thoughts I ever did hear first came from the mouths of women. If I heard them from a guy first, they heard it from a gal. How’d you think I got into all that I did? Girls got this sickness, this filth inside em. Darkness and filth. They’re sexual demons. They are the . . . Red searched for the word . . . Originators of all sexual sickness.

  The girl flushed and her face tightened. She was getting angry, Red saw, and it made his eyes twinkle.

  The way you speak about women is despicable, she said fiercely. You should be ashamed of yourself.

  No, said Red flatly. The way you think about women is what’s fuckin despicable. It’s you who should be ashamed of yourself. Who the fuck you think you are? You’re one woman. One woman! And you think you got some God-given grace to speak on behalf of your whole species? Listen doll –

  Don’t you dare patronise me.

  Listen doll, Red said again, louder. You are patronisin yourself. You are patronisin your whole fuckin species. You think girls are some sweet little virgins, some fairy-tale princesses? Little delicate flowers? Oh my gawwd, Red held up his hands effeminately and affected a high-pitched deep south drawl. You just cain’t take my virginity mista, I’m not that kinda girl! Whatever will my dear papa think? Why you’ll spoil my liddle white dress!

  Red lowered his hands and a wide smile spread over his face as the girl in front of him looked like murder. Look doll, there ain’t one single fucktoy or playthin I made that ain’t been my conqueror.

  You’re disgusting, she said venomously. You’re a sexist pig.

  I know for sure I’m a pig, he grinned, and maybe I’m sexist too. But I’m still a damn sight better feminist than you.

  Her mouth gaped open in disbelief. You what?!

  Mr White’s eyes shot back from one to the other. Keeping quiet.

  You heard me. Red’s smile dropped and he frowned at her. I ain’t got time for those thinking less of their own compadres. Little misses who want girls to be all shrinkin violets and all modest and demure, just nuns right through and through. You get all hot under the collar cause you can’t accept that girls are just as fucked up as men, and I reckon a damn sight worse. Yeah, I know your type. First to call out a girl sleepin about for bein a whore. First to say a guy like me is abusin, cause sure, a gal ain’t got any freedom of her own does she, she gotta be some damsel in silent distress with a pig like me. Anythin dirty she gets up to gotta be the foul work of men. Maybe those screams and moans I hear are actually cries for help. Goddamn woman, you may be in denial or colder than a fuckin snowstorm but those around you beat their hearts like damn succubi.

  You’re so certain that you’re right, she said icily, and yet all you profess is a male fantasy. You’re living in a world of delusion.

  A better fantasy than yours, Red shot back, narrowing his eyes. Your fantasy of who you want women to be gotta be the dullest most depressin thing I ever heard. And while you’re stuck up in your room gettin all angry at guys like me I reckon I got a lot more worldly experience than you. You think I’m makin this shit up? I could introduce you to all kinda girls. But of course you’ll make excuses for them, won’t you? You’ll tell me that behind every one is the fault of a male. Why must the sexual appetites of a chick always have a fuckin male behind em? Why do you never see it said that a fucked up guy had a girl responsible? I’ve seen girls leave men on their fuckin knees, just stinkin puddles of jelly. You just can’t accept that a girl can come to me who ain’t some kinda emotionally damaged nutcase in need of your motherin.

  Red wiped his brow theatrically. Yeah, now fuck off.

  The girl gave him a look of pure contempt, and she walked off, finally recognising an impossible conversion and realising she had better things to do with her life than argue with a chauvinist pervert.

  Red looked after her, with a half-annoyed half-amused expression on his face. Do you think I could ever win over a girl like her?

  Mr White shook his head. I don’t think so.

  Maybe, maybe. Red seemed to ponder something for a moment, then wrinkled his nose. Prob’ly not worth the effort. I could put ten to one though on her rubbin herself silly tonight.

  Mr White mumbled in neither assent nor dissent, following Red as he wound his way through the crowd, then stopping when he realised Red was heading to the toilet.

  Ain’t no such thing as an innocent girl, Red murmured to himself, as he got to the stall and unzipped.

  Mr White sat at the table and watched Red as he found his way back, noticeably more intoxicated than he’d left. He watched as Red paused by the girl he’d argued with before, and whispered in her ear. She turned to him askance, and Red said something else. She slapped him. Red sauntered back to the table, grinning with a bright red mark on his cheek.

  What did you say?

  I told her I was much worse than she thought I was.

  Then what? Why did she slap you?

  I told her what I’d want to do to her. Red stroked his still stinging cheek, looking pleased with himself.

  What was that?

  Red chuckled. It’s me. Use your imagination.

  Two hours later, and they were still at the same bar. Red was immovable. It wasn’t particularly late but Mr White was tired and bored. When you only had one companion, and that companion was a drunk, there often wasn’t much left to do yourself but support them and listen to their semi-coherent ramblings. And make repeat trips to the bathroom.

  Mr White was in for a long night. Patrons of the bar came and went, and each female was subject to Red’s lopsided leers, his objectifying half-closed eyes running them down head to toe. Shadows tumbled on his f
ace, and his countenance shifted back and forth from angel to demon, monk to drunk.

  They’re sexual demons, see . . . Red was leaning in close to Mr White and slurring, slouched on a threadbare sofa. He was stuck on repeat, punctuated by couplings of hiccups and burps. He had been for the last hour.

  Demons . . . good and bad. If you went right to the source, the source of all sexuality . . . and so of all sexual sickness . . . you’d find the mother of all women. That’s where it started. Fuck, and I love them for it. He took an unsteady sip of his drink and smiled to himself. I love em, he said again.

  Time to sober up, said Mr White.

  Ha.

  HOTEL

  In the morning a girl tottered her way out of Red’s room. Her hair all over the place, ragged and streaming like fire away from her as though she some cavewoman coming out into the light. Her thick makeup smeared and her clothes dishevelled. She stumbled in high heels, attempting to walk.

  Mr White gave it a couple more hours of masturbating and staring sickly at the ceiling before he knocked on Red’s door and, after no answer, pushed it open. Red was naked and sprawled face down, a bundle of bedsheets completely covering his head and nothing else. A stained dildo was standing stiff to attention on the windowsill, proudly warming itself to the morning.

  Red.

  Silence.

  Red. Mr White gave him a tentative poke. Red.

  The bundle turned and affixed him like a faceless head of sheets only could.

  Are you okay?

  Red raised his hands up and tussled with the sheets. Mr White waited patiently until Red finally managed to pull them off his head, his blonde hair sticking in all directions like a wild man. A face looked at him bleary and confused.

  Are you okay?

  Red’s red eyes looked above Mr White and to the sides of Mr White and at his feet, and then, as if the brain suddenly jerked into action, did a roll off the bed away from him, taking the sheets with him.

  There was a rustle for a few seconds and Red stood up with the sheets tied around his midriff. He looked down at the bed and behind him at the dildo and then back at Mr White.

  Ahoy.

  Good morning. How are you?

  Fuckin . . . great. He looked about the room as if seeing it for the first time. This is where I live?

  This is where we’re staying right now. Are you sure you’re fine?

  Yes, yes. Just wakin up. How are you? Never mind, he interrupted, before Mr White could answer. Come back in . . . His eyes rolled about and he closed his eyes tight for several seconds and swayed a little. In an hour. I need to drown myself. I smell like ass.

  I thought you liked the smell.

  It has its time and place.

  I’ll come back in an hour then.

  You do that.

  The bathroom is over there.

  I got it.

  ‘Member that girl last night? Red grunted as he shoved his feet unceremoniously into his cowboy boots. He was clean now and fed and his eyes were brighter. He was looking about less like he’d only just been born into the world.

  Do you?

  I weren’t that drunk man. Well, not at that point. Goddamn, she were a one though weren’t she. What a mouth on her.

  I think you did most of the talking.

  Oh, talkin, yeah. Red winked, but this was lost on Mr White.

  You must agree you do kind of objectify women, though, Mr White said, after a hesitation.

  Red snorted. Of course I do! No shit.

  Um. Mr White was a bit taken aback.

  Red looked at him. Objectifuckinfication is lust’s own road amigo. That’s the way it’s gotta be done. You see, he added, standing to buckle his hanging belt, When it really gets down to it, that’s just what sex is. When I’m fuckin a girl, I don’t give two fucks about her degree in fucking socio-economics or whatever the fuck. I’m not fuckin interested in her pets, her politics, her favourite music, what makes her laugh, what makes her sad. All that stuff is thrown out the window when you’re behind her, on toppa her. Under her.

  But still –

  Still nothin. People are objectified all the time, just in different senses. Like, write a test or somethin for somebody and you’re an academic object, y’know? Asked for money by some shit and you’re a . . . a fuckin financial object. Wallets on legs man. Come to me, you’re a goddamn sex object. I’m not sayin that’s all you are, but you see, that’s all you are at that particular fuckin moment. Cause that’s what’s practical. You can’t have all that other stuff buzzin about, it just ain’t relevant and it fuckin convolutes. You can’t manage all that shit at once. It’s as natural as it comes to objectify a human body, it’s just people get all hot up thinkin it’s some bad thing. It ain’t. It’s just a way of goin. You look up at some beast heavin on toppa you, your face all disgusted – that’s negative fuckin objectification. Positive objectification – now that’s the goddamn road to lust, no two ways about it. You can’t help but hold certain opinions on the other body huffin and puffin about you. What, you’re thinkin of buying her flowers so you can see that pretty little smile and warm her little heart? You’re having some bad sex right there man.

  What about making love? Mr White realised Red seemed to gain a whole new level of philosophical thought and vocabulary when it came to his favourite subject.

  Red shrugged, looking at the ground. Different side to the same coin I reckon. I ain’t got much knowhow in that area, it ain’t the way I roll. It ain’t the way I see it done nor wanna see it done. Hell even if I loved some broad I would wanna keep the sex disgraceful. My cock, is that feelin love? Is my rock hard fuckin cock pumpin in and out till it comes feelin all lovely dovey? Love don’t give you an erection.

  Mr White smiled at the statement, his cheeks reddening a little. So, it’s not really about people then? It’s all physical?

  Kinda, kinda, Red nodded. Well, no. It’s more than half psychological – that’s how you get the best orgasms. But it’s real narrow, like fantasy thoughts, based on just like cutouts of the person in front of you, I guess. Like they’re some character in your head, some cartoon of depravity. I dunno, I guess it changes. But there’s certainly a lot of shit you leave outta the equation. A girl’s IQ never did turn me on. But then again, I ain’t attracted to “people”, as such. Red used air quotes around the word, raising his eyes as if it was a make-believe concept. Well, attracted yeah, but not sexually. I’m attracted to body parts, not people. Not real people. I dunno. People in my head. People in their head. Pretend people with real bodies. It’s all a, all a –

  Are you including male body parts?

  Red shifted on his feet, and moved to the mirror to sort his hair, his back to Mr White. Well, no. Girls got much more interestin body parts than guys. Guys only got one, girls got . . . He counted off on his fingers, mouthing the numbers. Seven? I dunno. A girl could have the personality all-over of a guy and it wouldn’t phase me. Could I even fuckin tell the difference? It’s all about the body when it’s where it matters.

  Including guys now girls?

  Course. It’s done pretty good these days.

  What if that one good guy part remained?

  Red shrugged. Sure. Plenty of places to stick it. For me to stick it. In him. Her. Fuck’s sake, he laughed. And I know what you’d say – ditch the rest, is that one guy part enough? It ain’t pretty the rest of it, so that one part really gotta live up. Gotta be some real distance between the impressiveness of that part and the girl-ness of the rest. Prob’ly. I guess I ain’t thought it through too much, Red lied. But hell, I’m sober right now! Who knows what rum will bring me one day.

  Red finished rustling his hair into a carefully messy position suitable to his tastes and looked at himself in the mirror, admiring his reflection. Damn, he said. Right, to the bar?

  Again?

  Red smiled.

  STREET

  In the end Red went to the bar on his own. Mr White had declared that he felt too ill and tired, ju
st not up for it at all, and after a bout of persuasion to go anyway, involving such convincing lines as “but you’ll miss out on all the tits man”, Red had finally given up and gone by himself. Mr White had apologised numerous times but Red had rolled his eyes and swatted them away and told him that it was cool, no worries. He might be back tonight, he might not.

  Mr White would find that sitting in a scummy hotel room by himself without anything to do might be in fact worse than a repeat visit to the bar and another adventure in feeling sick. But he was full of exhaustion and his stomach gurgled unhappily and so he stopped himself going out after Red and sat on the bed thinking and ordering room service. After that all that remained to do was while away the hours through endless masturbation.

  Night fell on the world and Red was outside to bathe in the blackness. He had been kicked out of the bar for falling over and accidentally knocking and smashing other patrons’ drinks, and for hassling women, including reaching over the bar to squeeze the chest of the bartender, declaring his tip was for her to take her top off. These slights might have been forgivable if he been able to operate his wallet, or if its contents had advertised themselves promisingly. Without money, nothing was allowed. The world and its inhabitants were only freely used and abused to the rich.

  I like ruinin their sanctity, Red said, slurring slightly. He was just outside the bar, next to a homeless drunk wrapped up in coats and cardboard. The man had remained confused and mute to Red’s ramblings, not that it had stopped him from continuing, expostulating on his sexual proclivities to the man-shaped sounding board. Listening and not understanding.