Dirty Little Freaks

by Jaden Wilkes

  I sigh dramatically and tell him, “Ok, you’ve got my full attention now.” We start to kiss again and pass half an hour making out like high schoolers. I mean like I think high schoolers make out. I was pretty much a standoffish bitch in high school. I saw how Eva was though, and I imagine that’s how most girls are.

  The buzzer sounds and he draws back, it’s another customer, fucking grand central around here tonight. It’s a homeless guy, they come in to sleep in the booths from time to time, Jag chases them out so they wait for my shift. I find them cleaner and nicer to deal with than a lot of the jerk offs we get in here.

  “Hey John,” I wave at him as he shuffles past.

  “Jade, always a pleasure to see you,” he replies in a crisp British accent. He was probably a good looking dude at one time, he’s got crazy blue eyes and his jaw line looks like it would have been chiseled before the drink got to him. Now he’s older than his years and looks terribly sad. That’s the worst thing about alcohol, I mean other than the addiction and shit, but it’s the way it makes a person sag under their sadness. He reminds me of a house that’s been abandoned for a few years. If somebody cared, they could fix it up and move back in. Nobody cares though, so it will sit like that until the day it crumbles into the ground.

  “Ha! You just like seeing me because I don’t chase you out of here,” I laugh.

  “That’s true, you’ve got me there,” He says and walks a little faster, then notices Hush. He stops, looks him up and down and asks, “Who’s your friend here?”

  “I’m her boyfriend,” Hush answers before I can open my mouth. “The name’s Hush, pleased to meet you.” Boyfriend? Uh,fuck that, I don’t think so…not yet anyhow.

  “He’s so funny, this is my friend, Hush,” I jump in, ignoring his annoyed look. “You go enjoy yourself back there, I’m on all night.”

  “Thanks,” John replies. “And it was nice to meet you.” He nods his head towards Hush and heads to the booths.

  Hush is tense next to me; I don’t want to start anything because there’s really nothing to start. I can’t help it though. “What the fuck was that, boyfriend?” I demand.

  “It just came out,” he looks contrite again. “I don’t know what came over me, I just feel like jumping in between you and any guy you talk to.”

  “Even a homeless dude coming in here to sleep?” I ask.

  “Oh, he’s homeless? I thought he was a customer, he seemed kinda excited to see you,” he says.

  “Uh yeah, his clothes, shaggy beard and filthy face should have been a clue,” I retort. “And of course he’s excited, I don’t chase him out of here like everyone else who works night shift.” I’m still annoyed, but he is adorable when he’s being possessive.

  “I thought he was a hipster coming in here to jerk off in the back with you on the brain,” he replies, looking a little foolish as he puts two and two together. Hipster or homeless, I'll give him that, sometimes it really is hard to tell.

  “You are impossible,” I say, but when I look at him all suspicion leaves my head and I'm full of the warm fuzzies you read about in shitty romance novels. I swoon over his possessiveness and it's fucking gag worthy. I don't stop though, I actually giggle and say, “It’s a good thing you’re so cute.” I give his cock a squeeze and add, “It doesn’t hurt that you’re packing such a big fat one.” He smiles and I know I am wrapped around his little finger, I’m falling for him. Apparently a nice thick dick is all it takes to have me practically begging him to fuck with my life. I take a sip of my cold chai and listen to him recount a story from their practice earlier that day. This kind of easy conversation doesn’t come often to me, but I guess I kind of like it.

  Just past midnight I sell a few magazines and one of the Jade pocket pussies to an older man with deep brown eyes that are full of sadness. I wonder what his story is as I’m bagging his items. Hush grabs the rubber vagina from me and laughs, “What’s this? You didn’t tell me you’re famous, babe.”

  “It’s not mine,” I glare at him and grab it back. I toss it in the bag, hand it to the customer and repeat, “It’s not mine," as he gives me the hairy eyeball. He thanks me and walks away. He turns back to take one last long look before he heads out the door.

  “Thanks a lot,” I turn to Hush. “Now he’s going to come back in here and think he’s had a piece of me. What happened to you being protective?”

  He gives me a lopsided grin and tells me, “I thought you wanted a little more freedom.”

  “You do not, you ass,” I stick my tongue out at him. “I think you were overcome by the sight of the pocket pussy and lost your composure.”

  “You figured me out,” he says, then frowns and asks me, “why do you work here though, do you like it?”

  I think about it for a minute, nobody has ever asked me about this before. People just assume I’m a pervy bastard who does it for the discount nipple clamps. “I don’t not like it, it’s a job and sometimes I hate it,” I tell him, “but my boss is awesome, puts up with a bunch of my crazy shit and some of the customers are sweet.”

  “It seems like an unsafe job though,” he prods. “Are you ever worried, being here at night?”

  “Not at all,” I fib. “I’ve never had any kind of trouble.” Now that’s a total lie, but seeing how concerned he is, I don’t want to let him know the reality of this job. I have been robbed three times, twice at knife point, once at fake gun point, I’ve been attacked in the booths a few times, and the worst one I can think of, one disgruntled customer flung his jizz on me. That one had me fucking gagging and running for an AIDS test the second I could leave the store. So yeah, it’s not perfect, but where else am I going to work, McFuckingDonalds?

  “You’ve been lucky, but it just feels like a bad idea, you being here all by yourself all night,” he presses on.

  “Listen,” I say and rub his leg, “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been doing just fine for three years now. Besides, this isn’t exactly the job I want to retire from.”

  He perks up. “Really? What would you like to do?”

  I am suddenly gripped with the urge to tell him everything, my hopes and dreams and the fact that I’m super smart and ambitious…and afraid, of what my mom will say, what Eva will say. I’m afraid I’ll fail and I’m afraid he’ll laugh at me so I simply say, “I dunno, do a bookkeeping certificate or something.” In reality I want to go the whole way, BA, Masters, PhD. I want people to call me fucking Doctor. But I don’t tell him this. In short, I am afraid.

  “Hey, that’s cool,” he says and I know he’s being mildly condescending. What the fuck does he know though? His big ambition is probably something to do with a hotel room, a bag of coke and a bunch of hookers.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know, I think Eva would collapse if I got a real job,” I say and laugh. It’s true though, I don’t know what she’d do without me.

  “She’d be fine, you guys have to live your separate lives eventually, right?” he replies.

  “I guess, but not for a while. I don’t think either one of us is ready to settle down any time soon. I can’t imagine either one of us in a long term relationship,” I raise my eyebrow and note his slight grimace. I think I might be getting to him as much as he’s getting to me. This mutual attraction is foreign, but is starting to grow on me.

  By the time I’m ready to hand the reins to the morning shift, Hush and I have fucked two more times in the bathroom. I am like a bitch in heat around him, and I like it.

  We walk out into the morning and the world feels like it’s shifted again. Walking with Hush in the daylight feels like we’re making this legitimate, letting our lust stand the bright light of day. We both look like shit, we’ve obviously been fucking all night, our hair is disastrous and our bodies reek of it. Early morning commuters stare at us as we saunter down Granville, hand in hand and acting like the bold rulers of the new underground.

  “You need a lift home?” Hush asks me as we near Robson S
treet.

  “You drive?” I reply, surprised by this revelation. My punk rock-god obsession does something as ordinary as drive?

  He reaches into his pocket and digs deep, pulls out a set of keys, dangles them in front of my face and says, “Oh look, apparently I do.”

  “Well, heck yes, anything to avoid public transit. It’s pretty bad being the only night owl going home on a Monday morning” I tell him and smile.

  He takes a quick right into an underground parking garage, we head down a couple of stories in the elevator, kissing and groping each other the moment we are alone. This is pathetic really, this loss of control. Pathetic; and fucking magnificent.

  We walk through the cars and he pauses in front of a new looking Range Rover. I giggle, and assume he’s pulling my leg. “Ok, where’s your real car? What have you got, an old Honda? A broke down Lincoln?” I ask him, and wait for the punch line to this joke.

  “No, babe, we’re riding in style,” he says and clicks the key ring. The Rover beeps and opens, he walks to the passenger side door and pulls the door wide with a flourish. “My lady,” he grins, and makes a sweeping bow.

  “You have got to be shitting me!” I exclaim. “How much do you guys make with your band?”

  He instantly looks embarrassed and mumbles, “It’s family money.” I climb in and he shuts the door. When he gets in I look at him, he does look like he comes from money if you ignore the mohawk, tattoos and faded clothes. He carries himself differently than the trash I grew up with. He doesn’t have that sneaky, conniving look about him, like he’s always looking to work his next scam. I hate that I might carry that desperation with me, so I have spent many hours practicing my neutral look.

  “Your family is loaded?” I ask. What is it with me meeting these rich kids, are they all into slumming or something?

  He starts to drive and it seems like he’s going to evade the question. We turn out onto the street and immediately get stuck behind a bus. I look at him and will him to answer, he blinks a couple of times and looks back at me. “What?” he laughs. “I feel like you’re using some kind of mind power. Ok, I admit it, my family has money. I don’t have anything to do with them though, so I don’t think of it as my money.”

  “Why don’t you have anything to do with them?” I ask, surprised that we have this in common.

  “We don’t see eye to eye I guess, my father is not happy with things like tattoos and me being a musician,” he says and reaches over to rub his hand up my thigh, “or casual sex.”

  “Oh I hate him then,” I reply. “I get it though, I haven’t talked to my mom in almost a year, but she’s insane, so that’s why.”

  “Like certifiably insane, or just crazy bitch?” he asks.

  “More like crazy bitch, but if I had the power, I’d certify her,” I reply. “She lives in Surrey, I think. The only time I hear from her is when she needs money.”

  “Kinda the opposite of my father,” he says with a smirk. “Only he comes around when he tries to shove money in my face and order me around.”

  “So we have that in common,” I smile and put my hand on his, still on my upper thigh. “How romantic.”

  “You know it, babe,” he smiles at me and I lean over to turn up the music. The Ramones, he’s worming his way straight to my heart as we sing “Beat on the Brat” at the top of our lungs over the Cambie Bridge.

  Chapter Five

  Cicero and Something About Falling in Love

  “Have you ever had your ass fucked, babe?” Hush whispers in my ear as he’s stroking my arm. I’m curled up against him, entwined in his limbs like we’re on the cover of a porno version of a Nicolas Sparks novel. So dirty, so fucking romantic, and oh my God I can’t keep myself in line around him.

  Pathetic, I think for the millionth time, but the horny/happy/giddy part of me kicks my cynical self in the balls (yeah, I’ve got balls in my imagination, I’m sure therapists would have a field day with that).

  “Uh, maybe?” I tilt my head up to gauge his response. He’s smiling at me with a wicked glint in his eye.

  “You are such a butt slut, I can see it in your eyes,” he tells me and squeezes my ass. “So, next question, have you ever had a threesome?”

  “Um, maybe?” I say again and sense where this is going. We’ve been hooking up every chance we can get for the past two weeks. He knows I’m dirty, so he probably knows how I’m going to answer these questions.

  “I thought so, you really are my nasty little whore, aren’t you?” he says, his voice full of pride. I wiggle myself against him, trying to wrap myself further up in his body so nobody will ever tear us apart. I brace myself for what I know is coming next. “I’ve got this buddy, he’s in another band, and he’s been bugging me about hooking up with you. You met him at a show, remember Rev?”

  I did remember Rev, he is tall and lanky with a muscular body, dark eyes and a jet black faux hawk. He kinda screams poser to me and I wasn’t that impressed. Then again, he isn’t ugly, and he looks like the kind of guy who would be packing a fat cock, so maybe. I hesitate though, not sure if I like this, the fact that Hush is totally down with sharing me. A couple of months ago, I would have fucked them both with no hesitation, I’m not sure why this gets under my skin.

  He’s staring at me though, waiting for my answer. “Fuck, sure,” I say, not willing to lay my cards on the table just yet. What am I supposed to say? Beg him to take me away on his white horse?

  “Cool, babe, he’s the one who wants to join in, is that ok with you?” he asks, a horny twinkle in his eye.

  “Oh fuck yeah, I love being double teamed,” I say a little too chirpy for it to be true, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy picturing his buddy fucking me while I suck his cock or something.

  “I knew you’d be down with it, I love that about you,” he says and pulls my face to rest on his chest. I lay there listening to his heartbeat, ignoring how hot and sweaty my head is getting, wild horses couldn’t drag me away from him right now. Miss fucking romance is what I’ve become. I mentally shake my head, to squash the cynic again long enough to close my eyes and follow the rhythm of the heart I wish I could claim.

  After a moment or two I notice a tattoo in the inside of his upper arm. I hadn’t paid attention to it before, but now it catches my eye. It’s a beautiful swirling script and reads, dum spiro spero. I sit up and look at him, he jerks his eyes open and says “What?”

  “Oh. My. God. You have a Cicero quote on your arm. You are such a geek!” I laugh and point at the tattoo.

  He looks at it, flexes his bicep and says, “Oh that old thing? I’ve had it for a while, it’s one of my favourite quotes,” he grabs me and pulls me to him for a kiss. After we’re done crashing our lips together, sighing and breathing each other in…you know, all that romance novel shit, he pulls back and stares at me. His eyes narrow, a smile spreads slowly over his lips and he says, “Wait a minute, who’s the geek? How did you know it was Cicero?”

  He’s got me; he might discover my secret intelligence after all. Shit. I giggle and shake my head, “I don’t know, I think they had it on an episode of America’s Next Top Model or something.”

  He laughs and says, “Yeah, right,” and keeps looking at me in amazement, as if I’m a dog who just asked for the time.

  I decide a distraction is in order, so I slide my hand down his rock hard abs, feeling the bumps and grooves of his delicious six-pack, and land on his cock. He grows hard immediately as I grasp his thick shaft. I love how responsive he is to me; it makes me feel powerful and sexy. “I can feel your pulse,” I laugh, letting the throbbing blood in his veiny cock keep time with my own beating heart. Pathetic, our hearts really are beating together. He runs his fingers along my shoulder blade as I shift to move towards his dick. I want to suck him, lick him and fondle his balls, squeeze them until I feel them tighten as he shoots his load down my throat. I’m a girl with a mission.

  He thrusts towards my
mouth; the head of his cock pushes past my lips and hits the back of my throat. I gag once then loosen up and let him face fuck me. I'm on my hands and knees, but drop to my elbows as he pumps upwards. He grabs a handful of my hair and locks me into place. I whimper and moan, signaling my own horny response at being used like cheap pocket pussy. A few quick strokes is all it takes, he throws his head back and moans, "Fuck, Jade, I love your mouth," and fills my throat with hot, bitter cum. He smokes too much weed. I can taste it in his spunk. I need to get him to eat more pineapple to sweeten his seed. I’m like the Iron Chef of ball batter. This is the fifth time I’ve drained him in less than twenty-four hours and he still produces a crazy amount of jizz. The stupid shit that impresses me, I really am a freak.

  I look up at him, his face is the picture of satisfaction, but my body is on fire. The heat he stirs in me rises, I want him to finger my pussy, so I move my hips towards him. He gets the hint and plunges three fingers into my hole, no questions asked. My God I love this man, he really gets me.

  I buck and twist at the end of his arm, he says, “Fuck yeah, you are such a little whore for me, aren’t you, babe?” I cry out in response, he slaps my ass hard, and surprisingly I like it. I wiggle a little to get him to do it again, and he does. I squeal at the pain, the shock, and the fingers dragging along my G spot. Any other man I’ve been with would have been pulling back a bloody stump if they hit me, but not Hush...not him. Instead I push myself against his hand and tilt my pelvis so his thumb grazes my slit as I pound myself against him. My pussy clenches and quivers with my orgasm, I shake my head and lose all sense of self for a brief moment. He holds his fingers perfectly still inside of me, relishing the force of my cunt around his hand, then slides them out slowly as I sink down onto the bed. I roll over right into his arms, blow a stray lock of hair off my forehead and smile.