my valentines
j. tyler blue
It was another God damn Valentines night alone. It seemed like every single person I knew was with someone, making them of course, not single. So you know, I thought it would be a great idea to go to this Howard Dean convention. I am not a supporter really but I thought who else could be as heart broken and desperate than Dean supporters right now?
So I went down there, 203rd Davis Street at the old Otto Bar. Not far from the Inner Harbor where all the stupid tourist go. That is where I should have went, maybe I could catch some couple in a fight, console some girl. Take her back to my place and fuck the shit out of her, or even better yet in the Hyatt or whatever hotel she could be staying at. That would have been a sweet night.
But no, I go to the old Otto Bar. I walk in and not much has changed except all the decorations which I guess means the walls are still in the same place but everything is new inside but it doesn’t really feel new. They have this old monkey stuffed and behind the bar, actually they have several monkeys stuffed and behind the bar. The place looks run down and too far north, I look out the window to make sure I’m still in Baltimore and not Biloxi. I guess I got there kind of early, it seems like I always get to places kind of early. I ordered some Makers Mark. A double, no rocks. After some time the place starts to fill up and I have one of those meaningless conversations with the bar tender. Rick, Rick the bar tender. Anyway soon enough some dude gets up on the small stage.
“Hey. Um. Well, Happy Valentines everyone. And uh, thanks for coming out.”
The mostly college kid crowd gives a good response. Something typical, something ordinary and I don’t look up while he continues to talk. I light another cigarette and stare at one of the monkeys. I wonder if he ever had a name.
The Dean organizer guy at the mic goes on and on about continuing the fight and I start looking around to see what kind of strange I can maybe end up with tonight. I remember what happens next like it was clearly the worst thing to ever happen to me. I mean ever.
His name was Anthony; I remember that clearly because I always wanted my name to be Anthony. He was a good looking guy, a little taller than me which is to say maybe six foot one and he looked like he played la cross or soccer or something. Thin but in shape. Anyway him and his two buddies, I don’t remember their names and I don’t really care to either, they start talking to me. They each bum a cig. I light them up and Anthony smiles. With a God damn cigarette in his mouth he asks me if I smoke. I inhale on my cig.
“I don’t have any.”
“Well, we do. You want some?”
Sure, what the fuck, I had nothing else going on. Why not I thought to myself. Why the fuck not. So we go outside around the corner to an alley. I take some monster hits off Anthony’s pipe he calls Morrison. Now, I’ve smoked before but I am not a professional and I wasn’t paying much attention to shit. I was just taking big hits and getting fucked up.
Fucked up is right. The world slowed the fuck down and it seemed like my head was getting reset every thirty seconds. Maybe less. I don’t know. It seemed to take years to walk back into the bar and people were talking but I couldn’t care less about what they were saying because I had no idea what the fuck they were talking about. It was some strange world of being too high yet still aware of shit. I knew where I was, I knew what I was doing there but I didn’t know how long I had been standing in one place. Anthony said something to me about going to the bathroom. His friend nodded his head as if I should follow so I did. Why? Because I couldn’t think of anything else to do and I was fucked up.
So we go upstairs and all four of us fill in to the bathroom. I’m thinking were going to take some more hits but I’m way too gone for any of that. Anthony unzips his pants and looks at me.
“Suck my cock.”
I laugh and say no thanks. But no one else thinks its funny and suddenly I’m trying to come down out of the clouds.
“Do it for the Dean campaign.”
“Fuck Dean.” Is all I can remember saying right then. One of them, the one that looks like he is Greek or Jewish or something I don’t know. Fucking Hamas or some shit punches me dead in the face. I am kicked and all sorts of shit and being so fucking high I think the pauses between blows are minutes so this beating felt like days. I don’t know, shit, or I just don’t want to get into it but a cock went into my ass. Thrust after thrust and I started laughing. Another punch to my face stopped that. They fucked me, each of them and I just moaned. They were grabbing my hips and pulling me back and I could feel their balls smacking up against me. One of them cum’d on my back another on the back of my head and I think one of them cum’d in my ass.
They left me there on the floor with my pants down around my ankles and my lip bleeding my eye fucking swollen. With cum on my back, my ass, and my God damn head for Christ sake. And I puked. All over the floor, my hands, my shirt. I stumbled around and got dressed. Splashed water on myself and lit a fucking cigarette.
I made my way downstairs, paid my tab and left. I took a cab home, he asked me what happened and I just said “Valentines happened.”
I walked up to my apartment and fell down on the steps. I fucking cried until I passed out and my neighbor woke me up on Sunday morning. She asked if I was alright and I said yeah. Just fine.
“Just had a tough Valentines, that’s all.”
Embarrassed I fumbled for my keys and dropped them. She picked them up and opened my door. I didn’t even look at her. I said thanks, and she held my hand.
“Hey, you alright?”
“Yeah, I just uh, had a rough night.”
“Well, if you want to talk you can just come over.”
I smiled and looked at her. Where was she yesterday? I closed the door behind me. Took off my clothes and cried. Happy Valentines. Happy fucking Valentines.
