You don’t like me. In fact, you probably hate me.
No, scratch that. Let me start again.
You don’t know me, you don’t want to know me. You ignore me, you look away when I’m around. But you can’t avoid me.
You saw me before, you heard me mumble to myself and you saw me stumble in the streets at three in the afternoon.
I haven’t showered for over two months, and even then it wasn’t so much a shower as standing under a sprinkler for five minutes.
Your dog barks at me and your children point and cry when they see me.
I do not have a home, I do not have a bed. I do not have friends.
I used to, though. I won’t tell you how I lost it all, because you don’t really care and because I'm not sure I even remember. Besides, what's the point? I'm me, without a thing. I stink, I know. A god day is when I find a half-smoked cigarette on the sidewalk. A good day is when someone shoves a few coins in my hands and I get to drink something. Most of you don’t want me to drink, some of you sanctimonious pricks tell me "I'll give you money, but don't drink it!" What the fuck do you care what I do? You want me to go see a movie? Open a bank account with the 5 cents you're giving me? Yeah.That’ll happen.
I spend my days riding the subway or the tram. I never have a ticket, but nobody cares. I slump into a seat and fall asleep. I vaguely notice people not sitting by me because of my smell. I don't smell my smell anymore. I got used to it. It's part of me. Once, a controller asked for my ticket and when I couldn’t show one to him, he dragged me out of the tram to write me a ticket. I laughed so hard I puked all over his shoes. A ticket! How am I supposed to pay? What are they gonna do? Reposess my car? My home? My TV and DVD player? With some luck, they’ll put me in jail and then I’ll be fed and cleaned.
In fact, sometimes, when I'm in the tram and some yuppie fuck sits in front of me, I think about reaching over and snapping his neck. Then I'd go to jail for ever. It would be better than sleeping in a cardboard box in a park amongst dog turds. And even if I get raped, so what? Some action is better than no action.
I haven’t fucked for over 10 years.
How about that?
Sure, I jack off when I’m in my box, I think of the women I had and I think of the women I see in the trams.
Sometimes I jack off in the tram. Some women wear the shortest skirts. They get me hard and then what am I supposed to do? I'd rape them, but I can't be bothered. Too much work involved. So I jack off. My pockets have holes in them so I shove a hand in my pocket and two minutes later, I got one more stain I don’t worry about. People get scared, I don’t understand why. If I had a gun or a knife or ran around naked and screaming, I’d understand. But I’m minding my own business, pleasuring myself. Even a guy like me should have a bit of pleasure, no? And if you don’t want me rubbing one off, then wear fucking pants, you slut!
Last night, last night was wonderful. I was on my way out of a metro station when I noticed an ad for some shop that obviously sells bras. The model was striking a typical model pose, in black lingerie. She had long black hair, a great smile and a body that got me so hard so fast, I thought my dick was gonna rip a hole through my pants. I couldn’t help it. I had to have her.
I unzipped and started my business. I wanted her to see what I was packing. She kept smiling, I think she was impressed. It was just her and me. Together. I accelerated the tempo and soon enough, I felt the familiar tingling letting me know I was reaching the end. So I stopped and with my hand full of precum and grime (try not washing for two months, you'll be surprised at the shit that accumulates down there), I stroked the glass case covering the poster. She was still smiling. She was still happy. I could imagine how her taut, flat belly would feel under my hands. I could imagine her smooth legs wrapped around me. I felt normal. I felt like a man.
I started again. The world stopped. It was her and me, in a room overlooking a blue sea. Champagne
I think I screamed when I came, I must have. It was so powerful. And beautiful.
She was still smiling. Always that smile. But it was now covered with my own seeds, which were slowly oozing down her face, to her chin, down her neck and towards her perfect breasts. A pearl necklace from a man with no money to a Goddess. It was my gift to her. It was the only pure, white, and clean thing I had.
The world started again. I heard a few people gag, a couple of young men laughed and called me names. An elderly woman shook her head and turned around. I looked at all the people, my limp dick still hanging out of my pants, drooling onto the dirty ground. They didn't understand me. But that's okay, I didn't understand them. I tucked my cock back to its dark home in the griminess of my pants and stole another glance at my girlfriend.
She was still smiling, but the smile seemed forced, contrived. The beauty was gone. The poster now looked as if someone had thrown a water-balloon full of raw egg whites onto it. My whiteness looked sullied. I almost felt ashamed. Mostly, I didn’t want others to see the only purity I still had deep inside of me. So I stepped closer to the poster, stuck my tongue out and licked it clean, ingesting what had been in me a only few moments before, putting it back where it belonged. It was mine, it would stay mine. Besides, proteins are filling. Besides, it was as if I was licking her. Besides, who gives a fuck what I do?
Soon the poster was almost clean and I went on my way, smiling.
I hadn’t smiled for over ten years.
How about that?
And on my way out of the station, I even found a half-smoked cigarette on the ground. I picked it up. Post-coital cigarettes are always the tastiest. It had been a good day. Things felt like they were gonna be all right.
And if they’re not, well, I can always go pay a little visit to my girl. I know I’ll find her there and she’ll still be smiling at me. Forget the jacking-off, forget the smokes and the cheap booze.
Sometimes, a smile is all I need.
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