ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel

Come Together: Chapter 6.

Updated on October 11, 2014

Lad of the Night.

That day was more than six months back now. And I cast my memory back to that naive, bones of my arse self with no measure of contempt. Of course, now that my arse has been a bone yard filled by enough men to populate a European battlefield, you can realise there are worse things than poverty. After all, dignity is the fuel that makes money burn!

After I'd sobbed to Bobby and stripped away the last level of poverty's inferno. I ran back to my flat and threw myself in the smallest corner and shrank into the darkest recess of dread. Monsters leered at me as my horror forced my heart to thump at warp speed. It threw relentlessly, wildly, against the prison bars of the ribcage ... Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, whined through my brain and trembling lips almost drove out the words. The once youthful optimism that made the heart light, frantically sought escape from the cloying oil that calcified in my chest. It thrashed in the inevitability that it too, would have to lay back and think of England, be submerged in the treacly bile of accepting the worst... the first time was worse still.

Hotel rooms are even worse than bedsits in a way. A faceless mould of comfort and opulence that is snatched away from you, the antithesis of prison. There is an assumed sterility in a hotel room, the ambiance cannot permit too much attachment. It retains professional distance, because otherwise they risk knowing and seeing too much. They reflect back, like this mirror, that first thought sticks with me even as I recall staring at myself, preparing to get undressed, in the mirror. I was burning up, a fever endowed through the noxious potion of nerves and Viagra. My face glowed red, a side effect, Bobby had cautioned as he shoved them in my throat. Shivering, I watched through the looking glass into another reality, it was the only way I'd survive this, by thinking that way, the cream walls, placid light wood decor and white duvet covered bed offered no solace in the subdued light, observing awkwardly. A true cold washed over me though, immersion in death, at the sight of the older man undoing his shirt, exposing a slightly swollen, sagging belly coated in a sheen of white hair. I shifted uncomfortably at the bulge in my trakkies, one forced, just like the man had forced me to do community service. His saggy round face and lumpy, bald features looked somehow more timid without the fake white wig that usually resided parasitically on his head, during his Magistrate day job. He glanced my way shyly, he probably never recognised me, maybe he does, perhaps this is a quirk of his, to humiliate those he passes judgement on in the most ultimate way? I stood, head spinning from the extra hit of poppers Bobby had forced up my nose. "Makes it a little more bearable," he'd said.

Aching downstairs as much as upstairs, my rigid groin pulsed with the eagerness to just get this over and done with. I dropped my bottoms and unzipped my jacket as he slid off his wedding ring...

... As I slid into his large, sweaty, pale and flabby backside, he groaned and inside I wailed. But as I thrust away inside him, my liquified brain clung to any assurance it could find on this sheer cliff face of horrified destitution. A snag that told me to slide anyway, drift into the mists of delusion. I had gone into this trying to picture the fittest bird I knew, my mind's eye searching through all my browser history for the dirtiest clips I could remember and planting myself as the stud in that scenario. Yet the reality of having a 60-something judge moaning in delight every time his cheeks slammed into your pelvis, proved quite different. Flab made a lethargic shudder against my disgust's inertia. Ripples fanned out across his arse, reaching his bloated lips like radio waves where he could transmit and broadcast the depraved pleasure his wife, his real face, could never allow itself to show. This is the place His Worship could let the wig slip, permit a swift debasement at the altar of his own secret yearnings that he too had decided to punish to the fullest extent of his own skewed law. He was an opposite to me, in a way. I guess society played cruel tricks on us all.

I got through it by imagining my knob was a knife and that I stabbed repeatedly away at him. Him being a crucible for the world and it's injustice, I lacerated him. It did wonders for his enjoyment too, as my thrusting got harder and faster... later on, I even managed to finish over his face like he wanted.

The dark, cold hovel of my bedsit was to the hotel room, what I was to the magistrate. He and it got away clean with the transgression and had a life to call their own, but we had to grin and bear the shame. The £500 I, the monkey had been given, burned like the mark of a brand on cattle, he would return for the bull he'd slaughtered again, that's for sure! I sat coldly on the bed. Eyes welling and feeling so empty that I believed I'd fade away, hoped for it actually. You can't cry every time, you can live now, some part of me murmured encouragingly. It was a lie, I'd exist only. But it was right that tears were a luxury even this new cash injection couldn't afford. So the anguish found an outlet... languishing upon the sharp jutting fang of the venomous razor blade, as it punctured a line down my skin. It had looked so virginal and pure before, but then so had I...

... Six months at this game makes you hard, pardon the pun. I can go without the little blue pill now, as the red pill of my reality has toughened me up to my fate.

© Brad James, 2014.

Comments

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No comments yet.

    working

    This website uses cookies

    As a user in the EEA, your approval is needed on a few things. To provide a better website experience, hubpages.com uses cookies (and other similar technologies) and may collect, process, and share personal data. Please choose which areas of our service you consent to our doing so.

    For more information on managing or withdrawing consents and how we handle data, visit our Privacy Policy at: https://hubpages.com/privacy-policy#gdpr

    Show Details
    Necessary
    HubPages Device IDThis is used to identify particular browsers or devices when the access the service, and is used for security reasons.
    LoginThis is necessary to sign in to the HubPages Service.
    Google RecaptchaThis is used to prevent bots and spam. (Privacy Policy)
    AkismetThis is used to detect comment spam. (Privacy Policy)
    HubPages Google AnalyticsThis is used to provide data on traffic to our website, all personally identifyable data is anonymized. (Privacy Policy)
    HubPages Traffic PixelThis is used to collect data on traffic to articles and other pages on our site. Unless you are signed in to a HubPages account, all personally identifiable information is anonymized.
    Amazon Web ServicesThis is a cloud services platform that we used to host our service. (Privacy Policy)
    CloudflareThis is a cloud CDN service that we use to efficiently deliver files required for our service to operate such as javascript, cascading style sheets, images, and videos. (Privacy Policy)
    Google Hosted LibrariesJavascript software libraries such as jQuery are loaded at endpoints on the googleapis.com or gstatic.com domains, for performance and efficiency reasons. (Privacy Policy)
    Features
    Google Custom SearchThis is feature allows you to search the site. (Privacy Policy)
    Google MapsSome articles have Google Maps embedded in them. (Privacy Policy)
    Google ChartsThis is used to display charts and graphs on articles and the author center. (Privacy Policy)
    Google AdSense Host APIThis service allows you to sign up for or associate a Google AdSense account with HubPages, so that you can earn money from ads on your articles. No data is shared unless you engage with this feature. (Privacy Policy)
    Google YouTubeSome articles have YouTube videos embedded in them. (Privacy Policy)
    VimeoSome articles have Vimeo videos embedded in them. (Privacy Policy)
    PaypalThis is used for a registered author who enrolls in the HubPages Earnings program and requests to be paid via PayPal. No data is shared with Paypal unless you engage with this feature. (Privacy Policy)
    Facebook LoginYou can use this to streamline signing up for, or signing in to your Hubpages account. No data is shared with Facebook unless you engage with this feature. (Privacy Policy)
    MavenThis supports the Maven widget and search functionality. (Privacy Policy)
    Marketing
    Google AdSenseThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Google DoubleClickGoogle provides ad serving technology and runs an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Index ExchangeThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    SovrnThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Facebook AdsThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Amazon Unified Ad MarketplaceThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    AppNexusThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    OpenxThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Rubicon ProjectThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    TripleLiftThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Say MediaWe partner with Say Media to deliver ad campaigns on our sites. (Privacy Policy)
    Remarketing PixelsWe may use remarketing pixels from advertising networks such as Google AdWords, Bing Ads, and Facebook in order to advertise the HubPages Service to people that have visited our sites.
    Conversion Tracking PixelsWe may use conversion tracking pixels from advertising networks such as Google AdWords, Bing Ads, and Facebook in order to identify when an advertisement has successfully resulted in the desired action, such as signing up for the HubPages Service or publishing an article on the HubPages Service.
    Statistics
    Author Google AnalyticsThis is used to provide traffic data and reports to the authors of articles on the HubPages Service. (Privacy Policy)
    ComscoreComScore is a media measurement and analytics company providing marketing data and analytics to enterprises, media and advertising agencies, and publishers. Non-consent will result in ComScore only processing obfuscated personal data. (Privacy Policy)
    Amazon Tracking PixelSome articles display amazon products as part of the Amazon Affiliate program, this pixel provides traffic statistics for those products (Privacy Policy)