Night Shift

Yeah, I remember that night. How could I forget it? I remember it better than any other night and any other day. Every little detail, every minute that passed by, every car that stopped and every ugly pervert that stayed in and awkwardly stared at me, every drop of sperm and every spill of blood, everything carved inside my brain - no way to forget. If I regret it? I don’t know... Would he regret it? Would they regret it? Does anybody really regret his mistakes? Can they regret a mistake if they don’t even know it’s a mistake? At least I know what I did. They don’t...

Anyway, that night was really cold, I had covered my self with three layers of clothes, a thick coat, a woolen scarf and a nice, warm hat, and yet I was still freezing. The moon was hidden behind black clouds, and the strong wind would only make things worse, and I couldn’t even light a cig without my fingers getting numb. But, you know, after a few days in the business you learn that you can’t really waste a night, and that no matter how cold or scary it is or how sick or tired you are, or how many hours you have already being waiting for some motherfucker to come and check you out, you’ ll have to stay there and wait and wait some more, and wait till the sun comes out or somebody finally picks you up. So that’s what I was doing - that’s what I was doing every night - I was waiting for either the sun, or for a pervert inside an expensive car to come and pick me up. And of course - like every night - the pervert came late, but he came, and he came before the sun...

It was an old black Mercedes with tinted windows - probably bulletproof, and it was softly rolling down the street, engine groaning silently, the silhouette of a rich white homo forming blurred behind the black windshield, and the car was slowly approaching the side of the sidewalk where I was standing. And then it stopped, and so I got closer. The window slowly came down, and inside the darkness I could see his face. And this face did not simply look familiar, it was. I knew him, I definitely knew him. Everybody knows him. Montgomery Sergyan, the old movie star, one of the biggest names of Hollywood in the 60s and 70s, the faded sex symbol who, younger, would make women wet just by smiling on the screen, was now waiting inside his car, with his hair and beard whiter than ever, his skin wrinkled, his brown eyes tired, and his kind smile no longer carved onto his face, looking for cheap sex. And out of ten young boys there on the stroll and thousands of women who would still trade everything they have just to spend a night with him, he chose me...

I lowered my head and said hi. He smiled. I asked him if he was looking for something, if I could help. He said yes. I asked if he wanted some company and he nodded. Now let me make this clear, I always choose my clients and I had never been with a man over fifty, but, well, for him I made an exception that night... Five minutes latter he was driving me to his place. He didn’t say a word during the ride. I didn’t either. It was warm inside that old Mercedes.
He lived in a small appartement block downtown, less than twenty minutes away from where he picked me up. We took the elevator to the third floor. “What’s your name?” he asked me. “Vlad,” I replied.
“Vlad... A beautiful name. Slavic. Like Vlad Tepes. Have you ever heard of Vlad Tepes?”
“No.”
We reached the third floor and he opened the door for me. We walked towards the appartement B.
“Where are you from, Vlad?”
“Romania.”
“Ah, Romania! I’ ve never been there. Always wanted to, but...”

He unlocked the door and we got in. He turned on the lights and took off his coat. The room was small and tidy, everything was in its place, two fat candles on the coffee table and a cup of tea, a small vase with red and white roses too, a book laying down on the brown, leather couch, a box of panadols, and on the other side an old wooden chair. On the floor there was a red Indian carpet that looked really expensive and freshly cleaned, and on top of it there were a few more books stacked together in a two-feet long pile. Nothing in there reminded anything of his past, no awards, no tapes, no weird costumes, not even a photograph of him on stage. The only photograph of him was sitting on a shelf in the wall above the carpet, and in there he looked younger than now, but still old and tired and sad, and there was no one else in there except for him and a fat, white cat laying on his legs. I took off my coat and we sat on the couch.
“The Carpathian mountains, have you ever been there?”
“No.”
“When did you come here? Did you leave Romania young?”
“No, no I wasn’t young. I left my home when I was eighteen and six months later I moved here.”
“Oh, I see... How old are you now?”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty! The best age to be!”
“Yeah...”
“Where was your home, Vlad?”
“Outside a town called Timisoara.”
“I know where this is! It borders Hungary, right?”
“It’s near, yeah. Also near to Serbia.”
“Yes, yes! Oh, Romania! It must be a wonderful place... Do you want some wine?”
“Yes, please.”

He got up and left the room. I took a look around. There were two windows, but the curtains were pulled. There’s nothing to see outside anyway, I thought. On my right there was a huge bookcase that was covering the whole wall, and it was filled with books. I went closer and I read some titles. I didn’t know the names of most authors, but some of them I had heard, like Shakespeare or Homer. Montgomery Sergyan came back to the room. “If you like any of the books, you can have it,” he said.
“No, I don’t read books...”
“You should.”
“Maybe... I don’t really think they’re of any use.”
“Well, things don’t always have to be useful, sometimes they can just be beautiful...”
He opened the bottle and poured some wine into the two glasses on the coffee table. Red wine. “Not the best wine you can find, he said, but for it’s price it’s pretty good...” “I like it,” I answered. I drank it all in three sips. He poured some more into my glass. “Can I smoke a cig?” I asked him and he said “yes, let me just open the window.” Then neither me nor him talked for a while and the silence felt weird, but the old man seemed to enjoy it. He was looking at me all the time, he wouldn’t take his eyes off of me, but I wasn’t annoyed or anything, I was used to all kinds of perverts.
“One time though I went to Serbia...” he finally said. “It wasn’t Serbia back then, it was Yugoslavia, but we went to Belgrade, for a big movie festival - I can’t recall the year. It was beautiful, before the bombings and everything, the people were all so kind and helpful, there were children playing and running in every big street, folklore musicians and street performers in every square, it was magnificent. Now it must be a rather sad place...”
“Yeah, so I’ ve heard... I haven’t been.”

I finished my cigarette and I finished my wine. He offered me some more, but I said no. I asked him how much is he planning to pay me, he said fifty bucks but I said that I won’t take less than a hundred and he agreed to that. He would give me a blowjob and then I’d fuck him in the ass and that’d be it - that’s how it was supposed to go, that’s how it always goes. I followed him to his room.

It was small and empty, quite sad, there was only a low bed and a yellow, faded mattress, a tiny nightstand with a lamp and a couple books on top of it, and on the right a small bookcase with about forty books. The closet was just a hole in the wall, on the left side of the room, hidden behind a white curtain. The room was painted gray. It had a weird energy, I felt it weird, I don’t know how to explain it. The light was very soft and pale, and from the only window you would only see a brick wall. Not even a chair in there, not even a color, even the bed sheets had this ugly white color that only the dead have. He sat on the bed and took his shoes off. I was nervous, I didn’t know if I could have a hard. The guy might have been a star, but now in front of me he looked old, ugly, tired, ready to give up on everything, ready to never give a shit again and burn in hell forever and ever, and his body would be wrinkled and it definitely wouldn’t smell that good, and his skin’d be loose and his spine about to break down in pieces. He looked at my eyes and read my thoughts. He opened the drawer in the nightstand and took out a small plastic bag. “Would you like some?” he offered, and I didn’t refuse. I walked closer, bent my back and snorted the line he had just cut for me. I closed my eyes and took it all up, up till it almost touched my brain. I felt back. It felt good. I was ready and even willing now.

I unzipped my pants and pulled them down, and I took off my jacket and sweater. I sat next to him on the bed, naked, and asked him to go on. He got up, walked to the other side of the room to turn off the light, walked back, bent down on his knees and started sucking. He had a very small and pursed mouth, his tongue was dry and his yellow teeth were softly bitting on my dick. His head was slowly moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and his gnarled hands were holding my thighs tight. He definitely had done that before, probably many times, probably in big Hollywood orgies with other famous closeted faggots like himself, or maybe with other young boys picked up from the street like myself. He definitely knew what he was doing, but still I wasn’t enjoying it - I couldn’t just get over the fact that he was so old and ugly and wrinkled and his lips so dry. My dick was still limp. Getting a hard would be really rough. I closed my eyes and tried to think of a woman, a nice little girl with her long hair tied and falling back, and her soft fingers touching my body and legs and balls, and her mouth so erotic, her red-like-roses lips so fleshy and wet, her tongue so flexible and smooth, and her short breaths so intense and anxious, making me feel warmer and warmer as she moves her head up and down my dick. Many images came in mind. Actresses, celebrities, porn stars, old girlfriends, high school teachers, unfulfilled loves, they were all there, one at a time and all together, and the old man was still silently sucking. He understood. And he wasn’t that bad, really. He sucked and sucked and I imagined of even more women, a whole orgy going on inside my brain. He twisted it inside his mouth, he softly bitted on the head with his yellow teeth, he licked every single centimeter of it, and the girls on my mind were doing the exact same thing. And after a while it started working.

My dick slowly stood up and got hard. I was actually almost liking it now. The guy definitely knew how to give a good head - who would have thought? I do admit that thinking that a hollywood star was blowing me inside his house got me kinda excited too. I let him suck a bit more and then I stood up and asked him to get naked. We had to be fast, I didn’t know if the boner would last long. I run blindly to my pants on the floor and picked a condom from the pocket - I always use them - and wore it, and he was taking slowly his pants down and he had already taken his shirt off. Truth is, for his age he didn’t have a bad body. But still the skin under his chest was loose and ugly and there were small tufts of weak gray hair spread all over his body and many moles and red spots too and there was a big scar right under his chest, where the lungs are, probably from some type of surgery. I grabbed my penis and started jerking off - I had to keep the hard. And then he took his underwear off too. His flaccid dick was hanging down, old and wizened, and his pubic hair were long and black - not grey - and even though I wanted to, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it for a few moments. My dick will sooner or later turn like this too, I guess... And then he turned around and crouched on his bed on all fours and waited for me. I wouldn’t disappoint him, not now, I would fuck him so hard he would have to pass the whole next week laying down. I moved behind him and with my index finger touched his puckered, black asshole. I moved closer, inhaled and shoved it up in there.

I fucked him dry up the arse. He was tight, but not too tight. It didn’t feel bad. I was fucking him in a weird pace, at first more slow for some seconds and then faster, and then slow again and then again fast, and the same thing all over again, and every time I went fast he made muffled screams, and every time I went slow he just heavily breathed out of his mouth. He seemed to be enjoying it, and I know he actually was. I pushed and pushed and pushed, and at some point he grabbed my thigh with his right arm and squeezed it tight, and so I pushed even harder. I was almost feeling angry. I was getting more and more hyped as I was fucking him, I can’t really explain why. He turned his head and looked straight at me, and those brown eyes had something magnificent on them, something almost hypnotizing, something that cannot be described in words, it almost felt like those two eyes could get me to do anything. His look was really the look of an actor, really the look of the most charming of liers. I could easily recognize his face - even though I’ve never seen any of his movies, - but even if I couldn’t I would be able to tell that he is some kind of a great actor just by this look. I turned my eyes away, I didn’t want to stare, but I kept on pushing.

He groaned and moaned as my pace got steadily fast, and, I won’t lie, I was quite enjoying it too. I knew that it wasn’t gonna be too hard to cum because this guy had that weird aura around him and I was kinda feeling seduced, and, it’s funny, but in fact he wasn’t any worse than other men I’ve fucked, in fact, despite his age, he was better than most of them. Of course cumming is never an easy thing, it doesn’t just happen, cause at the end no matter how good the partner is, he’s just never as good as a woman - any woman. But I always had to work hard for that - this was how I was earning my bread after all - and no matter how many minutes or even hours would go by, I had to stay there and keep on pushing till I’ m done. And so I kept pushing, and he kept squeezing my thigh, and I pushed harder and I wasn’t even tired. And after an indefinite amount of time, I finally came...

I pulled back, left the bedroom and walked to the bathroom. I threw the condom in the bin, peed, wiped my dick with toilet paper, washed my hands and face and went back. I wore my boxers and I took my cigarettes and lighter out of my pants’ right pocket. The old man was lying on his belly on the bed, still naked, with his eyes shut and his lips looking down motionless. He was breathing. He was feeling good but exhausted, I could tell. He looked harmless... And then I made the mistake, the worst mistake. Usually after I finish with the client I stay there with him for a few more minutes, to smoke a cigarette and get the cash, but I usually sat on some chair or something, but there was nothing I could sit on in there, no chairs, no little tables, no pillows on the floor, no nothing. I could just go lay on the bed, I thought, and it sounded like a good idea too. This man isn’t bad at all after all, I thought, he is actually very kind and pleasant, and he’s also about to sleep, and I’d rather him not till I receive my payment. So I layed next to him, wearing nothing but my boxers, and I lit my cigarette. He smiled when he opened his eyes and saw me there. I asked him where could I ash. He didn’t say anything but reached his hand out to the drawer in the nightstand on my left, right over my stomach. He took out an ashtray and left it up in the nightstand. I ashed. I looked back at him. He was staring at me again. I took a drag, I inhaled it for longer. His eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t look back and I didn’t talk. My cigarette was half-way done. I smoked the rest of it quickly, but before I took the last drag, the old man grabbed me from the neck and tried to kiss me.

At this point let me clarify something, because I don’t know if I’ve made it clear enough. I’m not a faggot. No one in this job is a faggot. We are all doing this job out of need, because we need the money, and we’re all always active - never, ever passive - and none of us is really enjoying it. I mean, yeah, at the end you’re fucking someone, of course you will get some pleasure out of it, of course you will have some good moments, - and, trust me, anyone would if they tried - but above all it’s a job, a full-time job that includes about seven hours of waiting in the cold and one hour of having sex with a previously unknown client, and as with every job, there are specific services offered. And kissing is not one of them...
I pushed him away. “No kisses,” I said and stood up. He stood up too. “No kisses? Why not?” he asked.
“We agreed on a blowjob and a fuck,” I replied and walked to turn the lights on.
“Yes, indeed, but we didn’t say anything about kissing...”
“We didn’t have to. Everybody knows that.” I put my shirt on.
“What are you doing now? Are you leaving?”
“I came, I fucked, I’m leaving...”
He grabbed my left arm violently. “Stay here for the night.”
“What? I’m sorry man, it doesn’t go like this...” I pulled my arm and freed it. He grabbed it again. “Please, stay here for the night.”
“It’s not happening.” I freed it again.
“Please, I’m so alone and lonely...”
“Can you give me my money please?”
“Your money?” His eyes got smaller and his pupils dilated. “You want your money, you little piece of shit? Listen, boy, I’m not new in this business, you charged me double the regular price...”
“Oh, so you know the regular price?”
“YOU charged me DOUBLE the regular price and you won’t even let me give you a kiss...”
“We agreed to that you old fag, you didn’t say anything!”
“Well, I’m saying it now! If you don’t stay here for the night, I’m not paying you.”
“Ok, old man, we’ ll see about that...” I turned around again to wear my sweatshirt, and before I put my head through the hole... BANG! I was on the floor and everything was black...

When I regained consciousness he wasn’t anymore in the room, but I could hear his footsteps from the living room. I rubbed my eyes - my head hurt. I looked around. There were drops of blood all over the floor, and there were also pieces of broken glass. I touched the back of my head, and there was blood all over my fingers too. I looked at the nightstand. The table lamp was missing. That psychopath had cracked my head open with the table lamp! I looked at my clothes. They were further away than I remembered. I was definitely on a different position. I was much closer to the bed, and that also explained the red marks on my hands. That son-of-a-bitch not only cracked my head open, but also tried to drag me up to his bed while I was unconscious! Apparently he wasn’t strong enough and had to change his mind... I turned my body to the left, I turned my body to the right, my arms pushed up the floor, and I stood up, and heard his voice coming from the door.
“Listen,” he said, “I... I’m really sorry for what happened... I really didn’t mean to... to hurt you... I left your money on the coffee table - a hundred dollars. Take them and... And you’re free to go.”

I didn’t say anything, only picked the rest of my clothes and wore them quickly. He was still looking at me as I was dressing. Ηe was still daring to look at me. He could have killed me like a rat, right there on his floor, and yet he was still looking straight into my face like as if nothing had happened. I put on my jacket and walked out, towards the living room, but instead of leaving right away, I decided to make a visit to the kitchen. I opened all the cabinets and found a glass. I filled it with water from the tap and drank it all. I refilled it and drank it again. I left the glass on the sink. I opened the top drawer on the right of the stove and looked inside. I grabbed the biggest knife I found - a black, steel butcher knife - and held it behind my back. I walked back into the bedroom, Sergyan was still sitting there, over his white bedsheets, holding his head between his palms, eyes slightly closed, and yet quite open. I smiled widely. He lifted his head, saw me and smiled too. His eyes sparkled. He didn’t expect to see me again. For a moment he must have thought that I changed my mind, that I decided to stay for a night, but soon something (probably the look on my face - I don’t know, I couldn’t see me) brought him back to reality, and that must have scared him a lot, because his face turned white and the smile disappeared and the beautiful brown eyes looked smaller and frightened, and the old man crawled to the corner of his bed as I walked closer.

“Please,” he gulped. “I... I left your money on the table... They are there... Go see for yourself...” I pulled the butcher knife
out and waved it at him, and I climbed up to the bed. He started trembling and his eyes became wet, but he didn’t move an inch. “Please... Please, I can give you more money... I have more money... I can give you more... Please...” he said, almost crying. I crawled closer. “I... I can also give you... give you the address of a doctor... For... for your head I mean... He’s really good... Please...” I crawled closer. Montgomery Sergyan, the famous Hollywood star whose movies I have never seen, was crying like a little girl in the same bed I was fucking him up the ass a few minutes (or hours, I don’t really know) before. At that moment I really thought to myself, “that faggot deserves to die right now.” “Please... Don’t kill me,” he whimpered. I slit his throat. Blood squirted all over the place, including my face and jacket. The brown eyes turned lifeless, and now I didn’t mind looking at them, now they didn’t have that strange aura that gave me the creeps. I stabbed him in the chest, aiming for the heart. I stabbed again, and I stabbed again, on the stomach and the lungs and the legs and the arms and I also stabbed both his brown eyes. I don’t remember how many times I stabbed him, definitely more than twenty. I killed him right there, in his sad and empty bedroom, on his white dead-sheets that, now, were bloody red. And then I got my money, washed my face and hands and left. The sun was about to rise...