Whiskey Thieves, Geary Street, 10 p.m.

My head swims from free drinks after reading passages of my novel at bar. Then I’m invited to another bar, the free drinks decided to go snorkeling in my head. One Jamison, two Jamison, three Jamison, more. I walk over to Whiskey Thieves to introduce one last drink to the party in my brain.

She sits next to me at the bar. She is semi-gothed out. She wears fishnet stockings. Teasing. Exposing the dark skin of her legs. I say hi. She tells me her name and I immediately forget. She is from Chile.

Do you know Hocico? she asks.

Not personally, but I’m familiar with their music.

I’m not the type of guy you would think would have his pulse on an EBM project from Mexico, but I’m full of surprises.

Come to Death Guild with me, she says. It’s a long running dance club in San Francisco that caters to a goth crowd and actually plays music I like, but for some reason I can’t stand the place.

No, I say and sip more whiskey to snorkel through my head.

Yes, you come, we’ll go back to my place first.

Her place?

Let’s go, I say and the snorkeling alcoholics in my brain come up for air and applaud and they call my libido friends in my brain and we watch as the Chilean wiggles her skinny body down the street in those excellent fishnets.

At her place she turns on the radio and brings more Jamison friends for my brain. I grab her close and she turns around and rubs her sweet butt against my pelvic area. Blood reinforcements are called in and my penis starts to expand.

There’s an Italian film called Stanno tutti bene. It has nothing to do with sex, but the title means, Everybody’s Fine. She rubs on me and everybody’s fine. Really fine.

Do you know this song, she asks and puts on a Hocico CD. I nod and go in for the kiss. The kiss is good. I never understand how a kiss can’t be good, but there’s a phenomena in San Francisco of women who can’t kiss. It’s quite shocking to a newly single man.

When I’m with a woman, I listen. Those subtle shifts of moans. Those sporadic shutters of their insides. I listen without a stethoscope.

We kiss and I pull her hair. She moans and pushes her pelvis into mine and we dry hump, me in my slacks and her in her mini-skirt and fishnets. I listen and grab her hair twisting her head to the side and plant one on her neck. She squeals and her dark eyes ask for what’s next.

I tease. I’m soft. Soft kisses on her Chilean ears. Then I pick her up and throw her onto the bed and rip her shirt off. I dive into her erect nipples and nibble and bite and finally teeth with a light stroking of the tips with my tongue. She pushes her chest as far into my mouth as those sweet little a-cups could go. I want her in ecstasy. I grab the back of her head so she can’t move and went in for more mouth kisses.

The little libidos and alcohol molecules in my brain brought out the sombreros and did some type of Ukrainian wedding dance with each other.

She gives half moans and half screams as her neighbors in that Tenderloin apartment either want to kill us, join us or be us.

She jumps out of bed to switch Hocico CDs. I’m out of breath and my body has a subtle shake, waiting for more teasing and sexual wrestling. That Mexican pig fucking industrial act, cock blocking me.

 

We’re going to be late for Death Guild, she says as she fixes her shirt and the Ukrainian wedding dance stops in my head to put their elbows on the bar. They go in wait-and-see mode.

Death Guild. Posers aching to reclaim an era long gone by. Death Guild, we’ll keep this going after Death Guild. My penis actually retracts knowing it will be released into action later.

As we walk to the club we mouth raped each other at every stop light. Every doorway was our chance to fondle each other for a few seconds and move on. I forget we’re going to Death Guild. I forget we bought another bottle of scotch that we drain as we suck face and walk.

Then the blackout.

Fade in:

Int. – Night – Death Guild

Tony and girl from Chile dance and fall. Tony falls on top of her. She’s lucky it was Tony and not some corseted Krispy Kreme.

Fade out.

Fade in:

Int. – Night – Death Guild

Tony looses the Chilean and looks around the club for her, oh snap, they play a Nick Cave song. Tony can’t resist the pull of his favorite singer so he dances alone.

Fade out.

Fade in:

Ext. – Night – SoMa

Tony still can’t find her so he hails a cab home. Whiskey Thieves calls him for one last drink.

Int. – Night – Whiskey Thieves

The bartender asks with a smirk, how did it go?

I can’t believe she talked me into going to Death Guild.

He laughs.

The party in my head is no longer interested in sex play and brings me home to pass out and eventually leave my bloodstream.

I still can’t remember her name.

TAGS: , , , ,

TONY DUSHANE lives in San Francisco. He's the author of Confessions of a Teenage Jesus Jerk, published by Soft Skull Press.

He hosts the radio show (www.drinkswithtony.com) and his column Bandwidth, appears every Thursday in the San Francisco Chronicle. He also has written for The Believer, Mother Jones, The Bold Italic and many other fine publications.

DuShane is a novel writing teacher at San Francisco Writers' College, his next class starts in January. Full details will be announced next week on www.tonydushane.com.

Upcoming readings:

November 17, 2010 - Space Gallery, San Francisco
December 8, 2010 - Bawdy Storytelling at Blue Macaw, San Francisco

He also likes taking long walks in his walk-in closet.

24 responses to “Let’s Go To My Place”

  1. Nicole says:

    Hot. Very hot. And the transition to stage directions was perfect. As soon as I read “Then the blackout. Fade In” I actually said, “Oh, shit,” and laughed and my friend looked at me like I was crazy. Thanks for sharing!

  2. Irene Zion says:

    My oh my, Tony Dushane!

    I had to avert my mind while reading this,
    I could be frail, you know,
    the ticker…the ticker.

    I do think
    perhaps
    you could drink some
    water
    also
    now and then
    in between Jamisons.

    This might have been a good thing
    to remember
    the last half of, eh?

    • Tony DuShane says:

      i’m sorry irene. you’ll just have to know you’re in for trouble whenever you see my byline. 😉

      actually, if you haven’t read my novel yet, you’ll be pleased to know the characters are younger, have a lot of naivety and are easier pills to swallow than my current life experiences.

      thanks for reading and commenting, i can always count on you.

  3. Ben Loory says:

    hocico look like a bunch of retards.

    • Tony DuShane says:

      yeah, i never understood the fascination with them, or the many other acts who only use laptops, distort their voices and wear stupid shit like blinking goggles and stomp around the stage. vnv nation, combichrist, kill me now.

      there are exceptions like the live velvet acid christ or haujobb or meat beat manifesto shows.

  4. Gloria says:

    Wow. That was sexy. Thanks. 😉

  5. M.J. Fievre says:

    Tony, you’re too funny!

  6. This is my favorite piece by you. I felt like I was a voyeur watching a scene from a cool urban movie about all men being suckers coming to life.

    Give me more of this!

  7. Hugh Thomas Patterson says:

    As always Tony, another piece of great writing. Thanks for posting it. I forgot how bad this latest wave of goth is. You truly have a unique way with words.

  8. Simon Smithson says:

    I’d totally want to take you home, Tony, if you referenced Hocico at me.

  9. Joe Daly says:

    Goths always crack me up. They seem to take themselves so seriously, which only makes them funnier to me, given their dress and morose outlook.

    Very fun read.

  10. Jordan Ancel says:

    Very hot, Tony. Good thing she didn’t talk you into any piercings, too.

  11. Jessica Blau says:

    I had to hide in another room to read this!
    Made me wish I were in S.F.

  12. Lisa Rae Cunningham says:

    Dance to Nick Cave. Seek mouth-raping hot Chilean in fish nets. Tough call. But is Nick Cave danceable? I mean what song are we talking? I love Nick Cave, but he’s more somebody to bleed to. Nick Cave is like, private. Chilean sluts are not.

  13. Lisa Rae Cunningham says:

    pulses like an artery, but still a bleeder

  14. Erika Rae says:

    Not sure who is the bigger tease – her or you. Man, you ex-JWs do make up for lost time. ( : (Says one ex to another)

    • Tony DuShane says:

      omg, i just saw the info on your book, i can’t wait for it to come out.

      yeah, i don’t have a lot of being a single guy experience, so i’m having a little fun, a little heartbreak and getting into a little trouble.

  15. Tina says:

    The little libidos and alcohol molecules in my brain brought out the sombreros and did… That’s a great line! Thanks for the read

  16. ahhhh… singlehood, my man. the stuff good book’s are made of: the tease, the suspense, the vanishing act. not as fun in real life, though, eh?

    • Tony DuShane says:

      a man must sacrifice for his art. 😉

      actually, i’ve only been single about 10 months in the last 15 years, so it’s really odd. i’m really good at monogamy, i’m trying to get mediocre at this stuff.

  17. I know the feeling. I was pretty much a serial monogamist from 9th grade until a few years back when I entered the badbadbadlands. I survived with my heart and soul intact — and zero STDs! — but the thrill of the novelty of, let’s say, Chilean fantasies so close at hand more often than not beat authentic connection/communication to a pulp (fiction!). And yet… when I think back on those nights… what am I saying? It’s easy to rewrite memories. It’s good to fantasize and experiment/experience. But I don’t envy you, hombre. However, if you need a wingman…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *