By Grant McGee
Tyler was horny.
Tyler had been horny for quite some time.
It had gotten to where he didn’t like being horny because he
would beat himself up inside his head that he had married another who
came into the relationship with a complete figurative luggage set of issues.
And who didn’t like sex?
As he drove through the warm Phoenix night he remembered the
last time he had sex. He didn’t remember
it for it being memorable, he remembered it because it had been so long ago,
almost 3 years.
The last time Tyler had sex was November 4, 2001 when the
local baseball team, The Arizona Diamondbacks, won the World Series.
Dottie, that was Tyler’s wife’s name…Dottie, Dottie had been
in the living room sitting in her recliner where she spent most of her time,
remote in hand. She had been watching
the World Series. It was game 7.
Tyler was in the bedroom reading the newest edition of “Rolling
Stone” when all of a sudden there was a tremendous “WOO HOO!” from the living
room.
“What? What?” asked
Tyler putting down his magazine.
“DIAMONDBACKS WIN!” yelled Dottie. She had gotten out of her recliner and was
dashing into the bedroom. “COME HERE
LOVERBOY!”
Dottie thundered into the bedroom and flung herself on the bed into Tyler’s arms.
Tyler didn’t know why a Diamondbacks win would get Dottie
all excited. Was it a jolt of
testosterone? Adrenaline? In moments he
didn’t care because he was having The Sex.
Now here it was almost 3 years later and he was so horny he
pondered divorce.
But Tyler didn’t want divorce.
To Tyler, a divorce from Dottie would be more of a
reflection on him than on Dottie. He
thought about being the common denominator in half-a-dozen failed relationships
over the years. And he didn’t like
dealing with lawyers and paperwork anyway.
Tyler was finished for the day at the power company. It was dark.
Here he was driving through the Phoenix night.
Tyler headed for Van Buren Street.
Van Buren Street in Phoenix is where hookers, streetwalkers
ply their trade.
Once a bustling thoroughfare for Phoenix’s visitors…full of
motels and restaurants…the boulevard fell into decay when the rocketing
interstate through the city was finished in the 1970’s.
Now Van Buren Street was a bustling thoroughfare for
hookers, drug dealers and their customers.
Tyler cruised down the boulevard in the warm night.
And he looked.
They came in all shapes, sizes, ages, colors. Some of the streetwalkers looked like
battle-hardened veterans, others looked like they did it as a sideline to pay
college tuition.
He was curious that some had sleeping bags flung over their
shoulders. The purpose was clear: Do business with me, we head off to some
secluded spot in a glass strewn lot or abandoned building and I have a sleeping
bag to lay on.
Tyler confused himself.
On one hand he found nothing strange about stopping and doing something
with one yet he wondered why someone would turn to a prostitute.
Then Tyler thought about the prostitutes, that surely they
were messed up in the head to ply their streetwalking trade in the first
place. Why? Had they been abused as children? Did they need cash that desperately?
And yet, what was the difference between a hooker, a guy who
had night after night of one night stands or a woman of easy virtue?
And then there was the police. Tyler knew with his luck he’d probably pick
one out of the crowd that was an undercover cop.
These things ran through Tyler’s head as he drove down Van
Buren Street.
Tyler picked up his cellphone and called Clark.
Clark was Tyler’s old pal, a guy who was more like a brother
to him than his own brother.
Clark had told him tales of growing up in west Texas. That the first time Clark had The Sex was at
a whorehouse in Amarillo.
“I was just out of high school, getting ready to go into the
Navy and my buddies took me up there,” he said as he started laughing. “She was LOUD and was hollering. Telling me I was the greatest she’d ever had
and all that bullshit. I’m 18 and
believing every word.”
Tyler held the phone to his ear as he drove down Van Buren
Street.
“Hello,” Clark was on the line.
“HEEEY!” Tyler yelled.
“HAVE YOU HEARD FROM SAMMY?”
“NOOOO,” Clark yelled back.
Sammy was Tyler and Clark’s pal who decided he needed to
change his life so he moved to Salt Lake City and stopped all communication
with all his old friends. Asking if either had heard from Sammy was Tyler
and Clark’s standard greeting.
“Hey brother,” said Tyler.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had The Sex?”
“Do I want to have this conversation?” asked Clark.
“THREE YEARS! THREE
YEARS! The last time was when the
Diamondbacks won The World Series.”
“I remember you told me about that. That Dottie’s a strange one, but then you
have this uncanny ability to find the crazies.”
“Love you too, man!” said Tyler. “Listen, what if I told you I was pondering
an adventure with a hooker?”
“I wouldn’t,” said Clark.
“But you did,” said Tyler.
“Yeah, little brother, but that was another time, another
place. It was the 1960’s. Hooking was a bit more respected, if you can
say that. Then came the drugs and
everything went to hell.”
“Hmmmmm,” said Tyler.
“But,” said Clark, “If you really want to…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s real simple,” said Clark. “You find one, take her back to a cheap
motel, go to the room, sit a bit, talk about whatever you want to talk about
then suggest having a shower. And when
you go in there rub her back. Things
kind of take off from there on their own.”
Tyler thought about Clark’s technique.
“HEY,” yelled Clark, “You still there?”
“Yeah,” said Tyler.
“You really need to let this one go,” said Clark. “It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t give a rat’s
ass about you.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “But
I’ve spent 5 years of my life in this thing.”
“Write it off, bro,” Clark said. “Chalk it up as another lesson on the
journey. AND DON’T DO IT AGAIN. Stop jumping into relationships just because
you think the chick likes you. Damn, you
remind me sometimes of a stray dog… ‘Oh?
You like me? Can I come home with
you?’”
They both laughed.
“MAYBE SAMMY WILL CALL YOU SOON!” yelled Tyler.
“YEAH, MAYBE HE WILL,” yelled Clark.
“Love ya man,” said Tyler.
And Clark was gone.
Tyler pulled over just down the street from a corner where
there were 6 or so hookers.
Tyler thought about his marriage to Dottie. It wasn’t just the missing sex, it was the
missing of everything. Dottie basically
used their house as a crash pad, not a home.
She spent a lot of time on the Internet.
She spent many a night hanging out at bars with her gal pals. Where was the companionship? Where was the intimacy?
Tyler sat in his car and looked down the street.
One of the girls turned and spied him.
She started walking toward Tyler.
She walked up to Tyler’s window.
“Need some company tonight?”
Tyler turned and looked at her. He looked in her eyes. She was a strawberry blonde, she had
freckles.
“Why do you do this?” Tyler asked.
She smiled.
“You a cop or something?”
“No,” said Tyler. “Just
curious.”
“Let’s do some business.
It costs money to hear my story.”
Tyler smiled.
“Naw,” said Tyler, “I’m going home, I have some business to
take care of. But thanks for asking.”
“You bet, honey.” She
turned and walked back down the street.
Tyler fired up the engine and turned toward a new adventure.
-30-
No comments:
Post a Comment