Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The D Chronicles Vol 1 - (Men): Debase


Oscar. My name is Oscar Kendricks.”

This is what I tell the woman behind the glass at the clinic and it feels like I’m lying.  I can’t remember the last time I used my full name, let alone my real name when talking to anyone. A couple days ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about this place and today it’s all I can think of. It’s been 45 minutes since I filled out the tiny form that registers me to sit in the waiting room. The woman behind the glass doesn’t smile when she tells me that my new number will be 256 and I’m going to be seeing Dr. Foster in room 5 on the left during the 3 o’clock hour.

Now I’m Oscar Leboe, but I’m still Oscar. and there’s an unusually large man that paid for my attention. He didn’t want to go back to his house because then his wife will find out. It’s a place down the street from my apartment that he takes me to. He asks me if it’s alright and it is fine but instead I tell him that don’t like the way the curtains look when the green neon lights hits them. As the large man closes the blinds he asks if it’s my first time. They all want to be the first. So I nod and let him think what he wants.  I think to myself it won’t matter and the clock flips over to 11:23 pm.

When the large man sits on the bed and tells me to get undressed my mind flashes back to the first time this happened and just like now it wasn’t the way I thought it would be. It never is.

What I want to remember about the first time wasn’t what happened. I want to remember that it was my choice. That I let it happen for kicks and I thoroughly enjoyed the control of it. But it wasn’t for kicks it was out of necessity. Strung out bad I needed a fix and a man told me that he could help me. The man took me into a small room in the back of a party where it wasn’t taboo and told me what to do. I didn’t want to but there wasn’t anyone to stop this from happening when he forced my hands, my face and my body into a position that suited him. It wasn’t safe and I wasn’t sorry when it was over. I hadn’t thought twice because I got what I wanted. 

The man continues to tell me what he wants. He keeps telling me how amazing and hot I look before touching my stomach. His smile has a twist in the corner. The crooked dimple makes me uneasy and his touch puts the crawl in my skin but I don’t stop him. It doesn’t matter what I want.

My feet feel like bricks when they hit the cold floor tonight. It’s feels like I’m walking on ice. I’ve been asleep since 4p.m. which is a least 15 minutes after I arrived home. The smell of old tacos mixes with cigarette smoke and rises up from the downstairs bar on this Thursday night. The evenings are the worst part of it. Waking involves remembering the night before and that never sits well.

Tonight as I make out my reflection in the mirror I can see the smeared lipstick and worn eyeliner running down the left side of my face and it all comes back without fail.

The woman wanted a tranny. It’s what she tells me when I get to the place. I try to tell her to calm down and not to call. They don’t like it when there’s a call. I once had a man call about me. It’s not that they’ll beat you. Cause the won’t. What they do is much worse than that. I know cause after they did it to me, I wished I wasn’t born. When I finish remembering the injection and how much it felt like death, I tell her not to call. But asking it doesn’t stop her. As she picks up the phone I duck into the bathroom and try to fix the situation.

Between the fake eyelashes and mascara she comes into the bathroom. She wants me to wear a dress that looks like a red sequin knockoff that Marilyn MANroe would wear at the New Jersey Drag Parade. It’s tacky and cheap but I put it on anyway. She tells me that she likes the way my dick looks underneath the tight dress when she’s fastening my garter . After I’m finished putting on the red lipstick and wig she tells me that we need to dance. And we dance.

In the mirror with my smeared lipstick and worn out face I think of how much I liked that woman when we danced. With her I was Sylvania Oscar dancer extraordinaire, when we spun around her tiny apartment. But she was the same as the others in the end and when the rhythm changed the dancing stopped. With a run of a hand and a tear of the foil this one's lips press for more.  

But the rhythm always changes. And when it does I look, listen and do as I’m told. They never ask what I want because that’s not important. They are the same. Wanting more, giving less and their money always reminds me of the animal that I am to them.

wait. At 3:30 before the doctor calls me into room 5. Three feet in front of a desk rests a chair in the small room. When I can’t believe there’s nothing on the walls the doctor starts to talk.

“Oscar. Mr. Kendricks”, says the doctor as he tries to seem less nervous when he is supposed to tell me what will be. I tell him, “it will be what it will be” and he looks at me askew before dropping his head down back to my chart. It’s the worst that I’m thinking when he can’t look me in the eye. This man who can’t look me in the eye has a familiar quality that escapes me as he avoids my stare.

The large man tells me that he wants to ride bare and waits for me to respond. It wouldn’t be the first time but he doesn’t know that. They aren’t all saints when they call for me, but I never tell them that. No one wants to be reminded of their sins. Certainly not by the likes of me.

Three more bills hit the top of the bed to insist things go his way. Instead of shaking my head to disagree I nod. And when he pulls down his pants I think of another man who prefers to watch. He smells much better and closes his mouth after he finishes talking. But there’s no talking or thinking when the man starts getting his way.

When I stop to toss on a pair of slippers the phone rings to tell me there’s another man at the corner of 5th and Choir looking for a partner on his next job. A car will pick us up. I ask them the only thing that matters. “Who am I?” Before hanging up the line I’ve become Oscar De La Marre. With a wife, the countess De La Marre, who requests a meeting in the 11 o’clock hour with myself and a colleague. Rich, married and bored women always want it a little rough. It will be another night that ends much like the previous. Paid.

Negative.” Says Dr. Foster when he tells me that I’m safe this time around. He goes on to tell me about the information found in pamphlets in the waiting room. I assure him of my education and an unmistakable smile with a slight crook crosses his lip. It’s an unmistakable flaw in an otherwise insignificant face. Until this moment I’m certain I place his random face in some other fashion.

The good Dr. Foster didn’t catch my name, my face or my concern when he left me two nights ago. He took what he wanted which was more than he said and left very quickly. One might say that it’s unsavory or unethical to walk into a place and let a person know exactly who you are. And at this moment I, Oscar Kendricks couldn’t disagree more. My sitting in this tiny room is a reminder that his behavior isn’t any higher than my own. It’s the same behavior that finds me sitting opposite to him in this tiny room. The only difference between me and him is that he enjoys it. 

Debase. There are things that people do for money that sometimes they are not proud of. It's a matter of compromise in other cases. Not everything is in fact a sell out. Sometimes people enjoy and benefit from their actions. When you know someone pretty well, sometimes you have to trust that they know their own limits. Can't always judge a situation until you talk to someone about it. Besides could you or would you sell your soul for a little bit of money? If you know the answer to that, then you have the answer you seek out about the people in your life. enjoy. kisses. m.

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