The Cactus

Dirty Joe was in love with a cactus. He knew he loved the cactus from the moment he saw her in the barren Arizona desert. The cactus was the only living thing in sight, and Dirty Joe was all alone with her, the sand, and the brutal afternoon sun. 

Dirty Joe slammed the breaks of his Jeep and fished around in its backseat. He withdrew some plastic flowers that wouldn’t wilt in the cruel desert and his beat-up old Martin guitar. He sheepishly approached the cactus and laid the plastic flowers at the base of her stem. He got his old Martin in tune and strummed it as he sang the cactus a pair of Hank Williams songs. Sensing that his opening move was complete, Dirty Joe tipped the brim of his Stetson to the cactus and returned to his Jeep. 

He waited two days, as is appropriate after a first date, then drove his Jeep back to the cactus. He brought a six-pack of Coronas and a pair of beef burritos for himself, and a bucket of rainwater and some fertilizer for her. And of course, his old Martin guitar. After they finished eating and drinking and conversing, Dirty Joe picked up the Martin and sang the cactus another Hank Williams tune. 

The cactus was a shy and quiet girl, but Dirty Joe was pretty sure he was getting the signal from her. Dirty Joe asked if he could kiss her, and the cactus nodded gently in the desert breeze. He leaned in and planted his lips on her spiky green hide. Dirty Joe eventually broke off the kiss and grinned as he plucked the needles out of his face and wiped away the blood. Considering the second date a success, Dirty Joe returned to his Jeep and drove off through the Arizona desert.

Dirty Joe continued to date the cactus. He’d drive to her lonesome spot in the desert and bring food and drinks and his Martin. At the end of each date, Dirty Joe would lean in for another prickly kiss and would withdraw cut and bleeding and overjoyed. The cactus was a traditionally minded girl who wouldn’t surrender her virtue until she felt their relationship had developed to a certain point, and Dirty Joe respected that. He was satisfied with their bloody kisses for the time being.

On the night that the cactus finally let Dirty Joe inside of her, he found that the wait made the experience all the more special. He spent the night thrusting into the cactus, his Wrangler jeans and flannel shirt and briefs and cowboy boots and Martin guitar in a pile beside them on the sand. The frigid desert air goose-pimpled his bare flesh and the cactus’s needles dug deep into the entire front of his body, but Dirty Joe didn’t mind. He was in love. 

Dirty Joe awoke the next morning naked on the desert sand. He had one arm wrapped around the base of the cactus and he was covered in needles. A pool of his own blood had formed beneath him and he was pallid as a vampire’s victim, but none of this bothered him. He stood up, wiped the sand off his ass, pulled the needles out of his body, and squirmed back into his clothes. He leaned in and kissed his lover goodbye, causing a fresh injury as a needle pierced his upper lip. 

Dirty Joe drove off in his Jeep and whistled along with every song on the classic country station. He went about his day unable to think about anything other than the love he and the cactus shared. Nothing else mattered. There was only him and the cactus.

Unable to play it cool any longer, Dirty Joe drove back out into the desert the following day. He slammed on his breaks as he reached the cactus’s spot, and stared ahead of him in disbelief. He crawled out of his Jeep and rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. The cactus was gone. 

There was a little indent in the sand where the cactus’s roots had been. A trail of soft footprints lead away from that indent, but Dirty Joe was no tracker. And even if he was, it was beside the point. The cactus didn’t want Dirty Joe to follow her. If she wanted to be with him, the cactus would have stayed rooted where she was. Dirty Joe fell to his denim-clad knees and wept. Once he had cried all the tears he could spare, Dirty Joe got up and went back to his Jeep. 

He pulled his Martin out of the backseat and tuned it. Leaning against the side of his Jeep, Dirty Joe sang his favorite Hank Williams song, “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”. 

The sounds of Dirty Joe’s singing echoed through the Arizona desert but fell short of reaching a beach on the coast of Australia, where a woman was at the end of a third date with box jellyfish. It didn’t matter how much the jellyfish stung as she took him inside of her or the damage his venom did to her body. She was in love.

Claudia: The First Time

There are many positive events that occur during most everyone’s lifetime that will always be considered as cherished memories. Examples such as our first day of school, your first crush, first kiss. Possibly a sports or scholastic award, marriage, birth of your children,  and adding to the list other events throughout your life. One of the advantages of keeping these memories active, is they can edit out the unpleasant happenings. That’s the manner in which I used them and it worked perfectly. There is an event I experienced that most men I  have shared this story with, comment on how it was a fantasy of theirs when they were teenagers. Let me fill you in on the details.

I earned my pocket money when I was a young lad  by cutting lawns during the summer, raking leaves in the fall and shoveling snow in the winter. I had amassed a large list of clients that kept me flush year round. 

There was a divorced woman without any children that lived on our block I worked for often. I mowed her lawn, shoveled the snow off of her sidewalk as well as other tasks. This woman was extremely attractive. She was more beautiful than any Playboy Bunny I’d seen in the magazines. I fantasized about her when I masturbated. Whenever she called me about cutting her lawn it was hard not to show my excitement.  Usually when I was done mowing she helped by raking the grass clippings and putting them in a plastic bag. Her blouse was always unbuttoned real low so when she bent over I could see her tits. She never wore a bra and knew I was checking her out but didn’t care. I started to think she was doing it on purpose. One afternoon she noticed I had an erection. It was pretty obvious for her to see poking out at the front of my shorts.

“Oh my what’s that in your shorts?” she giggled.

“I’m so sorry it just happens sometimes.”

“It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed Santiago. Were you thinking about me?” she cooed. “What, you’re about fifteen sixteen now?”

“I’m fifteen. Remember my birthday is two days before yours. You turned twenty nine last month, you said.” 

“My Lord, such a memory. Don’t be spreading around how old I am. It’s a privilege awarded to a woman not to disclose their age”

“Don’t worry, the rules at my house are; Don’t ask, don’t tell, you don’t know nuttin’ and didn’t see nuttin’ eeder,” I said, imitating my Old Man. “Some Italian code bullshit.”

“That’s good to know you’re able to keep a secret. Hey, why don’t we go inside for some lemonade and take a break. What do you say?”

“Okay Mrs. McBride sounds great. I’m terribly thirsty.”

“And I’m not Mrs. McBride any more. I’m divorced. Call me Claudia.” 

The inside of her house gave me a comfortable feeling. Antique furniture decorated and adorned the living room with lace curtains in the windows and a large Oriental rug covering most of the wood floor. She told me to sit down at the kitchen table. Then poured a big glass of lemonade and bent over right in front of me when she set down the drink. I got a perfect look at her tits while she stood like that for a minute or so giving me an unobstructed view.

“What are you staring at? Oh so I see. Do you like my tits Santiago?”  

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really okay honey.  Do you want a better look? Would you like that?”

I was dumbfounded. All I could do was shake my head yes.

“Okay honey here ya go.”

Then she unfastened the last two buttons on her blouse and took it off. My cock grew larger and harder, throbbing as it poked at my shorts. I didn’t try to hide it from her. I figured she liked knowing I got a hard-on from seeing her tits. They were so perfectly round, with pink areolas and nipples. I’d never seen tits more sexy in my life. I wanted to squeeze them and suck on her hard nipples.

“I want you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this. Not a soul. Do I have your promise?”

Again I shook my head yes.

“Good, now give me your hand, I want you to feel my tit. You want to touch it, don’t you?”

“Yes. Oh for sure “

She took my hand placing it on her left breast and started to move it around rubbing her entire tit. She smiled and put my thumb and finger lightly on her nipple, and asked me to pinch it softly, and sighed. 

“Now get ready,” she whispered. Then she unzipped her jean skirt letting it fall to the floor. The panties she had on were red, with small white poke-a-dots. They were so tight I could see the outline of her pussy.

“Have you had sex before Santiago?  I mean have you fucked a girl? Put your cock in her pussy?”

“No Claudia, I finger fucked Cathy Duffy across the street and my older cousin Angela gave me a hand job and blow job but haven’t fucked anyone.”

“I’ve seen you late at night with the Duffy girl. I could tell there was something going on. Let’s make sure you won’t be fooling around with her anymore.” 

She moved closer to the table reaching for my other hand but knocked over the glass of lemonade. It spilled onto my lap and shirt. I quickly sprang to my feet pushing over the chair.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Let me get a towel to wipe you off,” she said trying to be apologetic while giggling with her hand over her mouth. I watched her ass as she glided into the kitchen pantry. Her panties didn’t cover her cheeks. It was so sexy, causing me to become even more sexually aroused. I put my hand in my shorts and moved my stiff dick so it was upright which was much more comfortable. Touching it made me so excited I wanted to start masturbating right then. When she turned to walk back she saw my hand inside my shorts. 

“Don’t you dare! I was hoping to be the one who makes you cum. Let me give you an orgasm.  Is that okay with you baby? Do you want to have sex with me?” 

“What? Yes yes yes. I want you. I was just getting my cock situated.”

“Okay good. Come over here let me wipe the lemonade off of you.”

She began wiping my stomach with a small towel. Then she moved down to my shorts and started rubbing my groin with long firm motions.

“You know what I think honey? Let’s get you out of these wet shorts and give you a nice warm bath. What do you say?”

“Uh huh.” I was unable to speak. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

I followed her into the bathroom and she turned on the water to the bathtub and it filled quickly.

“Come over to me baby, let me get you out of those sticky shorts.”

I walked closer and she unbuttoned then unzipped my shorts sliding them down to my ankles.

“Santiago, don’t you wear any underwear?” 

“Not during the summer because my ass sweats and gets all itchy.”

“Honey your cock is bigger than I imagined it would be and you’re circumcised,” she said while stroking it slowly. “Baby it’s so gorgeous! I want you to fuck me all afternoon. Get in the bathtub let me wash you.” 

Carefully she guided me into the tub. I relaxed in the warm water as she started washing my shoulders, then my back, moving down putting her hands in the crack of my ass. I was sure I’d have an orgasm when she washed my crotch and cock. The washcloth was lathered up and with long loving strokes she massaged my chest.  Her hands moved down to my stomach then over my legs then back up again coming close to my hard-on without touching it.

She smiled knowing exactly what she was doing to me. I couldn’t take the teasing any longer.

“Claudia, you’re driving me out of my mind. I want to put my fingers in your pussy now. Stand up, let me take your panties off.”

“Oh Santi, I like it when you tell me what to do. Okay I’m all yours.”

I pulled down her panties and she wiggled a couple times in a sexy way. She was lightly biting on a finger while smiling, acting  as though she was an innocent embarrassed schoolgirl. Her pussy was beautiful, shaved so it showed everything. There standing in front of me was an absolutely gorgeous, completely naked woman. I slowly moved my hand toward her pussy and she squatted a little and spread her legs giving me easy access. My finger slid inside smoothly, she was so wet. I pulled it out but  I inserted two fingers and stuck them deep in her vagina and she squealed asking me to move my fingers faster. I obeyed her command and she grabbed my shoulders pulling me closer.  Her pussy lips were spread wide open exposing her pink clitoris.

“Please Santiago touch my clit. Please move it around fast. My God I’m so fucking horny!” she screamed. 

I stood up and got out of the bathtub dripping wet. I didn’t care about drying off. I led her to a chair at the vanity gently sitting her down. Then I spread her legs and she opened them even wider, scooting her ass to the edge of the seat. I got down on my knees in between wide open legs and she grabbed my head and pulled it close to her pussy.

“Lick me Santiago, please suck my clitoris. This right here,” she cooed, showing it to me. Then she began masturbating, moving it side to side rapidly with her fingers.

Give it to me. Open your pussy for me. Now! I want it in my mouth.”

She surrendered to my command. My tongue softly touched her clit caressing it with my lips as well. As I licked her, I put  two fingers inside her vagina moving them in and out quickly. She was so wet and excited, groaning, moaning begging me not to stop. 

“Santiago, I’m going to cum. When I cum I squirt and it shoots out. I’m not pissing. Please, I want you to watch.”

I moved my fingers in and out, with my other hand while my fingers rubbed her clitoris quickly but lightly.

“Santiago, oh fuck, Santiago I’m going to cum. I’m going…”

She moaned, grabbing at my head pushing it into her pussy. I once again began licking her clitoris. Then she screamed in pleasure followed by a stream of liquid that squirted from her pussy. She pushed my head aside and began using her hand to play with her clitoris, moving it rapidly, masturbating and squirting in my face. This really turned me on. I wasn’t at all grossed out by her orgasm. I don’t know why but I opened my mouth drinking her up. I never knew about a woman squirting when cumming. I was getting a first hand Education.

“Baby are you okay with my squirting?”

“Claudia, it really turned me on to see you cum like that.”

“I’m happy you like it. I can do it as much as you’d like.”

“Fine with me.”

“Do you want to fuck me or do you want me to suck your dick? Tell me baby.”

“Fuck me please. I know I’m going to cum right away. Please, I want to fuck you,” I pleaded.

She stood up, sitting me down in the chair. Standing in front of me she started masturbating again. Then she turned her back to me and sat down on my lap sliding my cock into her pussy. It was so warm, wet and soft. She moved up and down on my cock bending forward so I was able to view everything. 

“This is called the reverse cowgirl. Can you see your cock fucking my pussy. Fuck me baby. Fuck me hard. Cum! I want you to cum now.”

I had no problem obeying her demand. My orgasm was seismic, I screaming that I was cumming. It seemed to last for a couple of minutes with a lot of cum. Unlike other orgasms I experienced this was so much more satisfying cumming in her pussy.

“Did you cum baby? Was your orgasm good?”

“It was fantastic Claudia. Incredible.”

“Now you’re no longer a virgin. You will always remember Claudia as your first fuck. The one who took your virginity.”

She kissed me with her lips softly on mine, her tongue sliding in and out of my mouth. Then she used her tongue circling around mine. Her hand was stroking my cock then suddenly she went down on me and started sucking it. She moved it in and out of her mouth, with her hand stroking  my shaft. She stopped sucking me and licked it as though it was a popsicle. I couldn’t believe it but I had an erection and was  ready to fuck her again.

“Baby you’re hard again and so fast. I have known men who couldn’t get hard and fuck again after a couple of hours. You are going to be my special lover. Do you want to fuck me again? “

“Without a doubt.”

We fucked for what seemed like the entire afternoon. Then after that we took a shower together and I got dressed. 

“Goodbye Santiago, remember don’t tell a soul about today, okay?”

I promised to keep it a secret then we kissed goodbye.

While walking  home I couldn’t stop thinking of what had just happened. I had a smile on my face from cheek to cheek and 

 I was positive it would stay like that forever.  

Herrens Ackord

Ten years ago, when we finally ran the skinheads off the hardcore shows, they got their Swastika panties in a wad and burned Vinnie’s Tavern down. Well, someone did, and they took the credit. With Vinnie’s gone, there died Chattanooga’s last paying punk-friendly venue. Also the only job I ever enjoyed. Even though I was a shit bartender, Big Shank, the owner, let me book shows and run sound. 

To compensate for the loss of our show space, the Chattanooga DIY scene united and shoveled a basement out underneath Big Shank’s house. To avoid noise complaints, we decided we’d use a literal hole in the ground. We christened it “Antarctica.” The goddamn house might collapse at any moment, but we keep it aloft with heavy metal. 

***

Like every show at Antarctica, tonight begins with a short set from Seven Trumpets, Mike Pack’s one-man band. We all climb into the basement, switch on the electric lanterns, and watch Mike drop trou. He jams his trumpet to his butthole and blasts ass. That’s Seven Trumpets. Every time. We cheer and jeer him out of the basement as he climbs topside. It’s like our “Pledge of Allegiance.” 

tonight, we’ve got a black metal band from Stockholm headlining, Herrens Ackord. We’ve hosted one hell of a summer international. Last week, a band from Rome, La Quiete, came through, and we bought them a bunch of Papa John’s pizza, built it up like it was the best Italian place in town. They pretended to like it. Those kids were absolute sweethearts. I loved those guys. I bought their shirt. Because that’s what you do when you love someone.  

The opening bands drag on, play past midnight, and then, at almost one, it’s finally time for Herrens Ackord. They’ve stayed up by their van all night like big shots–not mingling, I mean. When they unload their shit, unsurprisingly it’s fancy gear: big Marshall Stack amps, which are real bastards to lower down into Antarctica. 

Big Shank and I help. I’m Big Shank’s lieutenant. They call me “Slick.” That’s because of the scars from where I ran back into the fire to rescue the Vinnie’s Tavern P.A. So, I remain the sound guy. We talk to the leader of Herrens Ackord–I’m guessing he’s the singer– who introduces himself as Vlad (no shit) and says, “Get? Get?” We don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but Big Shank, who’s eight feet tall and looks like dude from The Goonies–the big, goonie-looking one–gets Vadim, this Ukranian kid who speaks Russian and German and some other shit, to come over and expedite the whole conversation. 

Turns out that it’s “goat” Vlad’s saying. He wants a goat. 

“This place is a goddamn goat graveyard,” Big Shank says. And that’s the truth. There was a big wave of black metal in the early aughts, and we had to put the foot down on sacrifices for fear of getting shut down. The neighbor’s caught on and threatened to call the cops. I’m vegan now, so I look back in chagrin. 

Vadim communicates to the Swedes that the space is silly with goat bones, which seems to make Vlad happy. 

With all Herrens Ackord’s shit crammed down in the basement, we can only fit about twenty punks, and it’s hotter than fishing Baylor Lake on a cloudless August afternoon. Folks are going to pass out. 

When they start playing, that’s when I notice Vlad’s hands. He plays one of those dumbass double-neck guitars, so it’s impossible not to. It’s a silver Gibson SG with a golden pickguard. Vlad’s got, like, thirteen fingers between his two hands. I’m not speaking figuratively here. Although, one thing about this band is they’ve got dynamics. I’ve got a thing about black metal–not my particular goblet of mead or blood or whatever. But, Herrens Ackord have a flair for the dramatic, they’re not just a monotonous screech screech over ruhga ruhga. 

It’s the fifth song when it happens. The band’s slowed down, they’re letting a chord ring out for at least thirty seconds, and this purplish portal opens above them in the air. From within the thing, looking down on us is this… I’d guess you’d have to call it an eye, and it seems pissed, like someone you suddenly woke up. Watch a YouTube video of a fourth dimensional object sometime: then you might have an idea of what I’m looking at. Only, this thing’s in the fifth or sixth dimension–there’s planes on planes within planes within planes, layers within layers like a transparent Russian nesting doll, alive and fluxing. It makes me queasy. Its pupil–or the golden point at what I’d call the center–gazes around until it hones in on me. Just for a second, it sees me, and–whoosh–I’m rushing back into that fire, but this time I’ve had the sense to cover up with a wet blanket, and the flames aren’t–whoosh–I’m back in the basement and I look down and, God-almighty, the scars on my arms are gone! I clutch my scalp and the hair’s grown back, too. Most of it, anyway. I watch a long, sinewy arm, scaled gold, silver, and encrusted in emeralds and rubies, snaking out of the portal. It grabs hold of the second neck of Vlad’s guitar in its long fingered hand. The two of them, Vlad and the Portal Thing, shred together. The strings on the guitar turn red hot, the necks begin smoking and–whoosh–I feel my arms stretched out taut over my head and my feet yanked downward. My back is against a wood board and I’m being stretched apart. It’s hot, so hot–whoosh–I’m back in the basement. People are climbing out of Antarctica. Some are screaming. Others stand agape. Vlad’s eyes–which turns out are glass–shatter and spray the people in front with glitter–whoosh–I’m you when you noticed “tonight” wasn’t capitalized at the start of the fourth paragraph way up there–whoosh–back in the basement, the song ends, and the arm whips into the portal. The portal snaps shut. The band raise their guitars and nod to hoots and applause from the remaining crowd. Except for Big Shank, who leans down to my ear and whispers, “Fucking gimmick.”

Herrens Achord gets pissed when we present them their twenty dollars, the cover money left after splitting it all up with the other bands. Then, suddenly, they speak perfect English and insist they told us they had a $500 guarantee. Big Shank says they can stick that straight up their magic portal. They drive off to sleep in a Marriott or some shit. You have to deal with such assholes in the DIY scene. We’re left watching the van drive away and I try to tell Big Shank about the–whoosh–I’m God, and he’s sitting in a cool, dark room typing excitedly at a computer. He’s just learned that someone wants to buy this whole crazy story off Him and he needs to tell a bunch of other people that they can’t have it–whoosh–Now I’m standing in Big Shank’s driveway, wondering who’s sober enough to drive me home and what I’m going to do with all these fucking meatballs and lingonberries I bought to surprise Herrens Fucking Ackord. I spent forty dollars at Whole Foods. Son of a bitch.