Jackson’s Square
I’ve been a huge drum and bass music fan for some time now. From going to local and regional dance parties, buying and spinning records myself, and watching events online, drum and bass has been an immense part of my life. I frequently read an online drum and bass music forum based out of England. The site reviewed new tracks and allowed users to discuss and communicate. That’s how I met Jackson. His screen name was SkankinJax. He was a fan of some of my favorite djs and producers, and we hit it off swimmingly. I ask questions about his life across the pond. We spoke of the underground dnb scene in his city and surrounding parts. I was extremely jealous when he talked about the massive parties at clubs like Ministry of Sound and Fabric. I’ve only read about and seen these places online, and he was actually living it. Jackson knew more about America than I did England, so I was the one asking more questions.
Jackson told me that he was going to be coming to America for work training in a few weeks. The convention that he was going to attend was about four hours from me. I told him that he should come visit after the convention before he went back home. He agreed and made arrangements to do so.
A few weeks passed and Jackson called me one evening.
“Hello,” I answered.
In a profound English accent, Jackson spoke.
“Hey, mate! Done with that shitshow and headed your way. I need a bloody drink.”
“I got you there, my friend. I’ll text you my address. See you then.”
Jackson arrived approximately three hours later. He came through the door with luggage, visibly agitated.
“Bloody hell. I don’t know why you Americans drive on the wrong side of the road. I almost flattened a bloke when I pulled out into the left lane by mistake leaving the petrol station.”
“Well, we’re going out later, but sit down and take a load off. I’ll get you a drink to take the edge off.”
“Yes, that sounds good, mate. I’m just so bloody knackered from that drive. A drink sounds proper nice right about now.”
I poured us both some good bourbon and put on a few drum and bass records. We sat and chatted about the work convention, drum and bass, American and UK girls, and he bitched more about driving in America.
“I was miffed with all those wankers blowing their hooters at me. How was I to know that you can turn right on red? Anywho, I need to hit the loo then wash me bollocks. I’ll be on the pull tonight for a fit American bird.”
Jackson wasn’t in the bathroom long, when he cracked the door and yelled down the hall.
“Mate! I need a bog roll in here. My arse isn’t self cleaning, and I don’t see a bidet.”
After Jackson adequately wiped his ass and washed his balls, we were finally ready to head out. I decided to take Jackson downtown where the bars and restaurants were. It was a Friday night, so I assumed that area would be jumping. I wanted to show Jackson a good time in my city. It’s by no means as large as London, but it’s also no country-ass B.F.E. neither.
We parked and had a small walk to the dive bar where we were going. As we walked, I observed rainbow flags and colors hung about. I noticed a few women that were taller than average and extremely colorful clothing. That’s when I remembered that it was Pride week. Now I don’t have a problem with gays. You can do whatever makes you happy, as I couldn’t care less. However, I knew Jackson wasn’t as liberal in thinking as I was on the subject.
So far so good, I thought, as we arrived at the front door to Hives. I thought to myself, just let us get inside of Hives and everything will be ok.
I opened the door for Jackson, and as I looked around, I thought, fuck.
Surprisingly, we had a great time the first 30 minutes we were there. That is, until the cigarette incident.
Jackson and myself were sitting at the bar conversing and laughing with the attractive female bartender, a couple of well dressed guys to our left, and a few of those tall girls to our right, when the unthinkable happened.
Jackson pulled out his pack when he noticed that smoking was permitted. He looked at the pack, then at me, then back at the pack, and with great emotion, boisterously said,
“I’m just so bloody sick of these goddamned fags!”
It’s like time stood still. Absolute silence and shocked, staring faces surrounded us in a good ten foot radius. However, Jackson was oblivious, still staring down at the pack. He turned to me, put his hand on my shoulder, and slurred,
“Alright, mate. I’m going to break the seal. I’ll be right back, unless I have to paint the porcelain.”
Then, Jackson dim wittingly sauntered off to the bathroom, leaving me to beg apologies and give explanations on his behalf. After offering perspective and somewhat justification on the situation, most understood and had a good laugh.
I ordered another drink and continued looking over my shoulder for Jackson. I decided that I would tell him about it being Pride week, just so we had no more uncomfortable moments. If he wanted to leave, we could just get a bite on the way back home.
Jackson must’ve had to shit, I thought, as he had been gone for at least 20 minutes. I finished my drink and walked toward the back where the restrooms were. There was a small line, but it seemed to be flowing, with people entering and exiting. I stuck my head inside and didn’t see Jackson. I gave his description to a few people in the line and asked if they’d seen him. No one was of any help. I even stuck my head inside the women’s bathroom just to check. I didn’t see Jackson, but I did see two half naked girls bent over snorting coke off the counter. I apologized for the interruption as I slowly closed the door.
I exited the side door by the bathrooms to look for him on the street, with no luck. I pulled out my phone to call him, when I noticed that he had tried to call and also left a voicemail. The voicemail said,
“Mate. You’re not going to believe this. I was waiting in line for the pisser, when I met this amazing bird, and we had a proper chin wag. Anywho, I told her that I’d like to buy her a drink, but I was totally skint for the night. She said that she had plenty at her place down the road. So we’re headed there now. I’ll probably need a ride in the morning. I’ll call you. Cheers.”
I attempted to call Jackson a few times with no answer. I was a little pissed that he just bailed on me like that for a girl. Selfish bastard, I thought, as I walked toward my truck to leave.
I stopped at an all night drive thru and bought a burger meal from an apparent witch in a hairnet. Once home, I turned on the T.V. and spread my food out in front of me. As I devoured the burger, mayo and grease ran down my chin, and a skinny, bald man on the tube was trying to sell me spray paint that fixes holes in boats.
I woke up on the couch with the phone ringing. I looked at the clock and it was 5:30 in the morning. I answered, and it was Jackson.
In a chipper, but half slurred tone, he said loudly, “Mateeeeeeey! How are you, friend? I didn’t wake you did I? Could I kindly ask for a ride my good man?”
In a condescendingly, mocking tone, I replied, “Oh, noooooo, mate. I’ve been up all bloody night waiting on your fucking call.”
“Brilliant, mate. You’re the best. I’m at 474 Carryhawk Lane. I’ll be out front.”
I arrived around 6, and saw Jackson, swaying on the sidewalk, with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. I pulled up with a scowl on mine. He got in the passenger side and we drove off.
“Mate. Let me start by saying. I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t have left you at the pub last night. For that, I’m sorry. And I should have answered my phone. But you know I was looking for a shag or jobby.”
I stared off into the darkness as I drove. I realized that I wasn’t really pissed. I had no right to make this person behave in a way to suit my own happiness.
I turned and faced Jackson, and with a wide smile, inquired, “You know that woman you were with?”
“Yeah, mate. A real sexual deviant. A lady in the street, but a true freak in the sheets. She gave me an amazing jobby and even played with my bum. After that, without hesitation, she put me right in her ass. I’ve never…”
I cut Jackson off, “You know that person was trans, right?
“I didn’t know when I met her, no. Didn’t know while we were drinking at her place. Definitely didn’t know when she was ravenously sucking me. Thought I may have felt something in reverse cowgirl—slapping and whatnot. I put that out of my head and soldiered on. But then, she stood up and I put it in my mouth.”
I wasn’t expecting to hear this and was in utter shock.
“You put it in your mouth?”
“Yeah, then she buggered me.”
“She fucked you?”
“Yeah, I was initially hesitant. Until I did all those drugs. After that, it was easy peasy. She even called some friends over to have a go with me too. All in all, a good night. Hey, mate. Can you stop here? I need a…a…um…cigarette.”
Horror Sleaze Trash 