Soundtrack
You are encouraged to listen to songs embedded as YouTube videos or to your own digital music library [NB: Authorized videos are usually accompanied by ads… no free lunch if creators are to be rewarded for their efforts. These ads or “next up”videos from our own times can sometimes serve as an ironic companion to the embedded videos from the 60s.]
For Jake DiAngelis, it was a bittersweet kiss, one that seemed to promise a great deal, but which he sensed would deliver far less. Why he felt this he couldn't exactly say. After all, he was kissing Joanie, whom he always referred to as "the love of his life." Yet, there was something amiss, something he couldn't quite pin down, but which he knew, clearly, was wrong.
Soundtrack: Mr. Tambourine Man----Bob Dylan
It was New Years' Eve, 1968, a party at the house of his faculty advisor, Bill Samuels. Everyone was there from the hip crowd at the U, plus a pack of sweet young Samuels-groupies. Besides ushering in the last year of this grotesquely violent decade, they were celebrating Jake's graduation… at last. Around him were many of the people he'd known over the six and a half years since he'd first arrived at the U on a football scholarship, “fresh off the farm,” like his coaches used to say. They’d all come to toast his graduation and to send him off, not to the pros — no, he’d abandoned football long ago — but into the art world, where his friends and admirers all expected him to make a big splash. Yeah, he’d traded in his rep as a farm-bred linebacker for one as an idiot-savant artist, but he wasn’t really sure he liked his new persona any better than his old one.
When he’d first arrived at the party with his roommate and best buddy, Stephen Price, Jake had been in a good mood. Before coming over, they’d knocked down a coupla' shots of whiskey while watching bowl games with some of Jake’s townie friends at the Dew-Drop-Inn, a working man’s bar where Jake liked to hang out, about as far from the ivory towers he’d come to despise as you could get and still be within the “city limits” of U-Town.
Entering the main room of the party, all Jake could make out at first was a blur of youthful bodies, dancing drunkenly.
Jake scanned the periphery of the room and was relieved to spot some of his favorite people at the U: Pat Richardson, the Law School Queen; Luis Gonzales, el Jefé of the Latino students; Donna Bouleware, the southern belle with a black soul; and, of course, Joanie, his old-time-used-to-be. If he was going to have a send-off, these were the people he’d want sending him off. But, where to? Jake wasn’t any clearer about that than he’d been all those times he’d dropped out of school over the past six plus years.
Ordinarily Jake didn’t much care for parties, especially not big ones. And, he’d made it a special point to avoid Bill’s parties; he was nauseated by the sycophants and groupies who populated them. Sure enough, on the other side of the room, he spotted Bill, talking with a gaggle of young chicks Jake didn’t know, probably freshmen. Bill and his dollies! Jake couldn’t understand why or how Bill continued year after year, attracting and seducing undergrad co-eds. Everyone knew about it, yet he’d been re-appointed and now seemed a sure thing to get tenure. You’d have thought that between his womanizing, really “girlizing”, and his radical politics he would have been long gone. Not for the first time, Jake wondered about the secret of Bill’s survival at the U. Shit! What did it matter? Jake was outtahere after tonight and he had no desire to meet any of Bill’s chickies on his last night in U-Ville.
Too late. Bill was signaling for him to come over. “Jake! Jake! Here he is, girls, the man of honor. Jake, come here. I want you to meet some lovely young ladies!”
Bill sounded and looked drunk — or maybe stoned — as he continued to beckon to Jake from across the room. Shit! Jake thought. He just wasn’t up for this, not for meeting Bill’s groupies and not for the Polonius-like send-off he knew Bill would impose on him.
His thoughts were interrupted by Stephen, who had been following close behind him. “Hey man, I’m gonna’ find me some eats. See you after you check out the chicks?”
“Uh. Sure man. Catch you later,” Jake replied absentmindedly. His thoughts were elsewhere… or rather, nowhere. He found himself drifting purposelessly over toward Bill and the waiting girls. No way to avoid them really. May as well get it over with.
As Jake approached Bill andhis groupies, Bill reached out and squeezed his shoulders, familiarly. "Man, it's great to see you here! This is Wendy, Carole, DeeDee, and Christine. Girls, this is THE Jake DiAngelis, one of the biggest BMOCs this campus has ever known… that is, who wasn't a letter-man, " he added quickly, smiling at his own none-too-subtle reference to Jake’s aborted football career at the U.
Soundtrack: Time Has Come Today---The Chambers Brothers
Bill's comic bit prompted a smattering of unctuous laughter from the cluster of girls surrounding him, followed by a chorus of breathy greetings for Jake, which seemed to blend into one continuous pick-up line: "Hi, Jake! Hi! Wow, Jake DiAngelis...in the flesh! You only wish!"
Jake stifled a grimace at Bill's lame joke and the girls’ even lamer come-ons. Still, he did casually check out the chicks. They were honeys, he had to admit it; that is if you liked the type — each one younger, blonder, and self-consciously sexier than the previous one. Not really his taste...except maybe the one Bill had introduced as Christine, a tall, dirty-blonde with lightly bronzed skin, a well-proportioned body, and a face that was model-beautiful, yet somehow intelligent. And, sure enough, there was Bill, beaming at her, obviously with plans to explore that face and body more carefully later this evening.
Now Bill, a pretentious wine-filled ceramic goblet in hand, raised his arm in a toast. "Say, everybody," he intoned, but was totally drowned out by the stereo blasting out one of the U-crowd’s favorite psychedelic dance tunes.
“Listen up everybody!” Bill shouted, trying to be heard over the din. “Folks! Folks! Can I have your attention?”
No go. Most of the dancing students were too busy calling out the song's refrain at all the right moments.
Time!
Obviously exasperated, Bill shifted to a half-serious, half self-deprecatory professorial tone. “Boys and girls, please quiet down and can someone please turn down the music?” He paused and the noise subsided somewhat, although some of the “higher” partiers were still shouting out to the refrain of the now-slightly-quieter music.
Time!
Getting students’ attention in the classroom was clearly easier for Bill than getting their attention when they were stoned at a party. He tried one more time, this time reasoning with them. ”Hey, don’t worry, the dancing will continue in a moment; but first I just want to say a few words about our guest of honor.”
Once again Bill raised his goblet and called for attention. “Folks! Listen up now! I want to propose a toast to Jake!"
Jake held his breath, dreading the BS to come.
Bill began, "To Jake DiAngelis, the most talented artist we've ever had at the U!"
Bill paused meaningfully before continuing, his pause punctuated by a shout from Jake's buddy, Stephen. "To Jake! Keep on keepin' on, man!"
Now that was a toast Jake could dig. Paper cups, glasses, and beer bottles were raised and "clinked" together throughout the room, amid a cacophony of hoots, hollers, and other incomprehensible expressions of celebration from dozens of voices.
But Bill was just warming up. "Wait, everyone! There's more! I hope most of you got to see Jake's show at the Gallery last week. It was outtasight. Powerful. Terrifying. Real. I mean really real."
Now, Bill turned to Jake, giving him one of his big meaningful stares, "Jake, your vision of the world today is almost more than a person can bear.”
Jake had listened to this particular rap from Bill too many times to even hear the words. "Just get it over with, man," he thought. "Just finish up fast. I can't stand here too long listening to this bullshit."
As Bill continued his eulogy to Jake's vision and talent, Jake spaced out completely. Instead of listening to Bill, Jake stared at the floor and tuned into the music still playing in the background.
But, the psychedelic sound effects of the music and the fantastical scenes they conjured unsettled him, so he looked back up, and, as he did so, he made eye contact with one of the young beauties standing by him. “Shit!” he thought. “Every one of these chicks is just raring to jump into the sack with me; all they need is for me to give them some signal.” He dropped his eyes again quickly to avoid inadvertently doing so.
Jake was startled out of his reverie by Bill, who was now standing directly before him, one hand holding each of his shoulders, paternally. Bill was beginning the segué into his predictably avuncular send off.
"Jake, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life. I know you're going to make the most of it, but I hope you'll take a bit of advice from a veteran of the wars with the world." Bill chuckled at his little joke. Jake swallowed hard to keep from laughing, not at the pathetic joke, but at Bill and his clichés.
"Jake, I've watched you over the past six years. I've watched you stumble... but, hey, everyone stumbles, even you. I've watched you grow... mentally and…uh, physically." Bill turned his head slightly toward a couple of the chicks standing next to him, dropped his voice several decibels, and added, for their hearing only, "Quite a specimen, isn't he, girls?"
The girls so addressed nodded their lovely heads vigorously in assent. One of them —was it DeeDee or Wendy?— punctuated her nod by licking her lips suggestively. Oh God, Jake thought, taking in her too-cute platinum blonde hair, extraordinarily short skirt, and the skin-tight tie-dyed T-shirt she wore to accentuate her birth control pill-enlarged breasts and their stiffening nipples. Was this some kind of set up? Had Bill decided that this chick was going to add Jake to the notch in her “unchastity” belt? Or was DeeDee or Wendy or whatever-the-fuck her name was just improvising on her own? Whichever, Jake just wasn't interested. A couple of these chicks looked to be under eighteen, maybe even high school townies. He found the whole thing nauseating.
But, Bill was continuing, "As I was saying, I've seen you grow and I've seen your talent blossom, not without tremendous effort on your part, to be sure. And it's just that I want to talk to you about. Jake, you need to lighten up. You take everything too seriously: the world, life, yourself. Too seriously. Man, you gotta’ learn that you just can't push the river. You gotta’ let it come to you. Jake, man, you got a long life ahead of you. All things will come... in their time. Let them come, man. You don't need to be reaching out and seizing them all the time. That's it, man. That's my advice to you for the next part of your life. And, like man, why not start tonight. Relax. You look like you're fixing to rush off somewhere right now. Why not just rest here awhile? Talk to people... your old friends and maybe make some new ones."
Bill grinned lasciviously, nodding in the general direction of his lovely acolytes. "Whadya’ say, Jake?"
Jake didn't know what to say. He wanted to say, "Just cut the crap, you pompous fool. And while you're at it, why don't you get some control over your raging libido and send these girls back to the freshman dorm where they belong?" But, he didn't say that. He didn't say anything. He was too bummed out, not just by Bill's clichés, but also by the words of praise he now heard reverberating throughout the room.
Although Jake sometimes enjoyed the accolades of his friends, their lofty expectations left him profoundly unsure of himself, unsure even that he wanted "to be" an artist. What others admired as his art, he knew to be fraudulent. His paintings were not really his creations, but rather surrealistic images projected onto his canvasses by some external power, which he then filled in like a child with a coloring book.
Soundtrack: The Boxer----Simon & Garfunkel
Indeed, Jake had painted such pictures ever since he was a child. They were, and always had been, merely automatic recordings of the way he, quite literally, saw the world displayed before him. Of course, in his childhood, his parents and their friends had been delighted with his portraits of the world as a paradisiacal land. They were far less pleased with the graphically erotic artwork of his adolescence. And the paintings he’d begun to produce his senior year in high school— huge, deeply disturbing apocalyptic depictions of the world in agony— well, they shocked everyone, even his liberal-minded art teachers.
During his first semester at college, even Jake (now the star linebacker on the freshman team) had become revolted, or perhaps embarrassed, by his own paintings. For a while, he tried turning away from art. In its place, he sought more concrete ways to connect with the world, ways that he hoped would blot out his special sight.
That first fall, he poured all his time and energy into freshman football, much to the delight of the coaches and fans at the U, who anticipated his elevation to the varsity when he became eligible in his sophomore year. He excelled on defense, just as he had in high school. However, only he knew that, as with his art, his successful play on the field was due as much to his special sight as it was to actual athletic prowess. His eyes would lock in on the ball unerringly, seeing it as a fiery red object to which he was magnetically drawn at great speeds. He could tell by the intensity of the red whether the opposing quarterback was going to run, hand off, or throw the ball and his body reacted accordingly, either closing in for a crushing tackle, close to the line of scrimmage, or dropping back for one of his patented record-setting interceptions for which he was beginning to be known and feared by opposing offenses across the athletic conference.
Deeply disturbed by his inability to escape his special sight on and off the field, Jake had taken a psychological leave of absence after his first semester and worked at a warehouse in the City, that haphazard conglomeration of factories, working-class tenements, and decrepit downtown stores about a half hour from U-Town by the Interstate. For almost nine months, he staved off his special sight by stacking boxes during the day, taking junior college courses at night, and drinking himself into a stupor every weekend.
However, the following fall, upon returning to the U and to football, his special sight, too, returned. At least on the playing field and with the chicks, it had its advantages. His JuCo courses had made him, technically, a sophomore, so he was eligible to play on the varsity, where, of course, he became an instant, if reluctant, star. And, as a result, almost every night a different sorority babe found her way into his bed for a seemingly endless fuck. Although Jake experienced the sex in these highly athletic bouts of screwing to be supremely unsatisfying, the almost nightly visits did have the benefit of warding off the disturbing visions of the world that otherwise assailed him. When left alone, Jake was afraid to keep his eyes open, lest a scene of unspeakable horror appear on a wall or ceiling, demanding to be immortalized in paint.
By mid-semester, Jake felt that his increasingly disturbing and insistent visions were going to drive him, quite literally, insane. That was when his roommate and good friend, Stephen, came to the rescue, suggesting that he take up boxing, of all things. To Jake’s surprise and delight, boxing turned out to be an activity in which the carefully measured violence and extremely close physical contact of another muscular, sweating body almost completely obliterated the frightening images that had been assaulting him mercilessly over the past months.
And, of course, Jake had proven to be a natural, moving quickly up the regional amateur ranks, so that by summertime, he’d decided to quit college altogether to pursue boxing professionally. Fighting with the sobriquet of “Joe College”, his career had lasted almost a year and a half until he suffered a particularly brutal beating at the hands of a sadistic former contender with a serious working-class chip on his shoulder. That fight left Jake with a serious concussion and sent him skulking back to the U… where he’d met Joanie. That was when she’d introduced him to an even better distraction from his visions: sex... but sex that was far different from the sterile acrobatic sex of the sorority sisters, sex that was passionate, deep, and, to this former altar boy, frankly, perverse.
Now, as the new year approached, here Jake was at Bill Samuel's party with Joanie holding his fucking hand. She was always doing shit like that. It was embarrassing. If he wanted to hold her hand, he would for Chrissakes! Couldn't she give him some room? That lack of freedom, that sense of being smothered by Joanie was one of the major factors that last year had led Jake to his latest (and final) college drop-out period, just a semester shy of graduation. Once again, he had stayed away an entire year. This time, however, he spent it working as a paste-up artist in an advertising agency in a city, far from U-Town... and from Joanie. There he met an unbelievable number of horny chicks, many of whom he fucked and none of whose names he could even remember any more.
In thinking about that year of his life or recounting his sexual adventures during it to his good buddy Stephen, he always referred to it as the time of the Hundred Years’ War — not because it lasted a hundred years, obviously, but because he balled over a hundred different women in that one year, so obsessively that it seemed like he was attempting to conquer as many women as he could in as short a period of time as possible. He'd had all kinds: black ones, white ones, big ones, small ones, flat-chested ones, built ones, sweet ones, nasty ones. He'd slept with a woman who loved to take it in the ass and quite a few who preferred it in the mouth. He'd had one-night stands — lots of 'em — and a couple of chicks he'd balled off and on throughout that entire year. Once, he screwed three different women within 24 hours. And then there was the time he and this layout artist from the office fucked for 10 hours straight, just taking short breaks to piss and re-load on drugs. Another time, he and this older, married account exec had picked up a hooker and the three of them had done it. He'd really dug watching the two women making it.
But by the end of the year, he felt even worse about sex than he had when he split from the U. It had become, for him, an empty activity, lacking all meaning and even devoid of physical pleasure. So, upon his return to the U, he'd backed away from sex and ultimately from Joanie, herself.
The clock struck midnight and a chorus of cheers and jeers went up from the crowd at the party. Jake had just a moment to glance around the room before Joanie's mouth was fastened wetly on his. In that fleeting moment, he noticed Bill giving Christine a drunken, but surprisingly tame little kiss on the cheek.
Then, Jake's vision was blocked by Joanie's face directly before him, and he felt her tongue thrust deep into his mouth. He felt no pleasure in it. None. Even after months of celibacy, he was afraid of the painful emptiness he knew would follow if he and Joanie did have sex tonight. While he could still recall the thrill he’d once felt with her — his cock deep within her, she rocking rhythmically against his muscular abdomen, the smell of her hair, her small, solid breasts grazing his hairy chest and nipples tantalizingly — these recollections soon faded, replaced by memories of meaningless fucks of women he didn’t even know. When it came to sex now, all he really felt was a certain numbness, almost as though he were paralyzed from the waist down… or rather as though he’d had a lobotomy that had excised his sexual emotions.
Jake felt a tug on his arm. It was Joanie, herself, attempting to rescue him from Bill and his harem. "Jake, baby, it's almost midnight. I want you near me. It's been too long."
Soundtrack: Norwegian Wood---The Beatles
It was true. It had been a long time since he and Joanie had last made it. He tried to remember when it was. Last summer or was it in September when she’d returned to campus after summer vacation? Hmm... he couldn't quite recall. He'd been caught up in his painting and his senior project most of the semester, but... he knew there was more to it than that. Clearly, something had changed in their relationship over the past year. Before then, even though they might not see each other for weeks or months at a time — like over holidays or summers — they'd always pick up where they left off. Hanging out. Smoking pot. Rapping. Screwing.
But both of them had been at the U this entire semester, and still they’d barely seen each other. No sharing drugs: he'd stopped smoking and she didn't shoot up. Not much hanging out: Jake spent most of his spare time at the Dew-Drop-Inn watching sports on TV or else sparring at the gym, while Joanie spent most of her time with the campus rads or the drama crowd. Jake couldn't stand the theater people at the U, a bunch of snobs as far as he was concerned. He was OK with some of the rads, like Luis Gonzales, but he couldn't take Carl Schofield, the dopey self-appointed leader of the student radicals at the U. Rapping? He and Joanie didn't appear to have much to say to one another these days. And as for sex, well he just didn't seem to be all that attracted to Joanie anymore. Truth was he wasn't too interested in sex in general these days.
Looking at Joanie now — her slender body, tan even in winter; the sharp Semitic features of her face; her sad eyes watching the hands of Bill's antique grandfather's clock creep closer to midnight — Jake remembered how her freshman year (his second, or was it his third, fall semester?) she'd initiated Jake into the world of polymorphous perverse sexuality and sensuality, pure physical pleasure. He learned practically everything he knew about sex from that time together. Like, she'd given him his first blowjob ever. God, that had been an experience!
They'd been smoking pot in her dorm room when she just leaned over and casually unzipped his jeans. Then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, her sensuous mouth surrounded the top of his awakening cock, and began to minister to its every nook and cranny. He’d never experienced anything like this. He was rapturously passive, as Joanie artfully explored points of pleasure he hadn’t been aware were even there. When he finally came, it was like an explosion that released all the tension he’d ever held in. He couldn't imagine how she swallowed it all without choking, but she did, smiling with pleasure that seemed to match his own.
Oh yeah, that first year of sex with Joanie had been outtasight! They did it every which way. The Kama Sutra had nothing on them. But, then, maybe after a year or so, he began to have these doubts, these negative feelings about their sex. He found himself obsessing about it. At first, he thought that Joanie had stopped enjoying their sex, like she was just going through the motions, doing this stuff for him. Then he thought that maybe the opposite was true — that he was just doing it for her, that he didn't really enjoy their sex any more. That led him to start doubting his own sexuality — maybe he was asexual. No. That couldn't be right. He found himself totally turned on by other chicks — you know when they walked down the street in short skirts, their asses shifting from side to side or like when they were bra-less and their nipples showed against their tee shirts or when a chick deliberately leaned over, giving him a quick glimpse (or more) of cleavage or a lacy bra — so he knew that wasn't it. All he really knew was that it was all fucked up.
But, now all thoughts of sex, both good and bad, vanished, as Jake became far more keenly aware of the blaring music filling the room — the wailing guitar and other discordant sounds — and of the hazy, dream-like images closing in on him, emanating from the people around him, as well as from the world outside this house.
Soundtrack: Purple Haze---Jimi Hendrix
Right there, in Bill Samuels' living room, Jake could see his friends dying — there in the room — some of them aging rapidly, as in a time-lapse photographic sequence, some split in two by mortar shells, spilling their guts onto the carpet. It was happening again, just like it had throughout his life and more and more frequently over the last couple of months now… his paintings were coming to life! Everywhere he looked was death, decay, and destruction. He needed to find the white horse that brings peace... now!
Jake scanned the large death-filled living room frantically. There, by the doorway to the next room, he spotted an almost-familiar dark face. Abruptly, he withdrew his mouth from Joanie's and, struggling to drag the words out of his constricted throat, he growled, "Babe, gotta’ see a man about a horse." He was vaguely conscious that his mind was playing word games with him.
Joanie looked up, and followed Jake's eyes as they stared intently into the other room. "OK, but what about later? Will you be coming back to my place?"
To Jake, Joanie sounded desperate to have him ball her; meanwhile, he was desperate to score some H. "Yeah, sure, babe. Your pad. Later."
He dropped his arms from their diffident hold on her, turned, and made for the doorway, an aura of powerful determination flowing around him, cutting through the music that filled the room like the ether.
Ever since the return of these terrifying visions to Jake’s everyday life a few months ago, he had sought out drugs that would obliterate them. For obvious reasons, he’d avoided the hallucinogens to which most of his friends were drawn — at first opting for grass, instead. A joint or two usually did the trick for him, leaving his vision blessedly unfocused and his powerful body lethargic. Lately, however, most of the pot on campus was laced with PCP, which just awakened his special sight, causing him terrifying visions like the one he was having now — visions in which he found himself battling powerful and oppressive demons. So, he'd turned to heroin — horse, H, snow, smack — and that had driven away the visions... at least temporarily... until he needed more... like now!
Jake approached the tall, sinewy Afro-American man he’d spotted from across the room. He was leaning over Joanie’s friend, Donna, one long arm and large hand pressed against the wall just behind her head, as if he owned her. The two men’s eyes locked and a faint wave of recognition passed between them.
“Hey man. I know you from somewhere?” the guy demanded, suspiciously.
“Yeah. I think so, but can’t remember where. Lessee...” Jake had dropped automatically into the ghetto lingo he spoke with his Afro-American friends. It was as though their linguistic patterns took over his speech center. “Yeah. Seems like I seen you over to Stretch’s pad, maybe las’ summer... uh, yeah, roun’ about the fourth of Jew-lie... seems like it was when that really b-a-a-d shit was aroun’...”
Jake looked up hopefully into the dark face of this brother. But as their eyes met, Jake recoiled in horror. In those dark brown irises he saw permanently etched images of men dying, blown apart by land mines, cut down by snipers, shot in the back by their own men. “Viet Nam!” Jake gasped.
The tall black man looked surprised. “You were there, in Nam?” he asked incredulously.
“No man, you were. I can see it. You were.” Jake felt his knees begin to buckle.
Jake felt himself falling toward the black dude who reached out his hands to catch him. But, as Jake tried to right himself, his knees just gave out and he crumbled to the floor.
Soundtrack: Heroin---Velvet Underground
Next thing he knew, he was lying on a bed somewhere, looking up at the ceiling. He could feel sweat dripping down both sides of his face, but couldn’t remember where he was. Now, he heard a familiar female voice, behind him.
“I haven’t seen him for months, not ‘til tonight, but I heard he was really into smack, bad. I guess he is.”
It was Joanie’s voice. He recognized it. Who was she talking to, he wondered, and about what?
Oh, wow! She was talking about him and what she was saying was true. Totally paranoid about the hallucinogenic effects of the grass being sold on campus these days, Jake had turned to heroin. It was almost impossible to find at the U, but through his boxing connections he’d made a couple of contacts in the black ghetto of the City. They’d helped him score. Heroin was perfect. Body and soul were at peace. Vision was dulled. Life was quiet.
The only catch was money. H was expensive and Jake found himself wanting it every day... to fend off the demons. That fall he’d sold some paintings to raise the scratch he needed to buy it... yeah, he'd sold one to Bill Samuels and recently the U had actually bought a few for their permanent collection, their gamble that he would someday be a well-known artist and their modest investment in him a sound one.
But that money was gone now and he was anxious, not just about having enough bread to score, but also how to make ends meet, now that he was going to be out of the protected world of the U. He’d have to pay rent, buy food, and … the H he wanted (no, needed) so desperately.
Jake turned his head awkwardly, straining to see Joanie behind him, but all he could make out were vague forms and muted colors. Then a deep and powerful voice broke through the haze, accompanied by a strong dark face looming directly over him.
“Hey man. You OK? Name’s Jukie. Jes’ metchoo’ in the other room, ‘member? We was talkin’ ‘bout las’ summer over to Stretch’s pad, ‘member?”
Jake remembered, that is he remembered last summer at Stretch’s. There’d been a shipment of beautifully clean horse — powerful, pure as new-fallen snow. He’d bought a couple of weeks’ worth and shot some up right there with Stretch and this other cat, Jukie. Yeah, Jukie. This was the cat… here, now. What was he doing here... at the U, anyways?
“Hey man. You in a bad way. I ain’ got no smack, but I got some dyn-o-mite grass. You wanna’ do a stick? Might help.”
Jake was totally confused. Where was he, exactly ? What day was it? Grass? No, he couldn’t risk it. “No, man. I don’t dig the shit that’s goin’ roun’. It’s got all that angel dust and crap in it, which jes' fucks me up.”
“No man. Not this shit. This bees some fi-i-ine shit. Pure. No white boy’s play shit. This is ghett-o weed, know what-ah-meen?”
Jake dug the sound of the voice, sonorous and somehow comforting. He opened his eyes wider. He liked the face he saw, smooth dark-brown skin, bearded below, and topped off with a thick, neatly combed-out halo-like afro. Yeah, he dug this Jukie.
Jake began to sit up and found he could do so without feeling dizzy. “You sure?” he asked, hopefully.
“Fer shure,” Jukie replied. “I wouldn’t shit you, man. I’ll go out and get some of them fine chicks that’s here at the party an’ come back here an’ we’ll blow us some weed."
Jake saw the door open and Jukie disappear through it, replaced instantly by raucous music from the other room, a loud horn section, a driving beat, and the unmistakable vocals of Sly and the Family Stone. Jake smiled, as slowly his mind began to clear. “Oh yeah,” he thought. “I want to get higher and my man Jukie’s gonna’ take me there.”
Soundtrack: I Want to Take You Higher----Sly and the Family Stone
He closed his eyes and listened as the music and loud voices from the other room poured in. Sly sang and the U-crowd joined in, shouting: "I wanna' take you higher!"
Then someone must have closed the door because the sounds of the music faded and over them he heard Joanie's trembling voice, coming from somewhere across the room toward him. "Jake, are you OK? Do you really want to smoke here or should we go back to my place and... uh... maybe ball. I mean for old time's sake. That might get you feeling better. Huh?"
Jake opened his eyes slowly; his vision was blurred, so at first, he couldn’t see anyone or anything, but as his vision began to clear, he could make out a vague form just off to his left. It was Joanie, standing beside him now, a deeply troubled look, forming a gash in her otherwise unblemished face. She bent over to kiss him on the forehead and he found himself looking down her loose-fitting sweater? There he saw Joanie’s small, nubile breasts, hanging straight down — or were they sticking up? He couldn’t tell. His orientation in space was all fucked up. He was amused at the sight, though. Joanie’s breasts looked just like two small udders hanging down ever so slightly from a heifer back at the farm.
The singing shouts from the other room broke through his musings, penetrating the walls of the room he was in: "Higher! I want to take you higher!"
He could see Joanie clearly now. She was wearing a long, soft, purple velvet skirt and when Jake reached out his arms to grab her ass, he could feel that she had nothing on underneath. Growing excited, he pulled her feather-weight body down towards him and buried his head in her stomach. At the same time, he bunched up her dress in the rear, slid his large hand up the back of her sinewy legs to her naked crotch and, parting the moist lips beneath her pubic hair, slipped two fingers into what he felt to be her hungrily waiting opening.
"Jake," Joanie sighed with what he took to be her evident pleasure. "Let's go back to my place."
But Jake was content to be where he was. Head pressed against stomach and tits, one hand firmly grasping Joanie's tight little ass and two big fingers sloshing around inside her.
Suddenly the door opened and the overwhelming sounds of the party poured in. Jake felt himself drowning in a tidal wave of riotous music and the accompanying yells of overly-enthusiastic revelers, crying out: "Higher!"
The door must have closed again because now what he heard was mostly the more subdued chatter of just a few, familiar, voices: Joanie's friends, Donna and Annie, and this new guy, Jukie, the pusher man.
Jake pulled his head away from Joanie's body, let his fingers slip out of their warm and wet resting place, sat up, and said, in his best ghetto-speak: "Well, let's do it brothers and sisters!"
Higher!
Jukie smiled, reached into his jacket, and took out an elegant gold cigarette case filled with perfectly rolled joints. The girls’ eyes all widened as he did so, especially Donna who, Jake thought, was creaming in her pants before she’d even taken a toke. Cool, Jake thought. This is one cool cat! He dug Jukie’s act. Not his own style of course, but he dug it, nonetheless.
Then, in one continuous motion, Jukie lit up and inhaled an enormous lungful of smoke, looked up into Donna’s eager face, reached out his long arm, and ever-so-smoothly held the joint to her lips. It was one of the most sensual moves Jake had ever witnessed and he could see that Donna was eating it up. Her eyelids drooped, as she sucked on the perfect little joint. When she was done, she placed both her small white hands over Jukie’s large black hand and slowly pulled it back, so that the J gradually slipped out of her mouth. She gazed dreamily into Jukie’s eyes, and let the smoke trickle out lazily past her half-parted lips. One toke and Donna was ready to ball this cat she’d never seen before tonight. In Jukie’s able hands, there was no doubt that grass was an aphrodisiac.
You had to hand it to Jukie. He obviously knew chicks. He held Donna’s eyes with his, as he finally exhaled the little bit of smoke his lungs hadn’t absorbed, and without turning away from her, passed the joint past Joanie to Jake.
Still suspicious, Jake regarded the joint warily. But the dreamy looks on Donna's and Jukie's faces told him it was gonna be all right. He took a short, tentative, hit on the J, held the smoke in by tightening his chest, and handed the J carelessly to Joanie.
Once again, Jake could hear the shouts from the other room: "Higher! Higher! Higher!" “Yes” he thought, “this is gonna' be aw-right!”
Now, Jake could see the longing in Joanie’s eyes. She’d caught the action between Jukie and Donna and wanted something like it from Jake. She was probably still dripping from the finger fucking he’d been giving her when they’d been interrupted. Tough shit. Not his style. No, not his style at all. She’d get the real thing from him later at her pad. He’d fuck her ass off.
Out of the corner of one eye, Jake could see Donna inching gradually closer to Jukie. Meanwhile Joanie was standing right in front of Jake staring deep into his face, as she took several shallow hits off the joint. He realized he was pissed as hell at her and at her expectations. That was her trouble: all these expectations. They made Jake sick. That’s why he’d been avoiding her these past months and it was why he just didn’t see any future in their relationship… even if she was “the love of his life.” As his anger rose, he found himself getting hard. What the hell was that about? he wondered, as he closed his eyes to avoid Joanie's longing looks.
Once again, the room filled with loud music and shouts from the other room.Jake's head turned slowly, just in time to see his buddy Stephen, carefully closing the door behind him.
Soundtrack: I Want to Take You Higher----Sly and the Family Stone
"Cats, I can't believe you're blowing weed without Stevie!" Stephen complained in a tone that bespoke mock injury. "Stevie wouldn't cut you out."
It was true. Stephen was one of the biggest heads on campus. If there were drugs at a party, usually either Stephen had brought them or he was doing them with whoever had.
"Sorry, man. Didn't see you out there," Jake apologized, sincerely. He loved Stephen like a brother. They'd been roommates off and on for the past four years whenever Jake had lived in U-Ville, whether enrolled or not.
"O.K. O.K., just pass the J will ya, Joanie ?"
Joanie coughed out a few small clouds of smoke. "Sure, Stephen," she replied quickly handing him the joint.
Stephen cupped it fondly and drew in a mammoth quantity of smoke. Stephen always got his money's worth out of a stick. In fact, with the joint still dangling from his lip, he appeared ready to take a second hit when Annie broke in, "Hey man, don't Bogart that joint. Annie wants a hit too."
Stephen turned slowly to Annie and, exhaling a stream of thin blue smoke, said with genuine kindness, "Oh wow, sorry babe, didn't realize you were waitin’ on it." He passed her the joint, by now almost too-short to be held without burning one’s fingers.
Annie brushed back long, loosely curled, black hair from her round, grinning face and took a series of short hits, wincing slightly as the joint finally did burn her. Instinctively, she tossed the butt-end in the general direction of the ashtray. "More," she demanded, the exhaled smoke punctuating her monosyllabic request.
All eyes turned to Jukie, who by now had one arm firmly encircling Donna's waist.
Jake was feeling fine; he really was. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good. He was high and yet there were no horrifying scenes creeping into his peripheral vision. Jukie was right. This was some fine shit. His eyes met Jukie's. They both smiled.
"Tole you this was no white boy's shit, man," Jukie bragged.
Just then a second joint appeared in Jukie's hand, as if out of nowhere. Slowly he slipped it into Donna's waiting mouth. Then he flicked on a gold lighter he had made appear, magician-like, in the same hand as the joint. Donna inhaled deeply, a look of ecstasy on her face. As she held her breath, Jukie slowly withdrew the joint from her mouth in yet another sexually loaded move. He held the joint out to be taken by someone else, while simultaneously fastening his mouth onto Donna's, sucking the smoke out of her mouth and lungs into his. Jake watched this second act in amazement. Jukie's every move was charged with sexual electricity. It was as if he were balling Donna right there in front of them.
As the second reefer made its way, glowingly from one person to the next, Jake smiled. This was all right!
[Note: You may wish to temporarily turn off the sound on the Sly and the Family Stone video above while viewing this video or just watch this video without its soundtrack.]
Now, he felt an arm drape itself heavily over his shoulders. Stevie? No, it was fucking Annie. She had put one arm over Joanie's shoulder and the other over his and was pulling their bodies together into a threesome. Jake could feel one of Annie's large flabby breasts pushing against his back, her huge nipple erect. It didn't really turn him on; he preferred solid, nubile breasts like Joanie's to Annie's big, shapeless tits. And he was a little nauseated by the stench of the patchouli Annie always wore.
As Jake felt Annie's large body swaying back and forth, he realized that her other breast must be pushing against Joanie. Glancing over at Joanie, he wondered if it turned her on. Her eyes were closed and she too was swaying. Was there some music these chicks were hearing that he couldn't? He strained his ears, but could only detect the thump of a base line, traveling along the floorboards from the other room. He couldn't make out a tune, yet there were Annie and Joanie swaying in time with each other to some silent song. Jake pulled away from them both. He needed another hit from the dwindling second joint on which Stephen was toking.
"Hey man, pass the J," he barked.
"Sure, man. Sure," Stephen replied, shooting an anxious glance at Joanie for some reason that Jake couldn't fathom.
[Note: Turn off any sound track still playing above before starting up "Let's Spend the Night Together" below]
Soundtrack: Let’s Spend the Night Together--- Rolling Stones
Jake took a long drag, ignoring the pain of the burn on his thumb and forefinger. He flicked the burning roach away from him out into the room and looked up just in time to see Jukie and Donna vanish through the door that was now throbbing with the music from the other room. He glanced around. Stephen's mischievous face loomed just in front of him. Annie had her large flabby arms around Joanie, her black hair hanging over Joanie's small head, the two of them swaying to the Rolling Stones song he could now hear quite clearly.
Jake laughed. He had to hand it to the maker of this dance tape to end it with this particular song, an invitation to newly-formed couples to begin their predictable exodus to temporary mating places in bedrooms throughout the college neighborhood.
But, as he listened to Mick Jagger’s licentious plea, he thought: Not me. I got no such need. No little honey’s gonna’ grace my bed tonight. Uh-uh, I got no need of any of ‘em. Not Wendy or Dee-Dee, not even Joanie. Fuck em’! Fuck all of them.
Jake turned back to Stephen and said, "Hey man, let's split." He headed for the door that Jukie had left ajar, Stephen in tow behind him, as the last strains of the song faded out.
As Jake opened the door, he got a full blast of music and was temporarily blinded by the much brighter lights from the main room. He paused to get his bearings. Glancing around, he almost immediately spotted a small group of politicos arguing in the corner: Carl, Pat and Luis. He ambled over toward them. Carl was sounding off about the military-industrial complex or some such shit.
"What a crock!" Jake broke in.
Carl looked up at Jake, his mouth working soundlessly. Finally, he was able to blurt out, "Fuck you man, who the hell ast you?" Then he bolted off in the direction of the bar.
"Jake, that was pretty crude!" It was Pat, scolding him. "Carl may be a bit naive in his politics, but at least he's trying!"
Jake was taken aback by Pat’s reaction to his put-down of Carl. Pat Richardson had the coolest, if not the brightest, head on campus. Jake had always been fascinated by her mind, her boundless energy, and her brilliant political instincts. She was really too much! Jake found himself wondering where she would be ten years from now. Something in politics he was sure. A congressman? A White House advisor? A hot shot in the NAACP? Something big, that he knew.
Right now, though, the music was talking to him and he felt an overpowering urge to dance with her. What the hell! Just come out with it. "Let's boogie," he said, grabbing her right arm with his left and encircling her waist with his right.
He started them off in a kind of Lindy/Jitterbug dance he’d picked up from some of his black friends in the Hood. As he directed Pat’s movements in time with the music, he felt an almost forgotten surge of sexual energy fill his body.
Holding her right hand tightly with his left, he spun her out until she reached the end of her “tether,” at which point he tightened his grip and pulled her back with all his strength. This caused Pat to curl into him so that her back was now to him and her ass right up against his crotch. Grasping her free left hand with his right, Jake pulled both her arms tightly so they crossed over her small (but firm) breasts. He rocked her back and forth several times in this position; with each rock, she looked back at him, first over her right shoulder then over her left, her eyes sparkling and her mouth smiling at him seductively, as she moved easily under the guidance of his powerful arms.
The chick was almost beautiful when she smiled, Jake thought. Almost. He dug her afro — much better than the straightened hair she'd worn as a freshman. And he dug her firm little breasts, although unlike just about every other chick on campus, Pat wore a bra so you hardly noticed that she had tits at all. And he definitely dug the color of her skin — very dark, an almost purple-black. Jake found himself considering her possible origins. West Indian? Must be. Yeah, West Indian with little or no white overseer's blood involved. Yeah, he definitely dug this chick. He wondered what she'd be like in bed. One thing for sure, she'd be black all over. None of this tan-line shit that Joanie and most of the other chicks he slept with had. And her bush? He bet it'd be kinky like her 'fro. Yeah, he could dig that. The hell with Joanie; this black chick was more like what he needed right now. No complications, just a good fuck!
He spun Pat out again, roughly this time, and pulled her back in, even more strongly than the first time. When her ass pressed against his crotch this time, he pulled her arms really tight and initiated a little bump and grind to which she responded with renewed fervor.
Everyone in the room and the room, itself, seemed to be shouting out the same message: “Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me! Sock it to me!”
“Oh yeah!” Jake cried out. “ Sock it to me!”
[Note: Turn off "Respect" above before starting up Don't Worry, Baby" Below.]
Soundtrack:Don't Worry Baby---The Beach Boys
He was having a fine old time, yes he was, uh-huh, uh-huh, oh yeah!
"Jake! Jake! Did you hear what I said? The music's changed. I can't dance to this stuff." Pat’s voice broke through the sexual energy that enveloped him. She went on, "And neither can you."
Jake stopped moving and listened to the syrupy tune and words dripping out of the speakers. Jesus! Someone — probably one of Bill’s blonde bimbos — had put on some stupid surfer song with no beat or soul.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “You’re right, Pat. Want something to drink? I’m thirsty. In fact I’m thirsty and hungry. Any food around?”
“In the kitchen. I could go for some myself.” Pat was leading him toward the kitchen, her hand on his muscular arm. “Where’s Joanie,” she asked. “I haven’t seen her.”
Joanie! Shit! Jake had forgotten all about her. He’d promised to go back to her place later, but now all he wanted to do was make it with Pat and, from the looks she was giving him, it seemed like she had the same thing in mind. Shit! He was sick of Joanie and her fucking expectations of him. And where the hell was she anyway? Oh yeah, in the other fucking room, probably getting eaten out by that AC/DC chick Annie. Well, fuck her. If she didn’t come out soon, maybe he and Pat would slip upstairs for a quick one.
As they approached the kitchen door, he glanced around. He spotted Bill, standing alone for a change, bopping away goofily to that ridiculous surfer song.
Jesus! What a cornball Bill is! Jake closed the kitchen door quickly to blot out the god-awful song and the sight of Bill doing his little dance.
"Jake, I asked where Joanie was tonight." They were in the kitchen now and Pat was loading up her plate with food: fried chicken, pizza, potato salad.
Soundtrack: What’d I Say Parts I & II----Ray Charles
"Uh, I dunno. I saw her earlier with, you know, that hippie chick Annie."
Pat glanced up, a query on her smooth, round face. "Annie? You mean Joanie’s here with her. I mean..." she stumbled over her words. Jake was sure she would have turned red with embarrassment if she could have. He laughed.
"Well, I dunno. That's a good question. She certainly didn't come here with me. I haven't seen her, really, in months, you know." Strictly speaking that wasn't true; he had seen her...at midnight, for one. But, what he was thinking was that there just didn't seem to be any fire in their relationship any more and they might as well not have seen each other.
"No, I didn't know. You mean that you and she aren't...?"
"Definitely not! That's been over for almost six months. I mean, not that we haven't made it in six months, but you know, not really, um, maybe once or twice in the fall, but it just isn't there any more for us." Jake felt better about putting it this way. It made it sound like it was his choice…whether or not and when he screwed Joanie, even if it wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. Truth was, he couldn’t remember when Joanie and he last balled or when and why they’d stopped doing it.
Pat smiled despite herself. Jake was feeling good about this. That cat Jukie wasn't the only stud at this party. Jake was doing all right too.
"Jake, I thought you were hungry," Pat said, chewing on a drumstick. "Help yourself, why don't you?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Jake replied and began perfunctorily loading up his plate, although his mind was elsewhere. Jake was considering the second floor of Bill's house. Let's see, three bedrooms. Bill's was out; he'd be up there soon enough with one of his little chickees, Christine most likely. And, hmm, Jukie and Donna were probably in one of the others. With any luck, the third bedroom would be free. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, opened it and drained it in one smooth motion.
"I guess you were thirsty!" Pat laughed, her eyes sparkling invitingly. "Now, how about that hunger?"
Jake stared at her fixedly. "I suddenly have a hunger for something else entirely." His eyes moved from her face to the stairs. Her eyes followed his.
"I don't think so, Jake," she said. Once again, Jake was taken aback by Pat’s unexpected reaction to him. Had he misread her body language? He heard the words she was saying, but he couldn't make much sense out of them. Something about not being prepared. Jake was startled. What did she mean? Prepared? Prepared for what? Pat evidently saw his confusion because she moved closer to him, leaned up, and kissed him sweetly near, but not on, the mouth.
"Jake, I really dig you. I really do, but I'm right in the middle of my cycle and I don't have my diaphragm... I mean I didn't come here expecting..." She stopped. Jake just stared at her. What gives?
"Jake? Jake, what's wrong?"
Jake was having trouble focusing his thoughts. Diaphragm? Middle of her cycle? Wow. When was the last time he'd heard any chick talk like this? Every girl he knew was on the pill or had one of those IUDs in her twat that meant any day was cool. Diaphragm? Wow! It was only older women who still used diaphragms. He recalled the time he'd found one in the medicine cabinet when he was a kid and asked his mother about it. She'd been terribly embarrassed, but to her credit, she did explain a few things about the birds and the bees to him. In fact, that'd been the first (and only) explanation he'd gotten from either of his parents about the "facts of life"... unless you counted his father's warning to him when he first left for college six, seven years ago to "keep your pecker in your pockets young man." Back then, there had been a couple of chicks who still used them, but not now? Wow! This was one square mama.
"Jake? I... uh..." Jake focused on the black woman standing close to him. She was clearly uncomfortable with his silence. In fact, he could see that she was becoming genuinely embarrassed and he felt kinda’ bad about that.
"Oh, yeah. Listen babe. It's OK. It's just that I was a little surprised. I didn't realize chicks still used them, you know. I mean it's OK. I was just surprised. And, disappointed. Yeah, that's it; I was disappointed. I was feeling that you and me could make some beautiful love tonight. But it's OK. Really it is."
"Oh Jake, I feel like such a jerk. I don't know why I didn't bring it. I wish I had, but you know, I, well, to tell the truth, it's been a long time. To tell the God's honest truth, it's been a ver-r-r-y long time since I last made love."
Then Pat launched into this long riff about the cats on campus preferring white girls and all. Jake wasn't really listening too carefully. His interest in her was waning greatly by the moment.
"Yeah, well that's OK. Don't sweat it! It's just I was surprised. That's all. Just surprised and disappointed, you know. It's OK. We'll do it another time, OK? Another time."
"Sure Jake, another time," Pat said, but he could hear in her voice that she suspected there wouldn't be another time, that she could read his mind, could feel his almost total loss of interest at this point.
Jake began munching on the food he’d been piling on his plate while Pat blathered on. It tasted great, better than anything he'd eaten in days. Fact was, he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten. That was the trouble with horse. You weren't hungry most of the time, and you couldn't totally remember where the time had gotten to. Jake was beginning to tire of his habit. Actually, he was becoming totally exhausted by it. Maybe he'd stop. Maybe, he'd make a New Year's resolution and stop. Maybe, starting out in a new place would give him the opportunity to stop. Yeah. Yeah. He'd stop. Tonight was as good a time as any. Yeah. He'd stop tonight.
Jake looked down at his plate. It was empty. He glanced up at Pat. She looked kind of sad.
"Say, Jake, I've got to be going home now. Big day tomorrow. I know it's a holiday for most people, but I've got a Law Journal issue to put to bed," Pat said, flashing him a flirtatious smile.
He could see that she was already regretting the brush-off she'd given him and was attempting to re-open the possibility of making it with him, as she continued: "Hey, let's stay in touch. I come down to the City pretty often. We could...uhm... have dinner, you know. Do you have an address yet?"
"Uh, no. Not yet. But, you know, when I get my pad, I'll call you or drop you a note. I'll send it to... uhm, the Law Journal. I mean you'll have it to bed by then, I expect."
Pat seemed confused by his little joke. "The Law Journal?" Then a smile crossed her face, as she appeared to get it. "Oh? Yes, sure, you can reach me there. Yes, that would be fine." Jake thought she looked tickled at the thought of getting a private note from a big shot like Jake at the Law Journal.
"Yes, that would be just fine," Pat repeated. "See you around, Jake." Once again she leaned up into his face, but this time she kissed him firmly on the lips. He opened his mouth and the tip of her tongue darted in for one quick moment and then she was walking rapidly out the kitchen door, without so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Jake just stood there, dumbfounded. Well, he thought, wasn't that something? A diaphragm. Didn't that beat all? He absentmindedly picked at some of the food on the table for a few minutes, listening to the sexy music coming in from the other room. Man, Pat was one square chick, he mused.
Dreamily, Jake remembered that he'd promised to go back to Joanie's place with her.
"Shit!" he exclaimed out loud.
Soundtrack: Whiter Shade of Pale---Procol Harum
Jake wandered slowly into the main room. It was practically empty. Pat was gone. Luis, too. And, as he guessed, Bill was nowhere to be seen, probably upstairs with Christine or maybe even with several of the chickies at once. About all that were left were Stephen and a couple of goofy looking freshmen guys he seemed to be entertaining with some story he was acting out.
Jake guessed it really was time to find Joanie and make good on his promise to her. He walked slowly to the back room where he'd last seen her and opened the door. "Joanie? You there?"
No answer. Jake flipped on the lights. The room was empty. What the fuck? Where the hell was she? Well, fuck her! He walked back into the living room. He was suddenly very tired, unaccountably tired. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in a nice comfortable bed… like the one in Joanie's apartment. Well, too late for that!
He looked around. Now, only Stephen and Carl Schofield were left. Carl was sprawled, semi-comatose and camouflaged by his army fatigues in a big greenish-brown arm chair, a bottle of Wild Turkey moving, as if by its own volition, slowly back and forth between his lips and the floor. Stephen was smiling, looking directly at Jake standing there.
"So, Buddy. Just you and me left standing." Stephen joked. "Where to?"
Jake felt close to passing out. "Oh man. Let's go back to our place and sack out. I'm beat."
Front closet. Coats. Front door. Cold. Car, Stephen's car. Stephen plastered. Jake would have to drive. Hard starting, but catching, finally. Drive through dark and silence. Very dark. Very silent. Way to their apartment. Did he remember it ? Yeah. Right here. Go a ways. Left. End of the block. There on the right. Three story house. Light on back stairs. Park car in driveway. Open car door.
"Stevie, Stevie, We're here. Hey, man, wake up! We're here."
Slam doors of car. Stagger up walk. Trudge up endless stairs. Key.
"Stevie, you got the key?"
"Sure Jake, I got it. Here. Somewhere. Here in my backpack. Somewhere." Fumbling. Fumbling. "Oh shit!" Contents of backpack fall out. All sorts of crap. Pens, cigarettes, rubbers, pills, keys. Keys! Fumble with lock. Door open. Bed. Soft bed. Sleep. Sleep. Soft bed. Soft.
Jake dreamt that he could hear Joanie's voice calling to him, "Jake! Jake! Jake! Let's fuck!" But, he was too far away to reach her body. He was lying, asleep in his nice soft bed at home. His mother had tucked him in under a huge white down comforter. All he wanted was to stay asleep, safely beneath the comforter. He wanted nothing else. He could hear Joanie calling him. He could smell her. Now, he could feel her as she covered his soft penis with a pink-colored diaphragm. He sensed his dick hardening, as she began to lick it through the diaphragm. Slowly the diaphragm was lifted into the air by his growing cock...until it toppled off. Now, Joanie was peeling back his foreskin and licking the tip of his cock. What was she doing here at his Mom's house? He didn't really care. He was asleep in his nice soft bed; his Mom was downstairs cooking breakfast for him; he could smell the bacon. This feeling of comfort was all he wanted, all he wanted in the world.
