Money buys everything

Walking home with his friend Tyler one evening they stop at the ATM right outside his house, cos Tyler needs some cash.  They both notice at the same time a couple of small notes left by the last person and they both reach for them.  Tyler hesitates however and he gets to them first.  There is another abandoned note and Tyler takes that one.

All night at this party the two of them had been speaking to this beautiful Indian woman called Lakshmi.  Tyler was clearly into her, but he was very much into Tyler.  But Tyler kept playing the heterosexual game, as he saw it.  They left the party together though, but of course Tyler will not be sleeping in his bed, but prefers the floor or the couch.

But, as it turns out, this is not just a couple of small notes.  The ATM sits in front of them with a huge wad of $100 notes, as if it is the most casual thing possible.  Tyler sees the notes, sees him grab the notes, and runs away without saying a word.  He takes the handful of $100 notes and another wad comes straight out.  He takes that wad and there is another one.  He stuffs the money up his shirt, more and more, as much as he can carry.  With each additional handful of $100 notes his excitement and panic increase until he can't take any more money, he is in a state of paranoia, there is still money sitting calmly in the ATM and he is in his bedroom with a tall pile of money covered in a blanket and he can hear his flatmates coming home and he doesn't want them to see it.  He wonders whether he will get caught; he can't put the money in the bank, they'll recognise the serial numbers, ATMs have cameras, will he get caught, will he get away with it.  He could go to the Police and give all the money back (he knows he won't do that) but he has to act quickly.

He figures he must spread the money as widely as possible and so this is his plan.  There are a few thing he needs to buy but mostly he doesn't need money so he wants to be as creative as possible when he spends it.  He no longer works at that miserable bar, he doesn't even quit, he's simply never going back.  He hires a personal assistant to deal with anything too boring and too important for him to deal with himself.  He doesn't know what to do.  He can't buy Tyler.  He walks along beside the beach with his new PA, Lakshmi.  He talks to her like a friend or maybe more like a therapist now that he's paying her.  They decide to hire him a large space for parties and call it The Warehouse.  He sees a gish of dark curly hair and looks at a beautiful soft-skinned young man with a gentle face pass by. 

"I want him in The Warehouse," he tells Laskshmi.  She smiles until she realises he's not joking.  She runs back to talk to the guy and offer him money to turn up at The Warehouse.  When she gets back he has already spotted another beautiful body down on the beach, far away but exactly the right shape.  "I want him too," he tells Lakshmi.  She goes after the second guy and he keeps walking.  He spends hours walking south along the beach, from one bay to the next, pointing out man after man for Lakshmi to acquire for him.  There is the money for it all, each young man, each beautiful young man with his body and his presence and his sexuality and his eyes also has his price and they all know the deal and they all agree to turn up.

And so it is 10.00 the following morning, this is no night party, and a small crowd of diverse young man stand uncertainly together in a large room, checking each other out but mostly thinking about themselves.  Nobody knows what to expect or how much of what was told to them was told to the others or whether they are there to work or to have a good time.

He walks in.  It is a hot day and he is wearing nothing but shorts and he sees all the men that he chose looking so awkward and uncertain but also impenetrable.  He whispers to his PA and she goes into action.  When he reenters the room half an hour later every one of the young men is naked and all their bodies are present together in the room, vulnerable and real.  He slips his shorts off and walks into the room, amongst the men he could not and would not approach himself and he feels now that they are his, at least for the day.  He has paid them for their time and their beauty is his for a long day.

He walks among them with his erection and he touches them and they let him and they watch while he touches them.  He touches their cheeks with the palm of his hand, he put his fingers through their hair, he brushes his hand across their chests and stomachs, he gently fingers their penises.  He leans in to smell their heat and they watch without arguing as he touches them.  He realises he can do anything and he feels no shame of his sexuality and his needs and desires.

He feels like a dog fighter, pulling back the dogs' mouths to see their teeth and gums.  He can set these dogs against each other with a mere word and so he picks two men and tells them to love each other and they do their best.  His is the only erection in the room but when these two men start kissing and grabbing each other the erections spread around like floodwater and the heat and excitement rises like the rain.  He roams around the room examining bodies and making orders and feels like the director of some elaborate epic film with no cameras.

He has all the best and most beautiful young men around, all naked, all healthy and energetic, full of confidence and joy and temporarily boundless sexuality and thinking of the money they have been promised.  He owns them.

And he sees a man with a beautiful dick and a slim body and delicate features and intense eyes and he falls in love for a moment.  He doesn't want eyes, there are too many in the room for eyes.  But he has seen these eyes and it is too late.  He is scared to approach this one, as if he is a real human being and not a dog like the rest.  But he's not showing weakness and he does not hesitate, despite his stomach fluttering and his erection failing.  He looks down at his young man sitting on the floor insolently.  He looks at the young man looking back at him without the bravado and machismo that the others have been wearing over their otherwise naked faces since they arrived.  This one looks up at him naturally, with wide eyes and naivete.

He pulls himself out of what would otherwise be an eternal moment before he gets lost in it and tells the man to follow him out of the room.  He suddenly feels like a child giving orders to this one, as if he is faking the role and they both know it.  He ignores a few glances from the obedient cattle of whom he is certainly the director as he leaves the room with the one who only outwardly follows his orders.

He finds a small room and he closes the door and the two men look at each other simply, in presence without expectation.  The young man thinks something is going to be asked of him but he has no idea what he could ask of such a person.  He does not own him, this man's soul belongs to the universe and he deserves nothing of the divinity inside him.

After a long silent moment the young man finally asks, "Are we going to fuck now or what?", ignoring the intensity of the moment and reverting instead to the culture that he has created, the banal exploitatively sexual reality he has created to share this male space with all these other people.  "I don't want anything from you," he answers, deeply embarrassed at the scene he has created.  The young man turns to leave and he grabs his arm.  He pulls him close and looks into his eyes and still he is unbearably present and innocent.  He turns away and sees instead his body.  He sees that his body is sexy and warm and firm and powerful and he touches that instead.  He forgets the man's eyes and delights in his body.  He kisses it and worships it and breathes its manly smell.

He finds the man's arsehole and treats it like a hallway to Heaven, focusing all his love and passion on this one spot and eventually pushing his penis inside it.  He closes his eyes or focuses them on the man's nipples, his stomach or his penis as he pushes himself deeper into the Heaven inside his own head.  He is as slow as if he is willing to dedicate the duration of his life to this performance until he hears an undeniable sound and glances up to see the person with the body crying softly.  He considers it for less than a second but cannot ignore it.  He stops his act and lays his head on the chest that is now openly sobbing.  He looks up into the damp face that can no longer stare back into his with defiant simplicity.

He wraps a blanket around the body and holds the man while he cries.  The man struggles weakly and mouths a "fuck off" which hits him like a knife in the chest.  He steps back before quickly realising that his comfort is nothing to this man.

"I am nothing.  I am dead," between sobs.  "My parents are Christians.  I am 15 years old."
"You look 18," he responds stupidly.
"My parents are full of hate.  I have nowhere to go."
"You can stay with me," he responds stupidly.
"I hate you.  I just want to be loved, why does everyone hate me?"
"I love you," he responds stupidly.
"I hate you.  You've ripped me open and now I'm going to bleed to death."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you a surgeon?  Do you know how to sew people up before you rip them open?"
"I can help you, I have lots of money."
"You have a room full of men, I've already gone."

He stands up and reaches out to the touch the young man in his profound weakness but his hand passes through like a damp cloud and the young man fades away leaving only the smell and the heavy sadness of his beauty behind.  He looks at his himself in the mirror steamed with condensation, at his slumped shoulders and a sore, tender penis.  He thinks about his money and his room full of men and his most recent night of yearning for Tyler.  And he thinks of Tyler and those moments when he wanted to kiss him, when they were laughing together.  And he thinks about those moment when he wanted to see Tyler's dick, when they were swimming together, and he had not seen it, Tyler had been too modest.  All that friendship and he had never seen Tyler's dick and now there are more dicks in the next room than he can be bothered counting.

He finds the right man who can take him to a bed and knows how to shoot him with some morphine.  He takes the hit into his vein and into his blood and his body and then he dreams about sunny days from this warm bed.  He dreams about frolicking naked under waterfalls with his friends.  He dreams about rolling in the grass and hugging the earth.  He dreams about pools of thick mud and fierce white waves and his own body in these places and his friends' bodies with him.  He dreams until the drug wears off and he wakes up in a room and the naked man with him has obviously taken some too.

He turns over and curls up and goes back to sleep cos it must still be night.  He dreams back much further, to his family and his little child body, innocent and clean.  He dreams of playing in the sand with a bucket and spade and his togs on.  He dreams of walking to school in his uniform, dawdling under captivating trees.  He dreams of walking through the bush with his young strong daddy and his brothers.  He dreams of the silent shame of his eight-year-old sexuality and knowing only that it is wrong and that he can't tell anyone because they will judge him.

Luckily he doesn't remember his dreams and he feels okay when he goes for a walk alone through the city streets in the evening world he wakes up in.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
- Charles Bukowski