The dark night was making me weary. I open up booth #12 and see a big mess of cum-stained tissues; a shit-stained buttplug, a myriad of cigarette butts; used condoms and a couple pennies. I can hear the loud, slobbering sounds of a cock being sucked in the booth next door. I start to sweep up the mess, get inside the booth and feel the body heat; smell all the cum. The dick sucking noises start to sound like a lullaby and I am soooo sleepy, so depressed I can hardly walk, my head so heavy, and it feels like someone keeps throwing a pair of sopping wet, shit-stained underwear at my face at Major League speed. I haven’t eaten in over 40 hours, can hear Grant up front playing his fucking Pink CD for the 1,000th time. I just feel like giving in, so depressed and angry at everything, constantly charging into a brick wall and constantly screaming inside. In my younger years, maybe if I had a few beers in me, I’d start balling right about now. But I’m trying to quit drinking, haven’t had a drop in six months. I take a seat on the cum-covered floor of the booth, so exhausted and apathetic, so sickened by my life and the people in it. I let my broom fall to the floor and just sit there, leaning my back against the sperm of hundreds of worthless, cocksucking and masturbating men. I want to go to sleep for a very long time.
Then suddenly the dick slobbering noises next door stop momentarily, only to be replaced by a guy grunting. “Now stick that war stump in me, soldier, while you suck that dick! Fuck me like you fucked those Iraqi civilians in that stupid war of yours.”
“Will it fit in your butt?” It’s the voice of Barney, my veteran friend.
“Oh, it’ll fit all right. I’ve fit cocks in there that was bigger than that sad little arm stump of yours . . now do it!”
The slobbering sounds begin again and I can hardly bear to listen. The guy moans as I jump up, snap myself out of the depression, fatigue, grab my broom and start banging on the door of the booth; then I just say fuck it, realize it is unlocked and swing it open. There’s Barney inside, all decked out in his full desert fatigues. He is on his knees sucking the dick of some dude—a regular I’ve seen before but don’t know his name, a decent-looking younger guy. The guy is sitting on the hard bench, leaning back and spreading his legs as Barney has the stump of his amputated arm jammed about half-way into the guy’s ass. With Barney’s free hand he is rubbing his own hairy pussy.
He doesn’t even seem embarrassed or surprised. He just looks at me without expression, saliva dripping from his lips; his once bright blue eyes are now flat and sunken in as he stares at me emptily, sadly, and says, “What the fuck do you expect,Taco? You saw it coming. I can’t get no pussy around here with this fucking thing.” He pulls his amputated arm out of the guy’s ass, shows it to me; it’s smeared with poop. “And I can’t get any pussy with this thing, either,” he says, showing me his thick, blonde hairy pussy that I keep having nightmares about wanting to fuck and this whole sick, sad situation is making me want to fuck it even more. His fly is unzipped and inside his gnarly, ungroomed patch of blonde pubes I saw a lot of soldiers dying. I can see a soldier feeling differently when he comes home missing a limb and his penis. Maybe Barney killed innocent children in Iraq and it is bothering him. Maybe he feels a little stupid now about fighting a war to make someone else rich, losing his arm for George Bush. Maybe he feels he needed to fight in that war about like I needed to borrow $50,000 worth of tacos from Taco Heaven. He needed to lose that arm and his cock about like we both needed to get so depressed as to become fucking dick pirates, and look at him now—sucking a cock. I think it all made him a cocksucking queer and it’s all too bad, really. All I can say to Barney is, “You guys both need to leave. I have to clean this booth.”
“Yeah, clean up my fucking cum,Taco!” Barney snaps, storming out of the booth while the other guy pulls up his pants. “Clean up my fucking ass too, asshole! His ass in my ass,” he says as he brings the shit-stained stump of his arm up to his nose and sniffs it in defiance of me. Then he pulls a wadded up piece of paper out of his pocket, tosses it at me. “I wanted you to suffer too, bitch! I want you to know how it feels. You don’t know what it’s like, man, wanting to suck a dick all the time. To be so depressed as to have to suck a cock and have it consume your dreams.”
I’d heard all these whining excuses of a cocksucker before, so it didn’t phase me. Calmly, I look at Barney, feeling sorry and sad for him. “Tell the truth, Barney. Was it your first one?”
“No, and it won’t be the last fucking cock I suck, either!” He walks out the emergency exit and I unravel the piece of paper. It's actually a hairy taco wrapper from Taco Cow. It has my phone number on it which Barney wrote down after that idiot Grant gave it to him. Unable to get a job with his severed arm stump, Barney had been frustrated and decided to fuck with me to make me miserable too, and to help give Wally and Taco Cow a bad name as if they didn't have one already. The poor guy wanted to fuck with the whole world for what had happened to him in service of his country. Shaking my head, I clean up his booth and figure it is time to go outside and take a smoke break.
