Drunken Poets Tell The Truth

“I favor eating your pussy to all others, dear Ruby,” the old man exclaimed in slurred words while leaning over papers at his desk.

“Charming,” replied the young woman from the bed a few feet away, “it’s amazing those words of yours aren’t published and plastered across newspapers far and wide.”

He sneered back at her, “same could be said of your cunt.”

She rolled over and put her back to him.  The sheet bunched up between her legs and balled against her chest.  She hugged it tight for comfort instead of warmth.  The raging fire in the furnace was enough to keep the entire street warm, yet he kept the window open all winter as well.

“I think better in between temperatures,” he would tell anyone who asked, and there were plenty.  He’d invite people up to his room to drink beyond closing hours of the bar he lived above.  There would be women as well, prostitutes, he would spend whatever money on he had that he didn’t imbibe.  There were no shortage of people in and out of his tiny apartment.

Tonight it was Ruby.  That wasn’t her real name but she hadn’t used her real name in so long that it may as well have been.  She had heard about the old man that lived above the bar and all of the stories that went along with him.  His eccentricities.  How he would rant and drink and give a girl whatever she wanted if she seemed interested.  His bluntness and the bit of mean streak that he carried, it was mostly words but he could look threatening if he wanted to.  Nobody ever claimed he harmed them though.

He also had money, which was the most important thing to a woman selling her body for sexual favors.  It really was the only thing that mattered.

The old man always paid and he usually paid more than the agreed upon amount.

“He’s a great tipper,” the other girls told Ruby when she got the call.

“He’ll fuck you, he’ll drink, he’ll rant and when he falls asleep you just take the money and slip out like nothing.  There’s no pleading for more time or trying to set up another date.  It’s a quick transaction and usually doesn’t even last the whole night.”

He had asked for someone new.  There was a time limit he gave each girl.  He fucked them every night he could until they got stale.  One of the ways he knew she was on her way out was when she called him a pet name like hun or honey or darlin’.

Another way was when her drink of choice started to bore him and he needed something new to drown his liver.  He liked variety in his women and his drink.  Whenever he would ask for a new girl he made an additional request.

“Tell her to wear something that tears easily and bring a bottle of her favorite drink,” was the request.

Most girls would ask the previous girl what she brought and whether he liked it.  They wanted to try and impress him and keep the relationship going as long as possible.  He would cycle through the girls and their bourbon and vodka and rum.  A hot body to fuck and a warm inside made his nights bearable.  They didn’t feel so long when he had those two things.

Ruby never thought to ask the girl what to take and she brought her favorite drink as requested, a bottle of Merlot.  It wasn’t anything fancy but she enjoyed it every now and then.  She wasn’t much of a drinker anyway but she thought it better than a bottle of fruit juice or iced tea.

She stood at the door to his apartment with her long overcoat and little skimpy affair underneath.  Something with garters and straps, nothing too complicated or that required great finger dexterity.  There was a lot of flesh showing and the slick fabrics ran nicely with the smoothness of her skin.  She held her coat tightly closed with one hand and gripped the bottle in the other.

“It’s about fuckin’ time,” was the first words he said to her.  The door opened as the abrasive hello was being uttered.  She stood there with her eyes wide open and the scraggly haired man stood in front of her.  He looked her up and down and nodded his head into the room.  The heat was billowing through the door until she took a few steps in and a cold burst shot through the open window.

The room was bigger than a college dorm, but not by much.  Ruby had gone for a couple of years but found out it wasn’t for her.  She didn’t even really know what she wanted to do and wasting all of that money was ridiculous.  There was a bed in one corner, a furnace opposite that.  Across from the bed was the desk that was littered with papers and a bookshelf behind it.  The window was on the wall with the desk and a tornado of hot and cold mixed across the middle of the room.

“What’s that?  What did you bring?”  The old man looked down and scowled at the bottle.
“Wine?  What the fuck did you bring wine for?”  His gaze was a mix of puzzled and angry.

“You asked that I bring my favorite drink,” Ruby said defensively.

“If I knew you were a grape-sucking wino I would have just told you to bring a bucket of piss, might have got some use out of it.  Or at least it would have made more sense when I poured it down the toilet.  Put it on the desk and take off your god damn coat.”

He was an odd mixture of drunk, yet not.  There had been drinks consumed, plenty from the smell of it, but his voice was clear and his movements were smooth.  She could even see some semblance of a man beneath his tattered clothing and his gruff demeanor.  It wasn’t always easy fucking men who were less than ideally in attractiveness but it sure as hell made it easier.

Ruby slipped her coat off of her shoulders and hung it on the wooden coat rack next to the door.  Three quarters of her body was feeling a blazing heat from the furnace while the rest was chilled.  It gave an odd sensation as she shivered and the sweat cooled against her skin.

“Have you showered?”

Her question made the old man grumble to himself under his breath about her being too god damn prissy for his taste.  She rolled her eyes as he disappeared beyond the door behind the bed into a small bathroom and shower.  The water started and Ruby let herself explore the room.

There wasn’t much aside from first glance.  Old muddy boots were behind the door and a painting hung above them.  The painting was of a vase with a heart painted on it and a small chip along the top.  It seemed out of place yet it fit the room and blended against the dulled yellow walls.
There was a dresser beneath the window and a few items on top of it, one of which was a picture frame.  She took a closer look and it appeared to be one of him when he was younger and a woman.  He was rugged and she was beautiful.  They were in Paris with the Eiffel Tower behind them in the shot.  There was a smile gorgeously painted across her face and his eyes were in love as he looked at her.  It was an interesting contrast to the man who greeted Ruby at the door.  She took some liberties at assuming the woman in the photo was part of his path to where he ended up now.

Ruby didn’t notice the shower shutting off and the door to the bathroom flung open.  The old man looked less ragged, yet more old as he stood at the foot of the bed wearing nothing.  She looked at him over her shoulder and made no expression, positive or negative.  He raises his eye brows enticing her to be impressed as his nakedness hung between his legs.  She smirked and turned back towards the dresser.

His eyes were burning into her backside.  She caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window pane and could tell by the sounds behind her and the movement in his body that he was handling himself as he stared at her.  She turned around and confirmed it, then made her way over to him to remove his hand and replace it with her own.  They locked eyes and stared in silence for a few thousand moments.

He slowly touched her.  His reach was shaky and his fingers were trembling.  The gruff act he put on at the door was gone and he seemed almost nervous.  Ruby was eye to eye with him in her heels and she reached behind her to pull a pin from her hear and let it tumble down her back.  The deep colored, unnatural red hair poured down her backside and she watched his lips part and felt his groan.

Her body was stripped after that.  The straps of her bra were pulled off of her shoulders and he kissed along her neck.  The white and grey bristles from his beard scratched her skin.  The bra was unsnapped and tossed at the door with force, seeming as he was angry that it ever was on her to begin with.  Her waist was quickly cleared of coverings as well and she stood against him, tugging at his erection, completely naked aside from her heels.

“Grab the wine,” he muttered in her ear and pulled away from her grip to sit on the bed.

She did as he asked and stood in front of him.  Her hips in line with his face.

He took the bottle from her hand and opened it, “screw top.”
He snorted and shook his head.  Ruby gave no response.

The mouth of the bottle finally breathed and he placed it against his nostrils and inhaled. He then gave it a kiss before tipping the bottle up, taking a long pull from it and smacking his lips.  Ruby stared down at him and he looked up at her with a smirk.  The bottle’s lips were placed against Ruby’s and rubbed back and forth between her legs, she played along and made it seem as if she was enjoying it.

“Lay down on your back,” he said in a clear voice before standing up next to her.

She traded places with him, on her back and pulling her feet up off of the floor on the edge of the bed.  Her legs were spread and waiting for him.  Her body was much younger than his and was work of art.  She spent a lot of hours keeping it in as good a shape as it was and the look on his face as he peered down at her made her know that he appreciated it.

“Let’s put this to use, huh?”  The old man dropped to his knees and tipped the bottle of wine over her, between her legs.  It poured out and drenched the sheets and ran down to the floor, pooling around his knees.

After a few seconds of pouring and nearly half of the bottle emptied onto Ruby’s waist he replaced the waterfall of fermented grapes with his lips and tongue.  He alternated between sucking the liquid from her skin to lapping at it with his tongue, then pouring more to replace everything he had just consumed.  When the bottle was empty he slide it backwards across the floor and it made a clinking sound against the wall and rolled under the desk.  His lips suctioned to her and devoured everything in front of him until her toes curled into the wood frame.

Then they fucked.  He fucked her for hours.  The stickiness on her skin from the Merlot was kept slick from the heat in the furnace and the sweat on their skin.  In between orgasms they traded no words, just touch and his lips on her neck and breasts.  He tugged at her nipples like a puppy playing with a toy and she yelped, which made him grunt a smile into her chest and give in to long, deep suckling pulls at her nipple.

When his body was spent and the vigor seemed to drain from him he crawled from the bed and slouched in the chair over his desk and papers.  There was a bottle of brown liquid on the bookshelf behind him.  He grabbed it and poured himself a glass half full, then quickly emptied the glass past his lips only to pour another.

Ruby watched him drink himself stupid as she laid in the wine-stained sheets.  It was quite a sight.  The old, naked man with a condom stuck to his dick and a glass in one hand throwing back drink after drink.  When he would put the glass down long enough to breathe he grabbed a pen and scribbled across the papers.  She thought it would be impressive if he could see, much less write.

The more he wrote the less he drank.  The words turned into full sheets of paper and it was pushed aside and another was retrieved so he could continue.  Sheet after sheet was piled until he dropped the pen on the desk and leaned back letting out a loud groan and making the comment about her cunt being his favorite.

Ruby figured he was going to pass out soon.  A man that drinks that much at his assumed age can’t possibly last much longer, and she was right.
He flopped into the bed next to her, laying in his and her orgasms and his feet in the wine covered sheets.  His body still naked and the sheet tugged from her body and draped loosely across his waist.  He gave her a shove and a lazy arm pointed towards the dresser.

“Top drawer.  Take it all.”

After that he didn’t say another word and his breathing grew increasingly more rhythmic.  He was asleep, finally.

Ruby carefully crawled out of the bed on the other side, even though a plane crashing into the building wouldn’t have stirred him from his sleep.  The pieces of her underwear were retrieved and slipped on before she made her way to the dresser and opened it.  There was a large stack of cash, all twenties and much more than she had ever gotten from any one visit.  It was more than she had ever gotten for an entire night of multiple visits.  She turned to look at him to ask if he was sure it was all for her but he was snoring.

The money was tucked in her coat pocket but she hesitated throwing it on just yet.  Ruby turned back towards the desk and she wondered what he had written.  What all of those pages were that he filled and piled on the corner of the desk.  She crept back over and grabbed one of the pages fresh with ink from that night and read it.

You brought me wine and I made you the glass.  I drank it from your sacred lips.  Grapes never spent such sweet moments soaking and I could pull the salt from your skin like a machine.  You pulled me in as I pulled against you.  I could never experience beauty again like I had with you tonight.  I should just kill myself now rather than try.  You’ve become the wind and any beauty that isn’t seen can be felt.”

Ruby didn’t know how to react.  He was a writer?  This man who looked homeless when she met him could think such beautiful words and string them together as a necklace across the page?  No.  She rummaged around to find something older, not from this evening.  She picked up a piece of paper that was dated four months ago.

I never make love anymore but with you I came close.  I fuck.  I cum.  I do all sorts of vulgar acts but you made me experience a high I haven’t had since my hair was more full of color and my eyes were less weary.  You showed me the insides of your mind and the underneaths of your clothes and I ravished them until my hands shook.  I’ll only ache for you in originality because you’ve tricked my body into needing the oils of your skin to survive.  Bathe me in them and I’ll never touch water again.  I want to have the scent of your hair locked in my smile.”

There were journals on the bookshelf behind the desk.  Each had a start and end date scrawled on the spine.  Ruby pulled out one from 1983 and opened it to the middle.

I never lived.  I survived.  I never loved.  I desired.  I never wanted.  I needed.  Yet all of it was easier when you were near.”

She flipped a few more pages and read on.

I may as well drop myself down to the streets.  I’ll need to find a high enough perch to fall from so I might cause the biggest nuisance to those left to clean up my remarkable remains.  They will be remarkable too.  From Yount street to Fifth I’m aiming, a splatter of epic proportions.  If you read this I’m sorry that I ever loved you.  I knew it would never be enough but I was selfish.  Women like you make men want unreasonable things such as birds to not sing in the morning and the ocean to remain still through the night.”

The journal was put back on the shelf and she stared at the contents for a moment when she noticed one didn’t have any date on it.  There was only one identifying word written; Solace.

She pulled it out and opened it up to the first page.

When men are young they are brash and evil little shits.  Pompous and full of fuck-the-world.  I was their king and I made you their queen.  We burned villages with our venom and spit on the corpses while helping ourselves to what was left.  I could pull from you the worst in me and you would cradle and nurse the worst in you.

And then you died and I died with you.  It was probably the best thing in the world as the evil only grew stronger when you were near me and I would not have found this angel when I was such a demon.  She’s from heaven and you would have hated her.  I think I love her though.  She makes me afraid of death by giving me something to live for.  I’m sorry, I know you would be disgusted with me but I’ve left my note of return and am burning all that I was. 

Happiness was never meant for those like us, so I’m going to see how long I can trick God into thinking I belong.  I will be a fun ride while it lasts.  She’ll find me out soon enough.”

It was like reading his life and it felt too personal to continue.  She slipped the journal back in place and threw her coat on.  Before making her way through the door she took one last glance at the old man she had spent the night with so intimately yet knew nothing about.  There had been plenty of other men she fucked all night and left without a second thought but there seemed to be more to him.  She was curious about him.  He was the first man in a long time to stay with her on her trip home and as she crawled into her bed to sleep.

He was old and disheveled.  He was lacking in charm and grace, but there was depth to him as well.  He had more than one soul in his eyes and control of his body was always up for grabs.  He had loved and hated.  There had been pain and anguish.  There were beautiful moments flickered in among the every day pain of being alive.  As alone as he was in his small apartment above a bar he had been alive a thousand times and she was left wondering about each and every one of those times as she drifted off to sleep.

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