I spent a night in New York City with some friends. We drank in a hotel room. Whiskey and soda. We joked around, insulted each other, and wrestled (latent homosexuality evident in piles of male flesh? I’d like to think not but I am not in the minds of my comrades so I do not know for sure).

We walked around the city. It was cold, very cold but the alcohol helped warm us. I smoked cigarettes and the occasional small cigar. At 3am we stopped at a peepshow. I was so far gone, the woman I followed (a young, plump black woman if I remember correctly) was just a fleshy blur with an aura that was slightly glittery. I didn’t get a hard-on even though she put her feet up against the fiberglass partition and fingered herself while looking at me seductively. She even turned around and showed me her darker nether regions but my memory is so hazy I sometimes wonder if there was even a woman there to begin with. Maybe I was looking at an empty booth. What the hell would be the difference?

Empty air might have been just as arousing.

"Peeping Bad Cops"

Copyright: © 2010 Jordan Krall

Jordan Krall is the author of Piecemeal June, Squid Pulp Blues, Fistful of Feet, King Scratch, Blow Up the Outside World (co-written with Ash Lomen), and Beyond the Valley of the Apocalypse Donkeys.  His books can be found on Amazon.com

1 comment:

  1. Woah! Cool! And I've wrestled with lots of friends, and it's never that homoerotic. It's only about WINNING!

    Good story.