Gianni Senior’s Night Out by Mark Dennis
OK so I’m at this club in Silver Lake, and after a couple
of adios mothafuckers I’m on the dance floor puttin’
my thang down and feeling good. The DJ is spinning this mid-nineties
hip-hop medley which is stuff you just don’t hear anymore
in these gay clubs since all they play now is this industrial
tweaker shit. This guy dances his way up to me all stiff and white
boy like but he’s fine so it’s cool. We dance, or
I dance and he does various versions of his white boy strut to
joints from Mary J. Blidge, P Diddy back when he was puff daddy,
the Fugees, Shaggy. . . all this shit until we’re both dripping
before he pulls me into the bathroom and whips from his sweaty
pocket what must be a dime bag of glass. We go into a stall and
he pulls out a pipe and I say no at first, but then since I haven’t
done anything since Gianni Junior moved in with me almost a year
ago and since he’s staying at my mom’s and won’t
be back until Sunday and it’s Friday and even if I get shit-faced
I’ll have plenty of time to recover and be Super Dad by
Sunday night and since I’ve been taking serious good care
of myself and since I deserve some adult fun every now and then,
I decide it’s OK.
He lights the pipe and we start hitting it. The tweak leaves
a taste in my mouth like the barrel of a .38 revolver which back
when I was super young and wasn’t a dad and was tricking
serious status, I’ve tasted—but that’s another
story. He whips out his dick and gives me this you-just-smoked-my-shit-so-you-know-what’s-up
look. It’s huge and limp and honestly has zero appeal to
me, but my inhibitions are gone and I kinda like hanging with
him so I tell him that I won’t do it here, that I want to
take him someplace private so I can really show him what I got
and he says OK and we get in his ride, which is some kind of BMW
or Mercedes or some other penis car which normally would annoy
the fuck out of me, but since I’ve already seen his penis
and he doesn’t really need a penis car and like I said he’s
fine, I overlook. The tweak is really hitting me good and we’re
zipping down Sunset and screeching to a stop beside this guy he
says is a dealer and buying some Special K, whi! ch I’ve
never done before, but he says is the best cool down from tweak
and then I give him directions and we wind up through the hills
and park in front of my house. I balk for a minute remembering
the blow job I was supposed to be delivering but this Special
K shit has him so excited he seems to have forgotten so I go inside
with him and everything is too loud and too bright and the next
thing I know I’m waking up naked and sick nasty status.
And what’s worse, I can’t remember shit. I’m
gagging my way to the bathroom when I see it. Lying on the floor,
Gianni Junior’s Jansport. I make my way down the hall feeling
like someone has been driving nails up my ear canal and into my
brain.
“What are you doing back G?” I’m standing
outside his room since I’m not sure what the hell I look
like.
“I was homesick. Grandma said it was OK”. His voice
tells me nothing and it’s only when I look in his eyes,
see the hurt and fear there that I realize that he has seen, heard,
and unlike me remembers all.
Mark Dennis
Among other things, Mark Dennis is a writer, actor, real estate
agent, and political activist living in Los Angeles California.
He is currently an Emerging Voices Rosenthal Fellow at PEN USA
West and is working on his first collection of short fiction.
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