Sex and Murder Magazine

I’m pulling my underwear back on underneath the gown to salvage some dignity when she zips in like a hummingbird. Great skin. Firm calves. No ring.

How old is she?

She says, “Take your underwear off.”

“Can you put on some Barry White, first?”

The doctor shakes her head—

She got the reference. She’s older than she looks.

—and turns her back, dashes to a counter and hovers there long enough to snap on latex gloves, then takes her stethoscope off of her neck while she quick-steps toward me.

“Don’t dump them on the floor,” She says, “place your clothes on the chair next to the examining table and hop up onto the paper.”

I walk backwards to the table, making sure to always keep the back of the gown from facing her. When I hop up onto the table I need all my strength. While in motion, there’s a sliver of a time where I may not make it up, but I don’t let on.

When I sit, I notice that though I don’t have an erection, I’m pitching a mini-tent because I’m full commando style under the gown. If I fold my hands in my lap, will that call unwanted attention to it?

She puts the business end of the scope on my chest, then my back. “Take deep breaths.”

I clear a lingering tickle in my throat. “You know, this gown isn’t my color, I’m a Winter.”

She glances at my pile of rubbish lumped on the chair. “I seriously doubt it matters. Stop talking. Breathe.”

Doc puts a disposable thermometer strip under my tongue, and steps out of the room. When she comes back she has a syringe sealed in plastic which she places on the counter.

That’s a big fucking needle.

She reads my temperature and tosses the strip in the trash then she takes a swab of my throat.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“I dunno, three days? Four?”

“And you’re just now coming in?”

Christ, I hate needles.

“Yep.”

She looks at me for the first time and says, “That’s stupid, you have a fever of 103. I’ll be back with the results of this culture.”

She leaves. Again.

Chicks dig me.

*****

I consider putting my underwear back on, but I doubt I’d make it back onto the table by myself.

Needle.

I stay put.

No fucking way am I staying overnight and missing tomorrow’s scene.

I swing my legs, the paper rustles.

Needle.

A woman like her probably gets hit on all day. Must get tiring.

The doctor bursts back into the room, pushing a stainless steel cart. The top of the cart has all kinds of shit on it.

I say, “So, what’s up, Doc? Will I live?”

“Not if it’s up to you.”

I read her face for a sign of jest. Stoic.

That looks like a vial on the cart…

“What do I have?” I ask.

…can’t tell what that long thing is…but that’s some iodine…

Doc tells me I’ve got bacterial pneumonia, with a touch of strep tossed in for the kids at home. Awesome.

…looks like we have some gauze pads…

She snatches the long thing off the cart. I see it well, now.

Oh snap! Look at the size of that mother!

She says, “Hop off the table, lift up your gown and bend over.”

NEEDLE!

“But Doc, we just met.”

“I don’t have time for games. There are many other people needing care.”

I say, “Aren’t you—NEEDLE!—supposed to distract me with a sock puppet?”

“Please. Act like an adult.”

Don’t be a little bitch in front of a girl. It’s just a—NEEDLE!

“This is gonna suck,” I say.

“Good. Next time you’ll seek medical help sooner.”

“What happened to—NEEDLE!—‘Do no further harm?’”

She swabs my ass-cheek. “Stop moving.”

“Can’t you just give me a pill?”

She sighs. “Let me do my—NEEDLE, NEEDLE, NEEDLE!”

I say, “I know, but—NEEDLE!”

“NEEDLE NEEDLE NEEDLE NEEDLE!—stop crying.”

My eyes dash to the door-my shoes by the chair-back to the door that seems impossibly far away.

Doc says, “Relax your buttocks!”

“I’m trying.”

On my back, looking up. Argyle, knee-socked legs straddling my head. Amanda standing over me in a skirt. White cotton panties. Cooing in Spanish. She sits….

I feel Doc wiping the injection site, slapping on a band-aid and then some tape.

“Get dressed.”

I walk over to the chair and balance myself against it as I pull on my boxer-briefs.

She writes something on a pad of paper. “The hospital pharmacy is closed for an hour, so I’m writing you a script. Fill it, and take all the medication until it’s finished, even if you feel better, and stay in bed.”

She furrows her brow as she gives me orders. I’d love to obey her commands, but fuck staying in bed and loosing my slot.

I say, “Listen, Doc, I’m not normally such smart a—”

“Apology accepted. We all have our defense mechanisms.”

She pushes the cart to the door. “Sure. Are there any questions before I see the next patient?”

“Yeah, can I get a lollypop?”

She flashes a smile, showing white teeth, then it’s gone.

“You can get out.”

*****

I grab last night’s pants off the floor and dig out the contents of the pockets. The spare key, a crumpled prescription slip, my wallet. I stuff the wallet in my pocket, put the key on my ring and stuff that in my pocket too. I kiss Amanda’s forehead without waking her, glance at my bag sitting at the side of the bed and go out the door. Without it.

I know what your thinking. “That motherfucker is sick, he should be in bed like Doc said. I can’t believe he’s gonna go to work and possibly infect his costar anyway? How irresponsible!” Go all the way back and read this long-assed story again. It’s a zero-sum business and I’m far from home free, so you’re goddamn right I’m gonna get that paper. Either it’s me or the next guy who wants my slot. Fuck the next guy, that shit is mine.

It’s still dark outside but my call time is early and I don’t want to risk being late, fucking up my new spot in DVD Gang’s rotation because I miss a bus. That shit won’t fly in LA.

There’s a faint rattling in the distance; a ghetto bird is on the hunt, probing the dark for prey with its spotlight. I walk.

*****

The rising sun is ruthless. It shows the girl you convinced yourself was an eight in the darkness of da Club for the six she really is. Ho’s know this, and all around Los Angeles they slink away into the pre-dawn grey like vampires. East LA is a four, with the lights off, and come daybreak, bitch got nowhere to hide. After many bus changes to get to the barrio, I approach the set. An abandoned hospital that’s a dead ringer for the one I just wasted my entire night inside.

Vic Vermont, the cage-fighter turned pornstar is standing by the door. He watches my approach. Normally, I’d affect a non-threatening slouch, but with my illness shutting my sleep-deprived body down, it saves the trouble of acting.

I say, “Are you with the DVD Gang shoot?”

He looks at me, and his snake eyes are dice tumbling in their sockets with the numbers corresponding with smite, answer the question, give a wedgie, answer the question then smite.

C’mon, seven!

He lifts his arm, I cringe, and he points into the dark mouth of the building. “No, I’m shooting for Red Assholes films. There’s a lotta different shoots going on inside the hospital today. The Gang people are on the third floor.”

I look up at the building that’s a football-field per floor.

Step away from the come line while your ahead.

“Thanks, I’ll find it.”

I enter. Each step I take more taxing than the one before it.

*****

Dana Divine greets me. “Tyler, I’ve heard good things about you!”

”Really?”

She gives me a hug. “You’re burning up, are you okay honey?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, Stan said you did well for him,” she says, “and the number of black male talent worth a damn can fit into my SUV, so I’m excited to have you here. Speaking of good, have you met Jack Hammer?”

She points to a dredlocked kid bursting out of a black wifebeater with a Punisher skull on it. He’s the Yin to Vic’s Yang.

I need to get on creatine.

He offers me his hand but I counter with my elbow. He looks at the elbow for a moment, shrugs, and bumps it with his.

Dana takes my copy of my HIV test and my ID’s. She says, “Alfred is shooting camera. I handle the ancillary issues. We’ve got two scenes before yours. I told him to push your call time back a few hours, but he never listens,”

I say, “You got a place I can lay down while I wait?”

“Yeah, there are some old hospital cots around the corner but I can’t speak to their cleanliness.”

“That’s okay. Don’t care.”

I’m almost at the corner before her words hit my ears. “I’ll come get you when we’re ready for you.”

The cot. I curl up. Shaking. Eyes shut.

*****

Voices passing room. Something about “lunch”. Someone’s jacket covering me. Eyes shut.

*****

Eyes open. Hair soaked.

Dana says, “Welcome back to the living.”

I stir, moan.

Dana says, “How much longer? Well, Alfred is shooting Jack Hammer’s scene right now so it won’t be too much longer.”

Dana’s smiley. Crinkly foil triangles.

She says, “I saved you some pizza. I wrapped them for you.”

I moan.

“Oh, okay. Well, it’ll be here if you change your mind later.”

Eyes shut.

*****

I awaken again, and right away I’m feeling better. Still weak and my tongue feels like a towel, but better. The light filtering through the dusty windows are back to the same greys as when I arrived this morning. When I look out the window I see most of the cars are different.

Let’s get some water.

All the same items are in the staging are but nobody’s there. Silent. I snatch a water from the ice chest and explore the hospital. Peeling paint. Office furniture and documents piled into corners. Medical equipment from the mid century. Freddy Krueger would love it here.

Voices.

I stalk down the hall, down a flight of stairs, following them to their source.

“…or hold my cock steady.”

“Why can’t you do this yourself? Don’t be such a pussy.”

I peek in the room. Two guys. One with his eyes shut and his pants down. The other, fully dressed, but kneeling and aiming a needle at the side of the first guys dick.

Walk away, Eric.

Too late, Needle Boy looks up. He says, “Hey, you. C’mere an gimmie a hand with this.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Cock Boy’s eyes are still squeezed shut.

I say, “You guys getting high or something?”

Needle Boy has a Boston accent. He says, “Nah, were caving.”

Don’t ask.

“What’s ‘caving’?”

“Caverject. I’m shooting his dick up to get him hard for my scene, yah know?” He clarifies, “I’m the director.” He turns back to the cock.

This time, Cock Boy speaks. “Look, if you’re not gonna help then don’t distract him, okay? Please, just leave!”

“Whatever.”

“Thank you.”

White boys.

*****

I return to the staging area. The sun goes down and the interior lights illuminate a patch of tiled floor every 15 feet. Porn ghosts from various shoots echo fuck-sounds throughout the empty building.

The shakes return. So does Dana. “Hey sweetie, were ready. Follow me to basement.”

*****

The basement looks like a set from a first-person shooter, zombie game. Industrial, damp and morose. Looking around, I see nothing obvious to fuck on. For that matter, where’s the girl? We stop next to a ladder.

A man twists his way through the pipes as he approaches me and Dana, swelling his lats like a cobra. I’m tempted to start a pose-down duel.

He says, “Kendra said you were taller.”

“I’m 6’7” when I stand on top of my cock.”

He stares.

Dana says, “Tyler, Alfred. Alfred, this is Tyler.”

I say, “Howdy.” and offer my elbow. Nothing.

He says, “I already shot the girl’s part of the intro leading up to the sex. I’m going to shoot yours now.”

“Okay, but I left my vibrator at home.”

More stares.

Dana says, “Why don’t you explain the scene to Tyler.”

“Yeah, right. Remember the video for Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’, where the girl is crawling through the muck in the jungle? That will be you. You’ll start over there—”

He points to a console of switches 20 paces away.

“—then you make your way through the maze of pipes on your hands and knees—and this is very important—like there is a deep needing inside of you, but you don’t know what it is.”

“What is it that I need?”

“So anyway, you’ll make your way through here and up this ladder—”

With my eyes, I follow the ladder up until my head is at a 180° angle with the floor. I feel unseen eyes looking down at me.

“—to the top of this boiler tank where the girl is waiting for you. When you get there, she’ll flip you over—be careful, there’s no railing—and she’ll attack the cock. I cleaned off the dead roaches and most of rat shit, and I even laid out a blanket so it’s cool.”

He stares again.

Nigga, please! Are you out of your Goddamn mind?

I say, “Are you—”

Dana says, “Kendra says you called her every day for weeks until you got on the roster. Alfred, remember how much you worked for DVD gang when you were male talent?

*****

My knees are raw from countless takes crawling on cement for the intro. Shaking is worse. The intro is done. I stop twice while climbing the ladder. The “set” is a platform no bigger than the hood of a Prius. I crawl onto it next to the girl. Alfred is on the ladder filming.

Girl flips me, snatches my cock. Does things to me. Position after endless position. Finally, doggy. On my knees again. Maneuvering behind the girl. She backs up. I back up. We fuck. She backs up. I back up. My knee finds—

Nothing.

“Oh my God, he’s gonna fall!”

*****

Men. I can totally feel this kid’s eyes moving over my body. I’m in a lab coat, not very sexy. What do I have to wear, a burka? And what’s with the boxers under the gown? Please, you’ve got nothing I don’t see all day.

I say, “Take your underwear off.”

“Can you put on some Luther Vandross, first?”

Great, one of those. I’m too busy to deal with this nonsense. Oh no he didn’t! Where does this kid live, in the street?

“Don’t dump them on the floor,” I say. “Place your clothes on the chair next to the examining table and hop up onto the paper.”

Oh my God, he almost fell! Don’t laugh!

With my stethoscope, I listen to his heart.

I say, “Take deep breaths.”

Then for fluid in his lungs.

Fluid, probably pnemon—ha, is he pitching a tent? Wow, that’s a big boy.

I read his temperature. 103. Then I swab a culture from his throat.

dick.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

Focus, Vicky. Act professional.

He says, “I dunno, three days? Four?”

“And you’re just now coming in?”

dick.

“Yep.”

He’s cute, too bad he’s an idiot.

“That’s stupid,” I say, “you have a fever of 103.”

Still, I haven’t been fucked in a week.

Sitting there, he looks like a little boy that just got his feelings hurt.

I’ll make you feel better.

“I’ll be back with the results of this culture.”

*****

Lab results say strep. Okay, put my professional face back on.

I return back into the room.

“What do I have?” he asks.

I tell him.

Why is he looking at my cart? Whatever.

I prepare the—dick—syringe for injection.

I say, “Hop off the table, lift up your gown and bend over.”

He says, “But Doc, we just met.”

Now that was funny.

He does, and I catch a glimpse of his—DICK!

Look at the size of that mother!

He turns and lifts up his gown, showing me his butt.

Firm. Mama likes!

“This is gonna suck,” he says.

Don’t blow it, kiddo.

“Good. Next time you’ll seek medical help sooner.”

“What happened to, ‘Do no further harm?’”

I swab iodine on his cheek. “Stop moving.”

“Can’t you just give me a pill?”

Sigh, you blew it.

He squirms away from my needle.

Idiot! I would have fucked you.

I say, “Relax your buttocks!”

He sure got quiet all of the sudden. I wonder what he’s thinking.

I clean and dress the injection site on his tight butt, and bandage him up.

What a waste.

“Get dressed.”

Just write this guy’s script and get him out of here—why is he looking at me like that?

He says, “Listen, Doc, I’m not normally such smart a—”

Yes, you are.

“Apology accepted.” I say. “We all have our defense mechanisms.”

I head for the door. Lots of people to see before my shift ends. People that actually care if they live or die.

I say, “Are there any questions before I see the next patient?”

“Yeah, can I get a lollypop?”

If you knew how close you to getting some brown sugar…

*****

“He’s okay. Ranishia snagged him before he went over,” Alfred says, “Thank God, because I still need the pop shot from him.”

*****

“Don’t stress,” Dana says. “You’re sick. How you got hard again—especially within a half-hour of nearly falling two stories—to finish the scene is beyond me.”

We’re back at the staging area. This scene put me over for what I need to get my own place, but I have to smooth shit over with the Divines because Kendra will ask for a report. I’m not giving up my slot without a fight.

“Thanks, Dana. I’m not one to quit.”

Alfred says, “Yeah, well, you still took too long to pop and time is money. It’s your fault this production lagged and we went way over time today, so I’m docking your pay $100 to compensate for location fees.”

This motherfucker. I could point out his fucked-up time management skills but it’d be pointless. Big picture, I still have enough for move in costs, and my DVD Gang slot is more important. Even if I prevent the theft of my $100, it’s a Pyrrhic victory.

Let it go.

*****

Amanda wakes me. “I filled your prescription, sit up. Open your mouth.”

She puts a pill in my mouth and gives me water. It’s still dark outside but I don’t remember how I got back.

Where’s the bag? My old shoes?

“I gave you the top two drawers,” she says, “and washed what was worth keeping.”

My bag hangs empty in her closet. Nabokov, Hammett, and Bukowski are piled up on her dresser. Well, our dresser now.

She says, “Tú eres mío.”

Amanda mounts me; her pussy is hot.

I drift.

*****

My cell wakes me. Sunlight. My stomach twists and grinds, telling me to put something in it.

I answer, “Hello.”

“Yo nigga, this is Stan.”

“Hey.”

“So I’ma come right to it,” he says, “Kendra got a report from the Divine’s this morning.”

“Yeah? That was fast.”

They’re gonna dump me. Great, I fail at porn. Well at least I have Amanda, and now the move-in money can last us until I get a real job telemarketing or something.

“Tyler,” Stan says, “we’d like to make you DVD Gang’s first ever male contract star. You gonna blow up nigga!”

I hang up, and I do not move. The tears want to come. I let them.