Date: Mon, 25 Feb 2008 20:35:24 -0800 (PST)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Color Red: Part One

			  The Color Red: Part One

				   1940

        I lay awake in the early morning hours, listening to the shower on
the opposite side of the wall popping on.  Water hammers down in a melodic
rhythm for a brief second before the shower is snapped back off.  Someone
yells out, "We still don't got no hot water!"  Another voice replies in a
snappish manner, "What do you want me to do about it?"  To which the first
person responds: "Stop taking so damn long in the shower!"
        Their bickering is intolerable.  I flip over on my side.  The
luminous numbers 7:05 are sneering at me.  Too early to be awake - and yet
the pair of them continue.  In hopes of muffling out the sounds of early
morning rivalry, I shove the pillow down on my head and around my ears.
The yelling is still audible, but it is now reaching my ears in a gargled
distortion.  Within in a few bliss seconds of semi-quietness I manage to
drift to a daze before my bedroom door bangs open.
        The yelling has magnified.  At this point, one hundred pillows
would cease to block out the shouting.  I twist my head under the pillow
and peer through half-open eyelids.  One of the kids - a brunette - is
holding a towel up around his waist, unknowingly letting it slip a little
in the back - so I have a view of half a cheek.  He's rifling through his
dresser - yanking one open and then slapping it shut, while pulling out
clothes in rapid succession.  "Every morning, every single goddamn
morning," he says in a loud tone, "we have no goddamn hot water."  The
brunette fixes the towel more securely around his waist.
        "Won't you shut your trap?  You'll wake the new kid!" the second
arguer says in a harsh whisper.  They both fall silent and are undoubtedly
watching me, but by this point in time I have my eyes squeezed shut,
feigning sleep.  They do not finish their argument in the room - but on the
way out the brunette slams the door, so that if I had been asleep I would
have woken up to his slamming.
        I attempt sleep again, though I know that it is now useless.  My
head is buzzing; the sun is up casting morning rays across the dull, gray
bedroom.  For a few minutes, I remain staring at the ceiling watching the
fan spin lazily.  Even in the early morning hours the sheets are too hot
for the weather.  I shrug off the heavier blanket, but on principal keep
the thin one covering me.  The brunette will surely return and what will he
think if he saw the new kid, me, in briefs with a boner.  So I leave the
sheets covering me until I hear the shower pop on and stay on.
        The brunette has finally gotten his hot water.
        I toss the remaining blanket aside, swinging my legs over the edge
of the bed, and sit upright with my feet on the cool ground.  My posture,
however, is not the only thing that is attempting to sit upright.  My penis
is pressing firmly against the briefs.  I push it down and allow my hand to
linger on its thickness before reaching over to the night stand and pulling
on a pair of shorts.
        I leave the room, buttoning my shirt.  The hallway, as usual, is
filled with mundane life.  Who, in the last twenty four hours since my
arrival, I learned is called Deborah, is sitting on a single chair, legs
crossed, foot bouncing.  She's wearing seductive fish net stockings, a
short skirt, and a ratty tank top that slips down, practically revealing
her left breast.
        "Good morning, kid," she calls out in her deep, raspy voice.  She
takes a long drag on her cigarette, and as she puffs out, she provides a
studious look at me.
        I nod once in her direction, shoving my hands in my pockets.
        "Adjusting alright, I suppose," she drawls on.  Before I have a
chance to respond, she reaches out with her wrinkled, frail hand and wraps
it around my wrist.  She fixes her black hair, which is constantly
disheveled as if she just rolled out of bed, and says to me, "If you need
help adjusting - I dropped my rates - twenty dollars for a night fuck."
        I am momentarily mortified - the color red runs up my face,
flushing it a different shade.  Deborah taps the ashes away, releases my
wrist and winks, remarking, "You're a cutie - I might just drop down to ten
dollars if you decided."
        I stupidly nod once again - not knowing what to say and I begin
stepping away, aware that her eyes are still trained on me - undressing me.
I have never been with a woman and I imagine myself laying Deborah back on
my bed, spreading her legs, entering her.  This thought carries me to my
destination: the bathroom.
        The brunette is still showering - a girl walks around in a towel -
and a thirty year old or so Frenchman is perfectly nude as he begins to
shave.  I remember him from yesterday - when I was in the process of moving
in - he carried up my second suitcase.  His name was Jean Jacques or
something along those lines.
        "Have you slept well, Jay-cub?" he asks in a heavy French accent,
while raising his chin and dragging the blade along.
        I am standing a few sinks down from him and feel his sidelong
glances at me.  I shrug and run my toothbrush under the water.
        "It eez hard to adjust 'ere, no?"  Jean Jacques inquires, now
staring purposefully in the mirror.  "I 'ad 'ard time adjusting to zee life
style."  He gently taps the blade against the sink, and continues, "But I
learn 'ere I can be myself, 'ere I will start a new life before going out
into zee world."  He flashes a smile in my direction.
        My phony smile falters - it all sounds too monumental for a place
that has substandard living conditions, but I don't have the heart to ruin
Jean Jacques smile and in addition I have no where else to go.  Jean
Jacques leaves me with a smile and I watch his tight rear end leave the
bathroom.
        Seconds later - the shower snaps off.  I lower my washcloth a
fraction and stare into the mirror - the shower curtain is pushed back and
the brunette is visible, dripping water from every part of his body
including, I notice, his cut penis and testicles.  Slowly I rise in my
pants.  The brunette does not notice me until his towel is wrapped around
his waist, by that point I am buried in my washcloth, acting as if I had
not noticed.
        He comes up to the sink next to me, "Hey roomie," he says.  I could
only guess that like I had already forgotten his name - he has forgotten
mine.  However, he only knew my fake name (Jacob) yesterday - ever since my
arrival I never told anyone my real name.
        The brunette leans in close to the mirror and grins, picking at his
teeth, while saying, "What are you up to today?"
        I pause before answering, and then respond, "Nothing."  The reality
of the word melts through me like acid - I have nothing to do, nothing to
see, no one too see - I have nothing.
        "That don't sound like any fun," he says, straightening up.  "I'll
tell you what, buddy - since you're a newbie to these parts - I'll invite
you on a little excursion that a few of my friends and I are going on
tonight.  Care to join?"
        He is now facing me, holding his towel up, still dripping wet.  My
eyes quickly scan his slim chest, nipples, and pecs, before I finally meet
his eyes.  "Sure, I'll go," I say.
        The brunette is smiling slyly.  "Terrific, man."
        I follow him out of the bathroom, wondering if I could trust him.
I felt like the high school freshman who had to be cautious of the senior -
despite the fact that the brunette looks only a year or two older than I
am.
        As we are passing Deborah, she calls out through her cigarette
smoke, "It'd be forty dollars for both of your sweet cheeks at the same
time."
        I feel my face flush again and her suggestion trips up my walking,
as though she had just physically stuck her foot out, but the brunette
responds casually, "Not today, Debbie baby."
        I am more startled than his response than Deborah's suggestion and
once we are alone in the bedroom I say, "You mean you've been with her
before?"
        The brunette pulls a pair of briefs from the pile of clothes that
he retrieved earlier when I was asleep and slides them up underneath his
towel.  Once up - he removes the towel - the blue briefs outline his curves
down below.  He is shaking head, "No - I have not.  Only the desperate end
up with her and that, roomie, is one thing I am not.  But if you promise to
sleep with her later - she'll shut up for the rest of the day.  It's her
job to sit around and see how many people will pay to have sex with her and
she does get a good amount - but like I said - those men or sometimes women
are desperate as hell to fuck someone, anyone."
        I decided that the brunette could not have possibly known that he
indirectly offended me, as I had earlier imagined myself sleeping with
Deborah.  I am that desperate.
        The brunette slides up his pants and makes it his business to check
the clock.  "I am going to meet with the group in twenty minutes," he
informs me, selecting a white undershirt to pull on.  "You'll have to meet
them if you want to participate in this excursion."
        "Which by the way is what?  What is this excursion?"
        "I would tell you here - but then I'd have to go out in the hall
and shoot anyone who was in the vicinity of our door - including Deborah,
because you can hear right through these doors and walls, in case you
haven't noticed."
        At the sight of my paling face - the brunette laughs, but does not
say the words I was waiting for him to hear, "I'm joking."  He leaves it at
that morbid fact, which makes me wonder if I should pull out.
        And to top it off - I am not only filled with anxiety - but I am
also hard again underneath my shorts and briefs.  I feel like one of those
desperate people the brunette described and I suddenly have a yearning to
return to my past.