The Way We Love

BlowJobs & Feathers

Chapter One || BlowJobs & Feathers

(Paul's POV)

The sun bore upon my back, extending the bright summer days into something that was inclusively dry and brittle. With each sigh, my lips shriveled like the skin of a desert snake, as a pool of sweat-drenched my aching body.

The heat sweltered in waves, as white tepid clouds turned peaceful blue, drifting under my aspirations.

Yet, the high temperatures were bearable compared to the work that I had done today.

Damn it!" I cursed as I opened the door of my truck.

I watched my client walk away, his shoulders rigid with anger and tension.

I wiped the blood off my swollen cheeks. This was the cost I paid for giving my body to the flames and letting my heart smolder in the panting breath of summer; breathing in the ashes.

My client, an overlarge man disappeared behind the local gas station but not before giving me a piece of his mind, "fuck you, you lazy slut!" he muttered unhappily.

I rolled my eyes. He was just another client who enjoyed the pleasure but didn't want to pay, "I'm a prostitute you ass!" I shot back.

Regrettably, this type of exchange was bad for business, but it was even more dangerous to demand honesty in my line of work.

I closed my eyes, as my fingers trembled and the rage built. It was hard for me to see the good in the world when everything was centered in the rotting slums.

My fingers cracked as I checked my pockets for some change. I really needed some water.

"Fucking blowhole!" I cursed as I headed in the direction of the air-conditioned gas station.

The owner of the station was a pain in my rear. I would be lucky enough if he let me in to use the bathroom. He had a personal vendetta against what he called, "wayward souls."

I didn't care if he condemned me, because if doing what I had to do to survive destroyed my soul, then I would never ask for atonement.

I was homeless and spent most of my days and nights wandering the streets, luring morally questionable men into corners to perform sexual favors just to eat.

Oh no, you don't Paul!" the owner yelled as he put the breaks on my plan to discreetly walk in and buy some water.

"Come on, Ed I just need water!" I reasoned. I was holding up the line and if he refused to service me then I would have to steal.

Ed shook his head sternly, "last time I let you come in here, you stole over twenty dollars worth of food, not to mention the type of business you bring by..." he glanced at me, as he pointed his nose up. He glared at me as if he smelled something awful.

I smiled, trying to use my boyish charms to persuade him. There were a few curious looks as people continued to browse between the aisles.

"Water under the bridge?"I asked slipping a pack of cigarettes behind my back.

He rolled his eyes. "You're too young for this son," he said sadly.

Ed was correct, I was young. Just a week ago I turned twenty-two but why did my youth matter when I had adult responsibilities?

"There's a hose out back," he said pointing toward the door.

I shrugged, it was my way of saying thank you.

I was just about to leave, satisfied with the number of things I had managed to slip under my shirt while still talking to Ed. He was old and couldn't see well, that's why I kind of liked him.