Author’s Note: This story is a collaboration with my friend Hayes.

Richard

I opened my eyes, wondering, for a few moments, where the hell I was.

Buffalo.

Well, I guess somebody has to be in Buffalo.

I swung my legs out of the hotel bed and sat on the edge for a few moments. I don’t smoke anymore, but the urge still comes over me in the mornings, especially mornings when I wake up in a city that I don’t really want to be visiting. I inched myself down onto the floor and did the first few bits of the stretching routine that keeps my back in shape. A lifetime of playing bass and guitar, and over a decade of being on the road with No Known Religion, had left me nearly crippled in my early 30s. Ten years later - ten mostly clean years later - I felt in better shape than I’d ever been. At least physically. The mind and the career? Well, still question marks I suppose.

John Harvester’s 2002 Honda Odyssey, full of guitars, sound equipment, and a sleeping bag, waited for me in the parking lot. John was the only member of No Known Religion that I was still speaking to, and I was borrowing his van for a month long trip from my home in Newport, Rhode Island, to Los Angeles. My agent had booked me a couple shows en route, shows where I’d be my new self, the new Richard Danton, the former metal-head who’d recreated himself as an alt-rock singer-songwriter. I wasn’t really touring, however. At 44 I was recently unattached and homeless, and, professionally, I was unsure about this new music I was playing. A road trip seemed like a good idea - seeing the country on my own, without the van and the entourage, and hopefully stumbling across something meaningful out there on America’s open roads.

I’d come to Buffalo out of nostalgia. Part of my teenage years had been spent here, in a dumpy house on Virginia Street. That’s where I’d taught myself to play the guitar, copying Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix licks until I could play them in my sleep. To my surprise, that house was still standing and looked about as derelict as I remembered it. On my way out of town, I sat in the van outside my old house for a few moments, thinking about that kid 30 years ago - dumping his backpack on his bed after school, and picking up his guitar, and playing until midnight. Jesus, I was such a miserable teenager. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe all teenagers are miserable.

Ah well. Fuck Buffalo.

On Interstate 71, I picked up my cell phone from the passenger seat and hummed a few melodies into Dictomate, an audio recording app. A couple lyrics came to my lips:

And the forgetting would be easier

If what I was forgetting wasn’t you

About as uninspiring as the rest of the crap I was writing these days. What’s that saying? Anything too dumb to be written down gets sung instead?

A highway sign for Cincinnati gleamed in the sunshine as I blew past in the Odyssey. I dug a cigarette out of the glove box and put an old Def Leppard CD into the stereo. Lock up your daughters, Cincinnati. Here comes the new age Richard Danton.

Dana

I sat on an old, rusted folding chair behind the diner smoking a cigarette. Every minute or so the wind changed direction and a strong, pungent odor filled my nostrils. It was so nice that my employer decreed that our ‘smoking area’ had to be a mere ten feet from the dumpster, I thought sarcastically.

I looked at my watch, only five minutes left on my fifteen-minute break and I’d have to get back to my tables or else the manager would yell at me again. I was his best server, and still, he treated me with contempt ever since I rebuffed his advances. What an asshole.

My life wasn’t turning out how I had dreamed it would in high school. Four years ago, I had it all. I was a cheerleader, the prom queen, and my boyfriend was the star quarterback of the football team. By all accounts, I was one of the most popular girls in my graduating class.

Four years later, life looked much different. My handsome former high school boyfriend would be graduating from Ohio State next month and was a top prospect for the NFL draft. In contrast, I was a waitress in a dead-end job, in a dead end city, St. Louis. I had grown up in a small, rural town in central Missouri. Seeking adventure and excitement, I moved to the ‘big city’. Of course, like the rest of my life, nothing turned out as I had planned.

I crushed my cigarette out under my shoe and pushed the disheveled, long locks of blonde hair out of my face and proceeded back inside the diner. My manager looked at his watch and gave me a dirty look. I was only one minute late, that’s not a mortal sin, right?

So many times I thought about just giving in and doing what he wanted. One blow job a week and I could take as many breaks as I wanted, for as long as I wanted. However, there was no way I was going to give him that satisfaction. I didn’t have much pride left, but it wasn’t non-existent, not yet anyway.

The diner was dead, or more accurately, more dead than usual. I delivered a hamburger and fries to the only guy that was sitting in my section. I gave him a big flirty smile as I re-filled his ice-tea.

“Thank you darlin’,” he said, as he ran his big sausage fingers over my arm.

He was old enough to be my grandfather. God, how pathetic am I? Flirting with a senior citizen for the hope of getting a decent tip. My depravity knew no bounds.

I looked up at the clock. It was 4:00 pm. I watched as my manager grabbed the bank deposit bag and walked out the front door, right on schedule. I had at least a half hour before he’d get back, and the diner was as quiet as a cemetery.

“Deb, could you cover my section for a few minutes?” I said to my co-worker, as she gave me a knowing smile.

I walked into the kitchen and my eyes briefly locked on the day cook, Larry. His assistant Fernando was engrossed in the task of chopping up heads of lettuce that comprised the main ingredient of the salad mix we’d be serving later on that evening.

I bypassed both of them and went into the small employee restroom that was adjacent to the kitchen. I turned around quickly, checking the handle on the door, ensuring that it was unlocked.

The bathroom was so small, maybe four feet by four feet, barely enough room for the small sink and toilet, and it was disgusting. The manager ensured that the night crew properly cleaned the customer restroom. However, he couldn’t give a shit whether they cleaned this one that the employees were required to use. Even though the tiny space had four ‘pine tree’ air fresheners hanging in each corner, it barely overpowered the smell of urine that emanated from the toilet and floor.

I stood in front of the tiny sink, washing my hands, killing time, until...

I heard the door open and peered at Larry’s face as it reflected in the mirror above the sink. Our eyes met for a brief second as he slid into the cramped space behind me and almost simultaneously closed and locked the door. In an instant, I felt Larry behind me as he kissed the back of my neck. Without uttering a word, he reached underneath the hem of my server’s uniform and tore the thong off my body in one swift motion. I put my hands on the filthy sink and opened my legs as best I could in the cramped space, giving him better access.

I felt his coarse, calloused hands forcefully cupping the cheeks of my ass cheeks as he kissed and licked my neck. His movements were urgent, raw, and rough and I could smell the sweat on his body, the result of a long shift that began at five this morning.

Larry unceremoniously flipped the hem of my uniform up and it rested on my back. I undid the first three buttons on the front of my uniform and unclasped my bra letting my 34C breasts slip out of the cups. Observing what I had done, he stopped kissing my neck long enough to reach around and I felt his fingers roughly pinch and pull my nipples causing me to let out a low moan.

He used my body to help steady himself as he dropped down to his knees behind me. I reached behind and clutched my ass cheeks, pulling them apart, and exposing my most intimate area for him. I whimpered as I felt his tongue enter my vagina and he made loud slurping and sucking noises that vibrated off of the walls of the tiny room.

Every few seconds the tip of his tongue would haphazardly, as if almost by accident, brush up against my clit, causing my knees to go weak. As our customers could attest, Larry didn’t have many culinary skills, but thankfully, after six months of fucking him, he was finally able to eat my pussy with a small degree of skill.

After a minute or so I began to grind myself up and down on his tongue. We had been doing this enough by now that he knew that was his cue. I felt him move his head back and spit, his saliva land on my asshole. Seconds later, I felt his tongue enter my puckered hole which caused me to cry out, and I had to remind myself to keep my voice down, lest my co-workers form a line outside the bathroom door to auditorily observe our carnal pursuits.

He pressed his tongue in and out of my ass hard and fast, just the way he knew I liked it. I reached down between my legs and lightly ran my finger between my wet folds gently massaging my clit as I felt my orgasm sweep over me, causing my legs to go weak. Thankfully, I felt Larry’s strong arms on my thighs which steadied me until I could recover.

Larry stood up again and I heard the zipper on his jeans open and he pulled his short, stubby cock from his pants. I reached behind and pulled the hem of my uniform back up as it had fallen when I was thrashing about as I orgasmed. I felt him rub the head of his penis up and down my slit several times lubricating the tip in my wetness.

He pushed himself into me hard, causing me to grunt as he filled me with one short stroke. I had enough room to lay my head down on the sink as he started to slam into me with short, furious thrusts. I knew he wouldn’t last long at this pace and I quickly reached between my legs again to rub my clit. Larry wasn’t a very skilled lover, and if I was going to achieve another orgasm, I knew I had to take care of it myself. After only about thirty seconds I watched in the mirror as he began to tense up and emit low guttural grunts. Almost immediately after, I felt his semen squirt into me. Almost concurrently, my second orgasm racked my body, due more from my fingers on my clit than his cock inside of me.

I listened for a minute or so as our breathing returned to normal and I felt his cock slip out of me. Without saying a word, he put his member back into his pants, slipped out the door, and returned to the kitchen.

Once he was gone, I quickly reached for the toilet paper and wiped Larry’s excess semen from my vagina. Some of it had even starting to leak out and run down the inside of my thighs and I made sure to clean that up as well. I wanted to be able to more thoroughly wash, but this would have to do until I finished my shift, then I could go home and take a shower.

As I stood back up, I caught my reflection in the mirror and it gave me pause. Most days, I hated the person who looked back at me. However, after these sessions with Larry, I loathed myself even more.

Richard

The show at the 20th Century Theatre in Cincinnati started at 8:00pm. I had the sound check wrapped up by 6:30pm, and then just ambled up and down the streets, trying to work the stiffness of driving all day out of my butt and my back and my shoulders. I found the Oakley Pub nearby, and had a mushroom burger and a beer, and then another beer, sitting on the patio in the May sunshine.

At 7:59pm, dressed in jeans, a black shirt with a collar, and a black sportcoat, I carried my 25-year-old Martin guitar out onto the stage. As 300 plus people applauded, I eased the guitar strap over my neck and shoulder, and picked up the cable and plugged in. The applause continued, but that moment was coming, that moment when an audience’s applause shifts from “we’re so glad you’re here” to “okay, show us something.” I had been listening to that slight transition for years now, and as I felt it happen, I leaned towards the mic, looked past the stage lights at the shadowy sea of faces, and said: “Hello out there beautiful people of Cincinnati.”

And two hours of music poured out of me.

After the show I sat in my dressing room, drinking scotch, staring at the wall, at the ceiling. Teri, the theater manager, poked her head inside eventually and moved towards me, putting her hand on my shoulder and kissing my cheek. “Richard,” she said. “Great show. Seriously - great show. I think you made the people of Cincinnati very happy.”

Teri was probably in her early fifties. She stood about 5’6 and I’d guess her weight to be around 175 to 180. She was wearing tight black slacks, a red top with a black jacket over top. She had straight dark brown hair that ran down almost to her shoulders, with the bangs on her forehead cut across in a straight line. A fairly featureless face was somewhat enlivened by bright red lipstick and what seemed to be fake eyelashes ... long, with subtle rainbow colors in them. She was overweight, there was no doubt about it, but somehow she carried it well. I’d guess that she was that girl in high school who put on some weight but made up for it with sassiness, and had been living that way ever since. Anyway, I wasn’t complaining, and I wasn’t really thinking about women or sex just then either.

“Teri,” I said, “I want to play some more.”

“Play some more?” she repeated. “What, here?”

“No. Not here, and not this stuff. I want to play something loud, jam with some kids. Is there a dumpy bar near here that has live music?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I get urges for the old days. And to be honest, the 20th Century Theatre didn’t do it for me tonight.”

“Well, sorry Richard,” she said, with an “excusssseeeee meeeee... ,.” hint to her voice.

“No, it wasn’t the theater Teri. This stuff I play these days...” I waved my hand slightly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I need more.”

“Well, yeah, I know a place. You want me to take you there?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to waste your time. Just tell me the name and the address ... I’ll find it with my phone.”

“Well, Richard,” she said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “I might like to go actually. Old school Richard Danton - that sounds like a show. And all I have at home is a surly teenager if she’s even there.”

I drank back the last of my scotch and set the glass down on the coffee table. I stood up and put my arm around Teri’s shoulders. “The Hell with your teenager,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Thinking that I might want to pass out in it, we took my Odyssey. Teri navigated us to some club where she winked at the bouncers and used my name as a ticket inside. The band on stage reminded me of No Known Religion’s early days - loud, and completely artless. We spoke to the sound guys who got a message to somebody who got a message to the band, and at a break between songs I shook hands with the lead guitarist and got handed a surprisingly nice Gibson electric. A hundred people in the audience? A hundred people standing in front of that crappy stage, drinking, sweating, cursing. They hooted and cheered when my name got mentioned even though most of them probably had no idea who I was. I jammed along with several of the band’s originals, taking some lead guitar riffs here and there, and even taking the mic when they conned me into playing Something Right Something Wrong from Religion’s first album.

Teri was up front all night, just at the foot of the stage. She had a bottle of beer in her hand most of the time, waving it in the air as she ground out the rhythm. I watched from the stage and was surprised at how into it she seemed to be. I was even more surprised when she hooked up with some random dude who sashayed his way up to her within the crowd of dancing or swaying bodies and pressed himself hard against her from behind. She let him grope her breasts, and she even reached a hand back for a while to clutch his ass cheek and pull him even harder against her ... grinding her fat ass back against him.

At the end of the night, when the place had emptied and I was sharing a few drinks and a joint with the band and the sound guys, Teri was at a nearby table, laughing and gossiping with her dancing partner. I watched his hands go to her legs and hers to his. I didn’t feel any jealousy, or envy, just a strange sense of interest, and curiosity. When they disappeared off towards the washrooms, I watched them go, and when they were gone long enough to guess that something was happening, I set my drink down and wandered after them. I went into the men’s room and found no one there. I took a piss and then shrugged and walked into the women’s washroom, saying “Hello” as I entered.

Teri was leaning back with her ass against one of the three sinks in the room. The man she’d been flirting with was on his knees in front of her, his face buried between her legs. He was holding her left leg in his hand, holding it high against his shoulder. Her right hand was on his head, her fingers in his hair, pulling him into her. He must have known what he was doing, for Teri’s head was back, and she was moaning deeply.

The washroom was lit or pretended to be lit, by three dim bulbs above the mirrors at the sink. The dim light and the fog of alcohol made it a surreal scene. Teri in her black jacket and red top, her slacks and panties lying on the filthy floor. The guy barely even real, just a sexual animal presence in the shadows. I moved towards the toilet stalls, leaning against them, behind Teri and her guy. Her eyes caught mine and she smiled. “Danton,” she said, “come on over here.”

I wavered. I could imagine my tongue in Teri’s mouth. I could imagine this sassy, fleshy brunette kissing me open and wet, and likely going down on me, taking my cock deep into her mouth. And I could imagine cumming and cumming through a long orgasm, Teri drinking me down, licking up the last drops, holding my shaft in her hand as she cleaned me.

But the will, the energy, to push away from the toilet stalls wasn’t there.

I shook my head. “Can I watch?”

Teri pushed the man’s head away from her, and he rocked back on his heels. She turned, her hands on the sink, looking over her shoulder, waving her large full ass at him. “Come on baby,” she cooed, “drive mommy home.”

He never even looked at me. His hands went to his belt, his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping. His cock free, he stroked it three, four times, his right hand on Teri’s ass cheeks, caressing, measuring, assessing her. He lifted his left hand from his cock, and spit into it, then smeared his saliva up and down his thick cock. “Grab your ass cheeks for me, baby,” he moaned. “I’m going to use the back door.”

“You naughty fucker,” Teri teased, but she did as he asked, reaching behind her, taking her full ass cheeks in her hands, spreading them wide, exposing her ass crack, allowing him to guide the tip of his swollen cock against her asshole.

He wasn’t very gentle. Teri gasped and swore angrily as he drove hard into her ass. She let go of her left ass cheek to use her arm to brace herself against the mirror on the wall, but she kept holding her right cheek and pushed herself back as he plunged into her. She hung her head low as he began thrusting hard into her, his hands firm on her waist, pulling his hips back, filling her over and over again with cock. Teri had to use both hands now to anchor herself, her left outstretched towards the mirror, her right clutching the dirty sink. He moved a hand up to her breasts, gripping the huge sloppy things through her red top and through her bra, massaging them roughly as he pounded her ass.

He gasped and shuddered when he came, Teri’s ass cheeks squeezing back on his cock as a load of hot sticky cum poured into her. She milked the cum from him, pushing back and clenching as his thrusts slowed, savoring everything she could get from this man. Finally, he slid out of her, and looking over his shoulder, said: “how’d you like that old-man?”

“Hot,” I answered, not really having thought anything about it at all. “Hot, yeah, nice.”

He moved to a sink, lifted his cock over the edge, and rinsed himself off. Tucking himself back in, he slapped Teri’s ass and left the washroom. Teri moved to a toilet stall, pushed the door open, and walked inside. I could hear her rip off lengths of toilet paper to clean herself off as well.

I moved to one of the sinks, turned on both taps, and leaning forward, splashed water over my face, rinsing some over my neck as well. The guy looking back at me in the mirror showed every single one of his 44 years, and maybe a few extras as well. Grey was seeping into my dark brown hair, but I didn’t have any urge to hide it. Didn’t even have the energy to think about hiding it. Truth be told, I was weary. The marrow in my bones was weary. No Known Religion had taken its toll on me, and I’d been glad to leave that life, and those assholes, behind. But I hadn’t really replaced that life with anything - at least not with anything that mattered to me. The singer-songwriter thing made some money, but it wasn’t “me” - whatever “me” was at this point in my life.

Teri walked out of the stall and put her hand on my lower back. “Give a girl a ride home?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure Teri,” I said. Realizing I hadn’t even remembered to book a hotel room in this city. Maybe Teri would let me use her couch.

Dana

It was nearly 10:00 pm when I finally got to my small, cramped two bedroom apartment that I shared with my roommate. I sat my backpack on the small table in the kitchen and unzipped it. After rummaging around for a few seconds I finally pulled out a small container of leftovers that Larry had managed to scrape together for me from the kitchen. I ran my finger over the cold food. Two small pieces of overcooked fried chicken, mashed potatoes with lumpy gravy, a couple of scoops of canned mixed vegetables, and a small dinner roll.

My stomach was grumbling and I was tempted to microwave the food and eat, but then I thought better of it. I needed a shower first. I felt sticky from head to toe. The old air conditioner in the diner just barely kept the heat at bay, and no matter how much antiperspirant I used, I always felt sticky at the end of my shift. It also didn’t help that I let Larry have sex with me in that disgusting bathroom. I still felt the remnants of his semen between my legs and that was enough to make me want to put off eating.

About twenty minutes later I emerged from the shower and I felt human again. I heard rustling in the kitchen and I knew that my roommate had made it home. Jill was a checker at Wal-Mart and worked the same shift that I did. I normally was able to make it home before her, though.

She looked at me and gave me a knowing smile as I entered the kitchen.

“You had sex with Larry again, didn’t you Dana?”

“No comment,” I said, giving her a sarcastic smile.

She shook her head as she pulled my leftover food out of the microwave and got two paper plates out of the cupboard.

We ate silently for a few minutes. Thankfully, she was willing to let my workplace sexual activities drop and let me eat in peace. I didn’t need her reminding me how disgusting it was to have sex with Larry or hear her lecture me about how I could do so much better.

“Don’t forget about going out tomorrow,” she said, once we had finished our meager meal, her voice breaking the silence.

“How could I possibly forget,” I said, giving her a gentle smile.

It was my first Friday night off in months and Jill and I had been planning for weeks to go to the opening of a brand new club in the trendy fashion district. However, about a week ago, she met some guy online and this new ‘boyfriend’ of hers talked her into going to some dive bar on the south side because he knew the owner and could get cheap drinks.

I had tried several times to change her mind, but she wouldn’t relent. Just my luck, the first Friday night I have off for months and I finally have the chance to do something fun and she falls for another ‘online’ guy and won’t stand up to him and tell him that she’d rather go someplace else. What was worse, she had made me promise to be a ‘third wheel’ and go with them.

“You promised that you wouldn’t back out on me Dana,” she said.

“I’ll be ready to go at eight,” I said hesitantly.

“Thank you so much,” she said cheerfully. “I know you’ll have a good time.”

I seriously doubted that. But, Jill had been there for me more times than I could remember. She was truly the only good thing in my life and I wouldn’t let her down by backing out on her.

The next day dragged on and felt like it wouldn’t end. I spent eight hours dealing with irritated customers complaining about bad food; screaming babies, an annoying manager, and a cook that wanted to get me alone in the bathroom and have his way with me. By the end of my shift, I felt like I wanted to step in front of a bus and put myself out of my misery. Thankfully, the day finally ended and I was able to get out of the diner without killing myself or someone else.

I quickly put all of my problems out of my mind, it was Friday! Things can’t ever be entirely bad on a Friday. And even better, for the first time since I could remember, I had the evening off.

The south side always scared me and I rarely ventured there. However, I promised my roommate I’d go with her and her new boy toy. What was that old Boston song that my father used to love listening to: “Doing it right on the wrong side of town” I think was the name of it.

How apropos.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off while examining myself in the mirror. My breasts weren’t that big, but they fit my small 5’4” frame nicely and my wet blonde hair looked a bit wild now, but I’d make sure it was tamed and under control. I ran several times a week which kept my body tight and toned and I was actually a few pounds lighter than my high school cheering days. Even though I still got my fair share of looks from men, both young and old, I didn’t feel pretty anymore.

I read in Cosmo that feeling beautiful was a state of mind and not an actual outward appearance. If that were true, then there should be a law against ‘peaking’ in high school. You know, that feeling that all of your best days are behind you and that you have to settle for letting fate decide what the rest of your life will be like.

More than anything, I just wanted to catch a break. Was it too much to ask to have a life changing event that would somehow put me on a new and different course. Realistically, if the last four years had taught me anything, it was that those types of breaks only occur in the movies. In the real world, people toil away in thankless anonymity and try to get through a meaningless existence any way they can. As I did my hair and makeup, I tried to think back to that moment when my life changed. When I went from the popular cheerleader that everyone loved, to a downtrodden waitress. I wondered if that moment actually existed, or was it just a series of bad choices that led me to where I am?

I quickly wiped a tear from my cheek and promised myself that at least for the rest of the night, I’d stop with the self-pity. I needed to be there for Jill and I needed to put all of these dark thoughts behind me, at least for a few hours.

Walking into my small bedroom, I started rummaging through my clothes. I needed to do laundry and didn’t have a large selection of clean clothes, but I finally decided on a short, faded blue denim, jean skirt, a white, sleeveless, button crop top, matching lace bra and panty set, and gold ankle wrap sandals. I stood in front of my full-length mirror for several minutes and tried to force a smile, but it never appeared.

Richard

My agent had offered me a gig at the Horseshoe Casino in Memphis, but I’d turned him down. Something about playing a casino made me want to jump off a bridge. He got me a night at a little place called the Hi-Tone Cafe instead, and I enjoyed it. The manager was cool, the atmosphere was relaxed, and an old friend from high-school happened to be there. She’d probably been the one girl I’d really been friends with back in my miserable teenage years. We talked at the bar until the place closed, and I gave her a lift home in the Odyssey. Neither of us made any hints or floated any suggestions, and I watched her open the door to her house and walk inside, and then I drove off aimlessly. Once again I’d completely forgotten to book a hotel room, so I slept in the back of the Odyssey until the morning sunshine and my aching back woke me up.

Buying a coffee in a convenience store, I asked the kid behind the counter if there was a park nearby. She directed me to Overton Park, where I threw down a blanket and my yoga mat and spent 2 hours sipping coffee and doing my stretching routine. At one point in my life, my back was so bad that walking around I crouched my 5’11 frame down to about 5’8. It sucked. There were brief moments when my back simply said “fuck it” and seemed to disappear on me. I’d have to fall down to my knees, unable to support myself standing upright.

I took yoga for a year back in Newport. Took some Tai-Chi as well. They provided the only clarity in my life as Holly and I were separating. And thankfully, they got my back on the road to recovery as well. The stretches I did in Overton Park, watching people wander by on the trails, sunshine glittering on whatever that pond was called, were my own compilation of things that worked for me. Child’s Pose, the easiest of them all, was the stretch that always helped the most.