Page 451 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 421

“He’s my responsibility to go on living. That’s what sons are to fathers.
If I were detached from everything in the world, it wouldn’t make any
difference what happened.”
“So much for ‘What is, is.’”
“What is, still is. You may have ended things with your crypto-Colt
model fantasy, but my boy is real. My situation is different from yours.
Kick was a puffed and powdered gay man. Tiger is a buffed young straight
man. All my boys are straight. He may rent his body, but he’s definitely
straight. I’m dealing with a straight problem here.”
“Whenever you don’t answer your phone, I’m always afraid the worst
has happened.”
“And well you should. My boys are into sex and violence.” He hit his
palm to his forehead. “Oy! For them sex is violence.”
“Like father, like sons.”
“Son. Singular. Son. Not sons. But in this respect they are all the
same. My friend Boyd, who publishes Straight to Hell, warned his readers
never to invite boys like these into their lovely homes. I have. I do. It’s my
living. It’s my sex life. In the tradeoff of sex and violence, my survival to
this point is that I give them sex. I top off their violence by having sex
with them. They’ve got to have one or the other. After I videotape them,
I have sex with them. They slap me around. They pinch my tits. They sit
on my face. They strangle me. We both cum. They’re not like high-rent
Colt-type models who stop when you yell stop.”
“They’re dangerous.”
“They’re expensive. When I’m finished with them, all they want is
their money, and maybe some clean socks. Hustlers always want clean
socks, so they can go out and score some dope and take their old ladies
out for the night.”
“So how can I help? What do you want me to do?” Ryan asked.
“Nothing. I’m worried, but I’m not sitting here in fear. I’ve been
robbed before. But Tiger is different. He has tracks on his arms. So does
Susie Slit.”
“Susie Slit?”
“His latest squeeze. They were in a brawl in a shooting gallery. She
stabbed Tiger in the thigh. A flesh wound. That’s how they met. She’s one
of those skinny postmodern biker blondes with tattoos on her tits. She
wears a buck knife on each hip.”
“Ah. A debutante.”
“My daughter-in-law. That’s what she calls herself when she calls me
Dear Old Dad. She really pushes it.”

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