You Dont Smile Until We Get High

This one is pulling my pubes. It hurts, like she's stabbing my crotch with tiny needles, but I try not to let it show. This room is too bright but I stare straight up into the light on the ceiling anyway. Now she's tearing at my pubic hair like she's ripping out errant threads from an old sweater. I shut my eyes tight and let her poke around.I've gotten good at telling which ones will make it and which ones wo not . This one wo not . She's afraid of my dick. I could tell she was afraid of it when she walked into the room, before she even saw it, cheeks red as poinsettias and the rest of her face flushed deathly white. Already sweating and nervous. They are supposed to greet me when they walk in, like the doctor's assistants they are training to become. But she breezed past me, head down, and went straight for the rubber gloves. Did not introduce herself like they are supposed to. Could not look me in the eye. I do not think she will make it. You can not be a good physician's assistant and be afraid of dick. I just do not see it happening. Also, she's pulling my pubes. Hers are some of the few white women's hands my dick has ever seen. Some of the few women's hands as a matter of fact; I figured out early on that it was never going to be about women for me. She's sliding inexperienced rubber gloves over my balls as if she does not know how sensitive genitals can be. I would be willing to bet that mine is the first dick she's ever seen.The room is too bright. White walls, white lab coats, white people. I turn my head to the left to read about the symptoms of diabetes. The chart has an overweight, faceless cartoon man on it, and he's holding a burger. The symptoms floating around him are written inside word balloons: shakiness, erratic behavior, sudden weight loss, sexual problems, blurry vision. I wonder if you and I might also have diabetes."Find the perineum, Courtney."The proctor has been patient, trying to let Courtney figure out my penis on her own. She then begins a process of gentle instruction I've heard five times today. That's a total of 10 white women's hands on my dick. Courtney's new white coat is brilliant. She looks every bit the part, but her nervousness betrays her. Finally, I say to the ceiling flatly, "Oh, there it is. I feel it. "I cough. Twice. Just to get it over with. Courtney is not going to make it. But she still has to put her finger up my asshole. I know she will shove it inside so forcefully that I wo not be able to help but yelp. Then she will palpate like she's trying to fish her wedding ring out of the kitchen sink before she tries to push my prostate out through my throat. I bend over, rest my elbows on the little table, and spread my legs unprompted. This is always the hardest part, so I try to think of something else. I think of your beautiful brown eyes and how they will light up when I show them money. Then we will make the call, and you will be talkative and convivial like you used to be as we board the bus. You will sit next to me as we make our way to buy what we need.Our feast or famine attitude toward getting high has to stop, and that's why we are going to ration this time. You have not been yourself lately, but I am bringing the money. Three hundred dollars for one hour's work. That should keep us for a couple of days, if we are careful. We were not careful last time. It's greed that keeps us desperate. Our feast or famine attitude toward getting high has to stop, and that's why we are going to ration this time. Make it last. I will clean my apartment so we can just talk while we get lifted there. I will wash that rotting pile of dishes in the sink and on the kitchen floor, pick up all the corroded take-out containers, and launder my filthy clothes. This time, I will put the drugs to good use. We wo not just use the high to run around the city looking for more high. I know better now. We will do it together. Maybe you will want to have sex with me again. But I want you to know that's not all I am looking for.I found this gig at the university the last time I cleaned my apartment. It was advertised in an old newspaper. All you have to do is swallow your pride for an hour or so and they hand you cold hard cash. I've had five white women's fingers in my ass today and I do not feel the least bit ashamed. I am doing my part for medicine, if you really think about it. These girls have to get their education from a live human with a cock and it may as well be me. The trick is to not look down. I made that mistake once and looked into the face of a disgusted young damsel with an up-curled lip. She was staring at my penis like it was broccoli she would been ordered to eat. I can feel them dismissing the myth about black men as soon as they lay eyes on it. But any man's dick would shrivel up under these conditions. It's best just to not look down. Think about something else as they thrust their skinny digits inside me. So, as Courtney stabs at my anus, I focus on why I need to be here. I am losing you. You do not smile at me anymore until we get high. Until I buy the medicine to cure your listlessness. My calls go unanswered. I am forced to visit you late at night.I go out with no bus fare, which does not really matter because the buses have stopped running long before I take to the streets. I emerge from my house in the wee hours, high as a kite, my mind buzzing with a swarm of wasps. With a nervous feeling in my stomach, I hit the road. It's not a comfortable walk. It's cold. Three miles there and three miles back. I sometimes go back and forth three to four times a night until the sun comes up. The doctor at my last rehab called this "compulsive."I remember every detail from these trips. I remember how quiet it is. I remember how I can hear the wind rustling through the trees and the faint sound of a car horn from miles away. I remember the solitary sound vacuum of it all. How cold the autumn air is becoming. A family of raccoons rifle through trash in the rear parking lot of an apartment building. I occasionally incite the vocal cords of someone's dog or set off a motion-activated porch light. But my pace is steady. I ignore my stinging fingertips, numb nose, electric cheeks, and the damp perspiration under my coat. Streetlight to streetlight along the empty sidewalks, I pass houses where the lights are all out and the people inside are surely nestled next to their lovers.I have come to terms with the fact that I have somehow willingly allowed myself to be completely emptied out and refilled with devotion. The thought that you might be in your apartment with that other man hollows out my bones.At the end of your street, I slow down and creep on the balls of my feet. My heart beats out of my chest because I know, even in my current state of mind, you might be unnerved to see me skulking around your house at this hour. Perhaps you would not want to be my friend any longer. You've told me several times that you do not feel that way about me, that you just want us to be friends — until we get high and you express how you truly feel. I know you are seeing someone else, and the thought that you might be in your apartment with that other man hollows out my bones. Because you are the one who is going to save me. The last one did not . He said I was "unstable." I know I can save you, too, if you just give me the chance.I am glad your cat can not talk. She can see me from her seat in the window. She knows my face. In those iridescent eyes staring down at me, I spot recognition. If she could talk, she would tell you I am outside your home dripping with fealty. I stand there for a long while, ducking the nosy headlights of the occasional passing vehicle. I hope you arrive home from a late night with him so I can stop you both at the doorstep and tell you how I feel. You never arrive home with him. Maybe you are inside. I creep closer to the building and think I see a curtain move, a light come on. I walk to the middle of the street and stand there, looking up. Maybe I should ring the doorbell, but I decide that would be too crazy. It might put you off. I do not want to scare you. I am not unstable. I congratulate myself for coming to this conclusion.The man you are seeing has lots of money. He owns his own business, I've heard, and he can buy you all the dope you want. And that's why I come here to let Courtney ram her finger in my ass. Just one night with you is all I want. Five fingers down. Four to go.Courtney removes her rubber gloves with two snapping sounds and basically runs out of the room. She's not going to make it. I've done this enough times to know from bedside manner, and she has none. My asshole feels like it's just been massaged by the business end of a rototiller. The insides of my buttocks are greasy with lube, which makes me feel like I've shit myself. But I always make a point to clean myself well before I come here, out of respect for the students. I cover all my scars for the same reason. I do not want them to think I am unstable. The proctor gives me a look of concern."You ready for the next one?"I turn on a chipper smile. "Oh, yes! Bring it on!"I am shaking and can not tell whether it's because I am cold or I want to get high. She closes the door behind her and I stare out the window. I wonder what part of the city you might be in. Today is gray, cold, ugly with rain. The white brightness of this room makes the window look like an old black-and-white television. I look out at buildings and over rooftops and imagine how happy you will be once you know I have what you need. I am smiling as the door opens once again.Madeline enters the room all chubby and convivial. She thrusts her hand out. Her cheeks are begonias. I do not want to shake her hand but I do. "Hi! My name is Madeline and I will be performing a hernia check and prostate exam for you today! Is that alright?"Of course it's alright, Maddie-baby. My name is Brian and I am a drug addict who needs $300."Would you mind lifting up your gown for me?"She's beaming. Her smile is tense. Forced. She wears perkiness like a suit of armor. She goes down on me to rub her gloved fingers all over my exhausted bumtickler. I close my eyes and dream of redemption.On Tuesday, I went to your house and no one was there. Instead of going home, I decided to check The Infinity Bar. The one with the big windows. I did not have any money so I did not go inside, but I stood outside and saw you. You looked so beautiful with him, the big shot with his own business. You've never faced me on a barstool like you were facing him. He had your full attention. Your full presence. Your body was fully turned toward him, and you were resting your arm on the bar and your head in your hand as you gazed into his eyes. You were smiling with what looked like love. I could feel it from across the street. My breath came panting and choking its way out. My sternum cracked open. The ache was indescribable. A crust of numbness piled on top of a lithosphere of pain piled on top of an outer core of hopelessness until a white-hot surge of anger finally broke through like a volcano. My body was yanking open the bar door before my head knew what was happening. I am sorry about what happened. I am sorry about the broken glass and all the shouting. Your new friend, the one with his own business, looked horrified. I only remember flashes. I only remember two sets of arms on either side of me pulling me out the door as I grabbed for you. I remember begging. I am sorry I begged. I remember the tears, but most of all I remember the look of horror on your face. I remember dragging my feet so the bar staff could not easily lift me. I see flashes of aghast patrons. You have to believe me that after I sobered up, I was mortified. I remember hitting the sidewalk after the bum's rush and I remember being stopped from going back inside. You saw me through the window and your face was contorted in a mask of goodbye forevers. Then you turned to your big shot friend who owns his own business and began what I can only assume to be an explanation of how you did not know who I was. Just to save face, I imagine. I suppose I understand. I am so sorry. "Please turn your head and cough. "After I was thrown out, I walked straight to your house. I sat on the steps in the cold for hours. I had some coke for us to share but I used it all trying to stay warm. After a while, my whole body was violently shivering. You never came home. I tried to force the door open. The cat stared down at me from the window. I have not slept much since.By now, you must think I am really unstable. "Now, could you turn around and put your elbows on the table and spread your legs?"But I am going to have 300 whole dollars soon and we can spend it all. Every dime. I will come looking for you when I am done here, and I will come get you no matter where you are in the city. We can save each other. I know you like no one else does.Madeline has been kind to my ass. Six down, three to go. In about a half hour, I will have a fat envelope of $20 bills. She tilts her head to the side and smiles her big, cloying smile and sticks her hand out again to thank me. She will make it. Off to the kind of future I will never know. You are all I have. A wave of nausea has taken me over. I can not wait to get out of here. Six down, three to go. The proctor looks up at me before she closes the door behind her. "Ready for the next one?""Sure thing. "I stumble a little. A concerned look casts a shadow across her face before she silently closes the door. I walk over to the window again. I look out over the building and the rooftops into all that black and white. I look down at the front steps of the building, anticipating the moment when I am out there in the cool breeze, money in hand, rain on my face. I will look left and then I will look right before deciding where to begin my search

Is there anyone else on here that thinks that black men arent worth crap?

I do not know why you think that. I know many black males (educated and non-educated) who are hard working family men. They want the same for their families as any other human. They want a strong foundation, decent family life, steady work and love (just like everyone else). I know several who are raising their children alone and doing a damn fine job too! I think you are generalizing black males unfairly. If you find yourself dating the same type of loser guy over and over, then maybe you are attracted to that type. If you want to look for a different type of guy then look in a different location. That applies to everyone: male and female - black, white, brown or whatever. You can not keep doing the same thing expecting different results. It does not work that way.