Jesus and Lola
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,748
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,748
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter 3
I couldn’t believe he just kicked me out like that. For a week, I waited around for a phone call. I was just so sure he would call and tell me the argument was stupid and all was forgiven. I never received that phone call. About two weeks after the fight, I was in a record store looking for some music to mope around to when I saw a shock of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. It was Lola. And some dude. Some gross, little, greasy-haired, ugly guy was talking to Lola. She laughed at some dumb joke he made. Her hand reached out and touched his arm.
I just walked out of the store. I was so pissed. It was so irrational for me to mad though. We weren’t together. Fuck, I was still living with Shelia and Lola and I weren’t even fucking. Lola was allowed to do whatever and whomever she wanted. I still didn’t want that grease-ball touching her.
That night I went a seedy little bar. I just walked in, sat at the bar and started downing shots. After my fifth shot, I started looking around the bar. This man was eyeing me from the end of the bar. He had a blonde wig on. A cross-dresser. An ugly cross-dresser. I stumbled over to him.
“Hey, you.”
“What are you up for, big guy?” That has got to be the cheesiest line ever. Definitely a prostitute. I contemplated the question for a few minutes.
“I don’t know, a full night?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“How much?”
“250.”
There was an hour by hour hotel across the street. So that night I ended picking up a prostitute. A cross-dresser. Lola could be replaced…Bullshit. It was gross, and dirty, and wrong. It wasn’t Lola.
About a week after the prostitute incident, I started having some problems. You know, down there. I went to see the doctor and it turns out I had Chlamydia. I knew I got it from that prostitute. I practice safe sex. But, that night I was drunk. I mean, really drunk. I know I used a condom, but shit happens, condoms break, etc, etc.
So that brings me to the little confrontation with Sheila. The day I was diagnosed, I was really depressed. I hadn’t seen Lola/Drew in about a month, I had just found out I had an STD, and I knew I had to tell Sheila about it. So, before Sheila and I went out, I took something for a little chemical assistance.
The night was going good. The drinks were good. Sheila and I were good. I was really high. And, the lights at the bar were really pretty and fascinating. Things were perfect for awhile. Somehow during the night I became high/drunk enough that words were just falling out of my mouth. And, before I knew it, words like, “Yo, Shelia, I got Chlamydia” were said. I’m not a genius or anything, but even I knew that was probably not the best way to let her know.
And, that is where the argument began. Sheila attacked. She started yelling. Apparently she “just knew” I was fucking around on her. Some of her nosy friends had seen me around with Lola and that prostitute. Fucking spies, couldn’t mind their own fucking business. The argument escalated. I wasn’t really able contribute much to the fight; I was too far gone. Suddenly the night wasn’t so perfect. I could feel my high wearing off. It was just another thing to add to the long list of things that were depressing at that moment. All I could think of was Lola and the fucking Chlamydia. I was mourning the loss of my incredible high. And, Sheila was yelling at me. So, sue me. I started to cry. We were making a spectacle of ourselves. We were drawing a lot of attention. Soon after the crying ensued we were kicked out of the bar. Just another reason to be depressed, I liked that bar.
“How the fuck did you get it, Jesus?”
“I…I don’t know.” I could barely choke out the words.
“Well, dumbass, maybe you got it from all those transvestites you fucked.” Sheila was screaming so loudly.
“Uh…maybe.” I really didn’t know what to say to that. She was right and at that moment my mind was so clouded with alcohol I couldn’t really focus on a proper answer. She looked pissed. I had to come up with something.
“But baby, I didn’t fuck that many, it’s not my fault.” I had only fucked two transvestites. My response was too late. She was already walking away.
I just walked out of the store. I was so pissed. It was so irrational for me to mad though. We weren’t together. Fuck, I was still living with Shelia and Lola and I weren’t even fucking. Lola was allowed to do whatever and whomever she wanted. I still didn’t want that grease-ball touching her.
That night I went a seedy little bar. I just walked in, sat at the bar and started downing shots. After my fifth shot, I started looking around the bar. This man was eyeing me from the end of the bar. He had a blonde wig on. A cross-dresser. An ugly cross-dresser. I stumbled over to him.
“Hey, you.”
“What are you up for, big guy?” That has got to be the cheesiest line ever. Definitely a prostitute. I contemplated the question for a few minutes.
“I don’t know, a full night?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“How much?”
“250.”
There was an hour by hour hotel across the street. So that night I ended picking up a prostitute. A cross-dresser. Lola could be replaced…Bullshit. It was gross, and dirty, and wrong. It wasn’t Lola.
About a week after the prostitute incident, I started having some problems. You know, down there. I went to see the doctor and it turns out I had Chlamydia. I knew I got it from that prostitute. I practice safe sex. But, that night I was drunk. I mean, really drunk. I know I used a condom, but shit happens, condoms break, etc, etc.
So that brings me to the little confrontation with Sheila. The day I was diagnosed, I was really depressed. I hadn’t seen Lola/Drew in about a month, I had just found out I had an STD, and I knew I had to tell Sheila about it. So, before Sheila and I went out, I took something for a little chemical assistance.
The night was going good. The drinks were good. Sheila and I were good. I was really high. And, the lights at the bar were really pretty and fascinating. Things were perfect for awhile. Somehow during the night I became high/drunk enough that words were just falling out of my mouth. And, before I knew it, words like, “Yo, Shelia, I got Chlamydia” were said. I’m not a genius or anything, but even I knew that was probably not the best way to let her know.
And, that is where the argument began. Sheila attacked. She started yelling. Apparently she “just knew” I was fucking around on her. Some of her nosy friends had seen me around with Lola and that prostitute. Fucking spies, couldn’t mind their own fucking business. The argument escalated. I wasn’t really able contribute much to the fight; I was too far gone. Suddenly the night wasn’t so perfect. I could feel my high wearing off. It was just another thing to add to the long list of things that were depressing at that moment. All I could think of was Lola and the fucking Chlamydia. I was mourning the loss of my incredible high. And, Sheila was yelling at me. So, sue me. I started to cry. We were making a spectacle of ourselves. We were drawing a lot of attention. Soon after the crying ensued we were kicked out of the bar. Just another reason to be depressed, I liked that bar.
“How the fuck did you get it, Jesus?”
“I…I don’t know.” I could barely choke out the words.
“Well, dumbass, maybe you got it from all those transvestites you fucked.” Sheila was screaming so loudly.
“Uh…maybe.” I really didn’t know what to say to that. She was right and at that moment my mind was so clouded with alcohol I couldn’t really focus on a proper answer. She looked pissed. I had to come up with something.
“But baby, I didn’t fuck that many, it’s not my fault.” I had only fucked two transvestites. My response was too late. She was already walking away.