Airstream, Part 2

By Jonathan Harris

(The stage is dark. Three small video monitors slowly come on USC. They are housed inside three 5X4 cubicles. They show adult all-male erotica. There is a bench SR. Four male figures, silhouetted, do a slow, dream-like walk. They wear winter coats of various styles. Cheesy porn music plays stupidly in the background, interspersed with groans and heavy breathing from the films. ENTER JACK from SR through a turnstyle that clicks loudly. He is disheveled and wearing a worn Santa suit. All the men stop and stare for a moment then continue walking. Throughout the piece they will couple up inside the booths. They grope in shadows and stop at little to titillate. Jack looks around.)

JACK

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOTHER FUCKERS! HO-HO-HO, HOMOS!

(sings)

JINGLE MY BALLS! JINGLE MY BALLS! JINGLE 'EM TILL THEY SPURT!

OH, WHAT FUN IT IS TO COME AND WIPE IT UP WITH YOUR SHI--IRT!

(He sits heavily on bench SR. Looks through his Santa bag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He lights one, looks at the video monitor DS.)

Oooooh....my favorite.

(He starts to rub his crotch but burns his hand with cigarette.)

DAMN!

(Does a little dance)

Ouch, damnit, ouch, ouch, ouch! Hot-hot-hot!

(Looks back to monitor)

Oooooh, my favorite. How do they do that? I tried it once. Hurt my back. Ouch, ouch, ouch. It was worth it, though. Ho-ho-ho.

(Turns his back to audience and wiggles his butt. He blandly says:)

Oooh, baby, oooh baby, take me now, now, now. I haven't felt anything in over twenty years. something broke, I guess. Maybe it's a nerve thing. Oooh, baby.

(He digs through his bag and pulls out some poppers. He inhales deeply.)

L.A. IS DEAD AND ALL THE QUEERS ARE DYING SO I'M MOVING BACK TO...BACK, BABY, BACK! Clap if you believe in fairies otherwise...otherwise...

(He cups his ear as if to hear. Nothing. Sings.)

"Take myyy hand....take my whooole liiiife toooo.....for IIII caaan't heeelp falling in looooove wiiiith youuuuuu...." Bitch.

(He notices one of the younger men. He tries a seductive pose but looks slightly pathetic. The boy passes with barely a glance.)

Maybe it's the suit.

(He takes off the top and reveals a relatively nice upper body that has seen better days, but is holding up.)

Better.

(He sits at bench and slouches. Hits on poppers again.

Watch out, Jack. This could kill ya.

(He laughs)

Oh, god, if I don't get a blow job I'm gonna die. Anybody wanna SUCK MY DICK?!

(A few people look. No one approaches.)

It's still early. I have yet to get outa here without some come on my clothes and tonight's not gonna be no different.

(He stands, shakey from the poppers.)

Why the hell did I quit drinking? Oh, Yeah! Peter-Peter, penis-eater. Everybody's it turns out. Damn shame he had to die like that.

(Laughs)

Damn shame. Bitch. Fuck it. I'll get another job. I always do. Santa can go fuck himself.

(He angers suddenly and rips off the Santa pants. He's wearing white briefs.)

Kiss my ass, you fat fuck! I can still make my way without you..you...you myth! Firing my ass is the best thing they coulda done. "We coulda sued!" my ass! That shitty little prick that stinks like a woman prissy shit! Why the hell would I want to touch some little twerp nine year old boy when I can get all the man-sized dick I'll ever need right here at my favorite reading room, huh? Ho-ho-ho? Answer me that you scuzzy bag of shit! That little homo was the one that put his hand where it shouldn't have been, Mr. Fuck-face. Santa knew what that little innocent wanted for Christmas and it wasn't Nintendo or a Speedo bike. "Can you deny you touched him?" You tell me how I can't touch the little crapper when his ass is wriggling all over my knee and his hand is down Father Christmas' crotch! Of course, I touched him. Of course, I patted his firm little fanny. He loved it! It was his mother that screamed. Mrs. Grinch. Jesus, what a hell-raiser. Where do you think little Johnny or Tommy or Lolita or whatever the hell his name was learned all that feely-feely stuff? Barney? Mr. Rogers? Well, OK, maybe Mr. Rogers. But, it wasn't me!

(He moves quickly upstage and bumps into one of the empty cubicles, bumping his head.)

Ouch! Ouch-ouch-ouch.

(He recovers. Sees a cute man and fondles himself as he speaks.)

And what's your name little boy? Bobby! That was it. Yeah, Bobby. You wanna sit on Santy's lap? His mom all smiling and shit. Sure, Santa. Sure. You bet you virginal little hole you do. You sit right up here, sonny boy. Now, tell Santa what you want for Christmas. Oh, you want to whisper it? Ok. Go ahead. His breath is so sweet! Like rock candy. And the way he squirms gets me. Rubbing his tender little ass into my thigh. Then...then the little cocksucker puts his teeny little foot right onto my balls and moves his foot up and down. I want a Nintendo...anna horse...anna game-boy...and I...hold him close. I'm Santa. My hand on his lower back. No coat. Mom's holding that. Loose jeans and down the back into...his little underwear is so soft. And his skin. Keep talking, kid. I like it when you talk. Talk to me, kid.

(A man enters the booth next to him to join a young man in there. Jack hears this and he crouches down to peek through a hole in the wall. Sex sounds are heard and he quickly ejaculates.)

I gotta get...another job. Don't suppose I'll get much of a reference from that scrawny queer. It's alright. I got friends. Plenty of them.

(He lies down on bench)

God, I wish I'd kept dancing. Dancing was like sex. Endless, everlasting sex. Good fucking and love-making. Good love-making dancing. Like screwing the air. And all those eyes on me. Watching my every move. It was like drugs used to be, too. Everything easy and leathered up. Dancing like boom, boom, boom. "Turn the beat around...got the feel the action....turn it upside down"...gone. Gone like a family Christmas. Takes too much breath to dance now. They got younger, better ones now, too. Doing that fast shit. I liked it slow to moderate. Gives you time to play with the air. Fast dancing is like jerking-off. OK. But not the real thing.

(He suddenly starts to cry)

Why couldn't she have...Oh, God! I hate that woman!

(Sings)

"Oh, you better not pout, you better not cry, better not shout I'm telling you why...Santa Claus is coming!" And when Santa Claus comes the whole world can can turn the other way cause it's like...like a dam bursting like a...need. A drive-it-home-and-run-the-bases gusher that thrills many hearts and horrifies the squeamish. Yummm. Yum-yum-yum.

(He stops)

I remember a cake. I was about then. It was blue and white and had some other body's name on it but it was my birthday and I ate it up and my dad was...proud, I think. And I was then and my uncle gave me a toy and...I can't remember it quite right...but it was fun when he stayed over and...now he's...old and sorry. And I'm...still here. And I'm...not drinking. And I'm...horny again. There comes a point in every queer man's life when he turns from the hunted to the hunter. It's real silent and real quick but BAM suddenly, one day, you're the one on your knees when you used to be standing. You no longer have the power to say yes or no. Only please, and may I? And most the time they say no at first but long about two o'clock in the AM when they've been slinging attitude at you for five hours then suddenly, oh, so suddenly, and miraculously, they want you to suck them off. So you do. 'Cos what else is there? Other than the view from your apartment into the young boy's place across the street.

Sometimes he just fiddles with his computer but other times...other times he plays his dick like a man who knows another man's watching. I turn out my lights and light the candles and sit by the window and watch him. I don't know who the fuck he is. Never met him. Don't want to. It's the one perfect thing in my life that I never want to change. Talk about your safe sex. Sometimes I get off and other times I just sit watching him, thinking what it'd be like to just...hold him close, you know? But I never will 'cos that would fuck it up.

Sometimes he has some woman over and they go at it and I watch and get off usually. Though I keep my windows very clean, I like clean windows. One time there was this girl over there who saw me looking, not jacking-off or anything, just looking and she made him close the blinds. You could tell he didn't wan to and, I swear, when he came to the window to close the blinds he looked up at me and winked or something. I swear he did. That made my night! It just...well, it was like, I don't know, like a love I guess. Or something.

I just don't get women. What's the big hairy deal? They got something so special they have to hide it from prying, innocent eyes? All women think you're gonna rape them or something. Please. I've had my taste of snatch and there ain't nothing that hot about it. Smells kinda good. Just nothing to grab hold of, you know? My uncle taught me that. He had a big one, baby, and I liked the way he'd cram it down my ten-year old throat. I'd lie back on the bed and he'd straddle me, knees by my ears and pound that sausage into my mouth till I couldn't breath no more. Then, just when I thought I couldn't take it no more, just when tears were starting to come out my eyes, he'd fill my throat with his come and hold me for a few minutes sometimes. Just like he'd meant to. I miss my uncle. I miss him a lot. Ho-ho-ho. Ouch.

I was married once. Sweet girl. Her mom was a nut case who paid me good cash weekly, just for porking her kid. Then she tried to make me one night. Man, talk about gross. She had it all planned out. Edna, that was my wife, Edna was working or something and I'd just come home from cruising the park and there's this creature, this bag of bones and bad attitude all nicey-nice to me. More than usual, you know. Well, she makes me a drink. She's wearing some kind of flimsy, soiled nighty-thing, whatever it is women wear and as she hands me the drink she bends waaaay over like this and says, sweet as you please: "A real man always needs a drink after a hard day." It was the way she said 'hard' that got me scared. Well, when she bends over, see, here's her tit. About two inches from my face. I can't help but notice. Well, she notices that. "Oh," she says, "excuse us." And reaches in and plops her boob back in the dress. Next thing i know she's on her knees in front of me and digging her pointy, old chin into my pants. Well, the thing about dicks, min, anyway, is they tend to respond to stimulus of any kind. Like that kid. It don't matter what you want, sometimes, old junior usually gets the upper hand. Well, she had it out and in her mouth in a flash. I just laid back and let her have it. Hell, if you close your eyes, what's the difference, eh? I used to close my eyes with Edna and that worked a coupla times. Till she didn't seem to want it anymore. Thank goodness. Sweet girl, Edna. Shame really. Caught me with a trick one night and went ballistic. Killed our kid. Put me in the hospital. You gotta watch those sweet ones, you know. What was our kid's name, again? Hell, don't matter. Some little girl's name. Dead now. Life's about living, ain't it? And there's life in the old boy, yet! I need an open mouth! HEY! ANY OF YOU COCKSUCKERS WANNA BLOW A MYTH? COME AND GET IT!

(He scurries to the open cubicle. A few men pass by. One stops and heads in.)

Come on in Bobby, Johnny, Alex. Santa's got a present with your name on it. Whatever that happens to be. No, don't tell me. I know who you are. I know you've been naughty. But now, Santa's gonna make you feel real nice. Hold on tight, Bobby-Johnny-Alex, I got a lot to deliver tonight. Now, come here and tell old Santa exactly what it is you want.

(The man whispers something in Jack's ear. Jack spins him quickly around and throws him roughly against the back wall of the cubicle. Jack drops to his knees and slowly opens the man's pants. Jack sings softly.)

"Oh, come let us adore him...Oh, come let us adore him...Oh, come let us adore him..."

(The man is exposed.)

Ho....ho....ho....ouch....ouch...oouuuu...

(The last 'ouch' is muffled as Jack fills his mouth. The man gasps quickly.)