"Another Night: Somewhere Away From Downtown L.A." Excerpt fr "L.A. Bitch 4"/Jim Marquez

8/15/2019 "Another Night: Somewhere Away From Downtown L.A." Excerpt fr "L.A. Bitch 4"/Jim Marquez

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The following is a piece from my new book “L.A. Bitch IV: The Last Word!”

A book of wicked tales about the City of Angels.

Visit www.LuLu.com/JimMarquez

copyright 2007 Jim Marquez

___________________________ Another Night in Babylon Somewhere away

from Downtown L.A.

by Jim Marquez

She looked like a woman who could take a punch. But not by

me. So, another bar, another moonless night. Almost 1am. A white

chick. Late 30s? Hot body but her face says don’t believe

everything you see.

“I mean, I love my boyfriend and everything,” she slurred into

my neck and I pressed myself against her leg as she sat on the bar

stool and I stood next to her. “It’s just that I catch him watching the

pornos, you know? And they’re all young and 20 years old and

skinny; I mean, how can I compete with that? Christ, I’m so fat!”

“Sweetie, you have the body of an athlete, you’ve got a tight

package, you’re the sexy one. He’s an asshole.”

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“No, no, no. I’ve had four kids and yeah, I work out, I know I

look good for 43, but, oh, um, so how old are you again?”

“36.”

“Wow, I’ve never messed around with somebody that young.”

She squeezed me hard like I might leave her and I kissed her neck.

“I’m not that young.”

“No, I’m the old one. That’s why my boyfriend watches those

stupid, skinny little cunts. I know what he’s trying to tell me, I

know…”

“Shhh, come here.” I kiss her earlobe, her cheek, slide my hand

down her back and into her pants, tug at her g-string.

“You’re so sweet, you make me feel wanted.”

“I do want you.”

“It’s not like I mess around behind his back, it’s just, you know,

he never wants to make me feel sexy, like you’re doing now...” She

hugs me, kisses my neck.

I put my Jameson-rocks to bed and order two Jaeger shots. I kiss

her salty lips. “Where do you live, sweetie?” I whisper into her

right ear, slip my hand into her panties.

“He just throws me on the bed, does his business, and then he’ssleepy, he doesn’t even go down on me…”

“Bastard.”

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“Yeah, you know what I’m sayin’? And he expects me to do him

down there all the time. That fucker! He has, well, you know… a

large one, you know? He’s pretty well…” She kisses me, slips in a

vodka flavored tongue. “I shouldn’t do this shot by the way.”

“Then don’t.” I down mine, pick hers up. She pulls my hand

from my mouth and has me pour it down her throat. We kiss pasty

lips. “This is the last one,” she says.

“OK.” I stroke her hair and she puts her face to my chest and I

think she’s crying but she slides her hand down my back and into

my jeans. “You’re so beautiful,” she says, barley registers above

some Doors tune blasting for the third time that hour.

“No, you are,” I say and we kiss again. “So, where do you live?”

“Down the street.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I walk here. Shit, I have enough DUIs.”

I can’t help but grin wide. “And I’ll walk you right back, baby.”

“Ok.” We hug. I noticed that the hugging was essential for her.

That tactile sensation. Hell, me too, who’s kidding, who?

“Hey you guys,” the brusque, jolly, old bartender screams at us.

“Get the fuck outta here, get a room! You disgust me; you makeme want to drink!” He takes a swig of his Bud Light. “She’s been

wanting sex all night, kid,” he motions to me. “I’m too old for her,

I’d probably die in her bed, you go show her a good time.”

3



She turns red and lowers her head, giggling. “All right, get the

fuck outta here,” the bartender laughs and turns. “All of you

motherfuckers, get the fuck outta my bar now, time to go home! I

want to tie up my wife tonight!”

“You ok, sweetie?” I ask, lower my head, she’s resting hers on

the bar.

“I’m drunk,” she says.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Let me walk you home.” She nods. I kiss her neck, rub her

back, stick my hand into her mass of red hair, stir it around, pull on

it. “I want to go down on you; I want to make you feel good.”

She smiles. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“Sure you are.”

She gets off the bar stool and almost falls but I wrap an arm

around her. “You ok?”

“Take me home,” she leans into me.

Then we’re against the wall around the corner from the bar

making out like teenagers. Biting, snarling, slurping, famished for

an affection that we now know we take for granted. Each storing it

away for that long, sleepless night that will always surface. Wheneach of us will take a hand to ourselves and remember as best we

could what the other looked like. Or at least felt like.

4



“Over here,” she mumbles. We stagger to a small house behind

the bar’s parking lot. Stop, kiss, grope, paw. “Dammit,” she slurs.

“What?”

“The lights…on…TV…my daughter…supposed to be out...”

“Ok, then, I’ll…”

“No, let’s go…to my truck…in the lot.” She steers me away from

her house and takes out her keys and reaches for the door.

“In back, honey, don’t let the pigs see you behind the wheel.”

“Right.”

I never used to get this backseat thing in high school. Sloppy &

awkward, farcical & exciting; my face on her chest, bra’s off, and I

hear her tummy grumble but I ignore it and then I hear a belch

buried deep within and I begin to feel something hot and viscous

spurt onto the back of my neck and I jump and see that white,

foamy vomit is percolating between her lips and I reach back and

wipe off my neck and she sits up, her cheeks puffing out, her lips

locked tight, she’s trying not to spray us and raises a finger to ask

for a time-out and she convulses, chokes, then, like a champ,

swallows it back down.

“I’m so sorry,” she starts to cry. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, don’t bemad, don’t be mad,” she wipes her lips and breasts with her blouse.

“I’m so sorry…”

5



“It’s ok, shhh, come here.” I lick her lips, can taste stale acidic

cottage cheese, kiss her, then, put my tongue into her mouth and

press hard and she presses back, her eyes go wide and wet and we

start to go at it again and don’t stop.

10 minutes pass.

After: holding, quiet, it’s cold.

“I have to go,” she whispers, begins to dress.

“I know. Let me walk you to the door.”

On the sidewalk we stop and kiss and fondle, still active but now

very tired. “I have to go,” she mumbles.

“I know.” I can’t keep my hands off of her though.

Half way across her neatly trimmed lawn the porch light pops on,

the door cracks half open. She turns to me. “Thank you, sweetie.”

Quick peck on my cheek.

I step away, don’t go to the door, and a hand reaches out, grabs

her arm, pulls her inside, and I hear a young woman’s voice

screech, “ Are you drunk again? You stupid fuckin’ bitch! And who

the fuck was that? You stupid fuckin’…”

The door slams shut and the porch light winks out.

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"Another Night: Somewhere Away From Downtown L.A." Excerpt fr "L.A. Bitch 4"/Jim Marquez