Downstairs

It is a hot August night in New York City. It is very late. I am in a nameless bar on the lower east side, riding high on shrooms and cheap red wine. The bar is crowded and very noisy. I can’t hear myself think, and that is the way I want it. I want to be empty. I want to forget.

I make my way through the crowd to the back of the room where a stairwell leads down to the bathrooms. Closing the door behind me, the stairway seems to extend downwards toward infinity, a black hole receding into the abyss. If I ever make it to the bottom, there is no way I will ever be able to climb back up.

I reach the bottom and go into the women’s room. It is filthy. A flickering fluorescent fucks with my vision. The walls are covered with hastily scrawled graffiti. The trash can is overflowing with used paper towels, plastic beer cups and tampon applicators. There are three toilets; no stalls or dividers between them. One of them is broken. It looks like it was attacked with a baseball bat. There are shards of broken porcelain and puddles of standing water on the floor.

A woman is sitting on one of the toilets. She is beautiful, tall and slender with shoulder-length blonde hair and glasses. She is at least ten years older than me. She is wearing a short black skirt and an old Ramones t-shirt. Her black panties are at her ankles, just above her red cowboy boots.

Our eyes meet. She seems to smile, and kicks off her panties. She nods, as if giving me permission.

I am on my knees between her thighs, her skirt hiked up around her waist. The word “DYKE” is tattooed in gothic capital letters across her bare pubic mound. She tastes tangy, a combination of sweat, urine, and sex. She is spreading her labia for me. She is getting excited. Her pink clit is poking out from its little hood. I start licking, slurping up and down her spread cunt. She wants me to concentrate on her clit. She is pulling my hair, hard. (It should hurt, but I am only vaguely aware of the sensation.) I am not ready to give her that pleasure yet. I am losing myself in her sex, her wetness.

She has lifted up her t-shirt, and pulled her bra down. She is playing with her nipples as I eat her, pinching, pulling and twisting them.

I am aware that another woman has entered the bathroom. I feel, rather than see, the look of surprise and shock, then curiosity and amusement crossing her face.

“You Want Some?” asks the woman who I am eating out. Her voice sounds oddly distorted. “She’s Really Good At It.”

“No thanks” the other woman says “I just need to pee.” I sneak a look at her. My impression is that she is fat, has red hair and is wearing blue jeans. I go back to work, slathering my tongue up and down the blonde woman’s pussy, occasionally circling her clit, but never concentrating on it, never staying.

The other woman sits down on the commode next to us. I can hear her pissing. The stream stops, and after a moment, she flushes. She slaps my pantied ass on the way out, hard. She tweaks my puffy outer lips through my panties, and laughs as I jump. “Have Fun” she says, and leaves.

My blonde raises one leg, stretching it almost up to her ear. Her little brown asshole is exposed, puckered and tight. I attack it ravenously with my tongue, licking all around and into it. Her ass taste is earthy and musky. Her anus opens to swallow my probing tongue. She sighs “Yes, oh yes” I feel like my tongue is burrowing yards into her rectum, like some long perverted snake. She is rubbing her clit as I rim her.

I want to make her come. I return my mouth to her pussy, nosing aside her busy fingers. I suck, lick, and gently nibble her clit. She is pulling me into her now, fiercely. I can’t breath, but I don’t care. I am probing her wet asshole with one finger, banging her pussy with my thumb as I lick her clit. I can’t go on much longer, I’ll pass out.

She comes with the violence of a summer thunderstorm. Silently, she spasms again and again, grinding my face into her cunt, squeezing me between her thighs. I can feel her pussy and asshole grasping me, drawing me inside. Gasping for air, I stay with her until she is done. Finally, she lets loose with a stream of piss, right into my mouth. I am able to swallow almost all of it. It seems to have no taste. I drink her essence thirstily.

She is gone. Her wetness is all over my face, and in my hair. My knees hurt from kneeling on the cold, wet tile. I have cut one knee on a sharp piece of broken toilet. The blood runs freely. I remember the original reason that I came down here, and realize that I have wet myself. The dampness on my thigh is my own urine.

The mushrooms are wearing off, the wine is making me sleepy. It is time to go home. I throw my ruined panties into the overflowing trash can, clean up as best as I can, and make my way back up to the street. I hail a cab, and manage to make it to my own bed before I pass out.

I ask a boy that I have been dating to piss in my mouth after I give him a blowjob. He agrees to do it, but his bladder is shy, and he can’t make himself go. Soon after that, he breaks up with me.

A year later, I am riding the train, and I notice a woman looking at me. I think she is checking me out. She is tall and blonde, and wears a business suit. She looks familiar, but I don’t think I know her. As she is getting off the train, our eyes meet, and she licks her lips and blows me a kiss.

That night, I masturbate to the memory of her, violently grinding my clit and pulling my nipples until I come, shaking and biting my lips to keep from screaming.