Numbers on the Wall - 1. Numbers on the Wall

I needed a blowjob.

It’s been awhile since I’ve had one. The last girl that stuck around with me long enough to give me one left about six months ago when she realized I wasn’t what she expected. I don’t know what she expected really. It’s not like I’ve tried being dishonest about myself. If anything, I’m sometimes too honest to people. I don’t have any dreams or ambitions and when I tell people that they just assume I’m playing a joke on them. No college graduate who is the son of one of the most successful corporate businessmen in the country has a shortage in dreams or potential. That’s not me, I’d tell them. Once they finally realize I’m being truthful, they walk out the door.

That’s not to say I never had dreams or ambitions. Oh no, I had them. Or rather, I had one dream, one ambition. Ever since I was young, I wanted to work for Alcamex. Ever since I ate my first chewable vitamin, I knew I wanted to be part of the company that made that little tablet in the shape of my favorite cartoon character. I’d learn later that Alcamex, the producer of those children’s tablets amongst a host of other pharmaceutical products, was not only the biggest and leading pharmaceutical company in the country but pretty much the only one that mattered. If you weren’t Alcamex, you were nobody in this industry.

So I worked hard towards achieving that goal. I had high grades in high school. I finished third in the entire batch. I managed to score a scholarship for my course taking a double major in Chemistry and Healthcare Management. I managed to graduate with honors in my batch. As soon I was out of college, I sent my resume to the one and only company that mattered to me. Within the same week I got a call for an interview. My father was so proud of me then, his son the future chemist of Alcamex.

That was then. Things were different now. We haven’t spoken in awhile my father and me; not since the day I decided to take a job delivering pizza for one of the local Italian shops. It was an Italian restaurant that also sold beer. At first I found that weird but later I realized that the combination was actually great.

I never did get that job in Alcamex. I got an interview, and a second interview, and even a third interview. But for whatever reason, they decided that I was not what they were looking for. “Your qualifications though outstanding do not me match our current staffing needs” the secretary told me. The goddamn interviewer didn’t even have the guts to tell me that himself. He sent me out to wait at the lobby then had the damn secretary tell me I wasn’t what they were looking for. Naturally, I went loco and started screaming at the secretary right there in the lobby of their corporate headquarters. This was Alcamex. It was my childhood dream and now they were telling me I didn’t belong there? Fuck that! Security had to drag me out finally after I made the secretary break down in tears.

Looking back, it probably wasn’t her fault. It was the damn interviewer’s fault for whatever reason he had not to hire me. It was his damn fault for being a coward and not telling it to my face.

I was broken. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have any backup plans and in truth I didn’t want any. I knew I pretty much blew my chance with Alcamex with what happened in their lobby. I didn’t want to work for another pharmaceutical company because no other company mattered. I didn’t know what to do.

My parents were concerned. My mom would come to me and try to comfort me. My dad would tell me that there were other opportunities out there and that I should look into other choices even in other industries. I didn’t listen. I didn’t want anything else. What I wanted, I couldn’t have.

I spent days in my room shutting out the rest of the world. When I finally did leave, it was to go out with my best friend Mark who I’d been ignoring resolutely since I came back from my last interview. He heard about what happened from my parents and he wanted to cheer me up. We headed to a local Italian restaurant. What better ways to cheer someone up than beer and pizza? So I reluctantly agreed or rather was reluctantly forced to go out of the house by a very aggressive and pissed-off-for-being-ignored Mark.

When we got to the restaurant, there weren’t many people there. We took a table by the corner and ordered our usual: the meat lovers special and a pitcher of ice cold beer. We spent the time mostly talking or rather Mark asking me questions and me answering in incoherent grunts. He pretty much told me the same things my father did. “Expand my horizons” he called it.

It was then that I noticed the “we’re hiring” sign against the window at the entrance. I had to read it backwards because it was facing outside but the sun was bright enough that the black ink was visible through the paper’s back. They were looking for a delivery boy. For whatever reason, I wanted that job. In the back of my head I knew it was a crazy idea really but somehow it just made sense at the time. They were offering a job. I needed a job. Bam, bam, boom, problem solved.

Mark was shocked when he saw me return from a supposed bathroom break with a sheet of paper indicating my employment with the restaurant. He wanted me to return it right then and tell them I made a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake I told him. This was what I wanted to do. Naturally, he didn’t believe me. Heck, even I didn’t believe myself. He told me to think about it. Perhaps give myself a couple of days to come to my senses. I guess he knew me well enough to realize that eventually I would see the mistake I was making.

My parents weren’t quite as understanding, especially my father. He said he didn’t pay for my private schooling and four years of collage so that I could become a delivery boy. Somehow hearing him say that seemed to make me want to do it all the more. I told him it was what I wanted to do. He said I was a fool and making the biggest mistake of my life. He told me not to speak to him until I came to my senses. He also said that if I did not hand in my resignation to the restaurant immediately that he would kick me out of the house.

He didn’t need to. I left that same night.

I spent a few days over at Mark’s place. He still lived with his parents and was helping out his dad in their family business. I couldn’t stay there very long but in truth I didn’t want to. Mark was just as persistent as my dad in convincing me to leave the restaurant. “You’re making a mistake” he said. What is it with these damn people and my mistakes? If I’m making a mistake, then let me fucking make them. They’re my mistakes after all!

So I left after a few days there. I didn’t know where to go. I went over to our favored bank to check my bank account. Thankfully I had one that was in my name. My father got it for me when I was younger. Every young man needs to have one he said. I went into the bank and walked up to the clerk. She knew me very well by then because my father was frequently in this bank. Not only did he have large amounts of money deposited here but he was also classmates with the bank manager back in his college years.

I asked the teller to check how much cash I had in my account. She obliged willingly and told me that I had a certain amount that I knew was way, way more than I had there the last time I checked. I asked her how come my money got that big. She looked at me confusedly but checked the records nonetheless. Her computer showed that my father deposited that amount the day before.

I didn’t know what to make of that. First my father tells me not to speak to him then threatens to kick me out of the house. Then now he’s depositing money into my account. That confused me.

The money was no fortune by any means but it was enough to live comfortably by myself for awhile. I could afford a small apartment and if I would budget my food and bills well enough, I could maybe get by for up to two years before I was completely broke. So I went with it. If my old man was giving me money then I’ll use it to fund my new life. But I’m certainly not changing my mind about this work just because he gave me money. No, sir. No, way.

So that brings me to my current problem. I needed a blowjob.

I’ve been out of college for two years and I’m still working in the Italian restaurant as their delivery boy. My boss is pretty nice. He’d give me extra cash during Christmas and my birthday. But other than those, my pay was pretty much what you’d expect from the type of work. Mark kept trying to convince to come to my senses. He would say that what I was doing was crazy. He kept at it for over a year but after three months of not returning his calls and ignoring him pretty much each time we ran into each other, he just seemed to give up.

My bank account was going dry. When it most mattered, I couldn’t help myself. For all intents and purposes, I was a spoiled kid. Whenever some new gadget would come out that appealed to me I’d buy it even if it meant pulling cash from my savings. Even with the income from my job, it didn’t take long to bring my cash flows in the high negatives.

So I went for cheaper forms of entertainment. I would pick up a girl, spend on her a little, make her my girlfriend, and get the free thrills that came with. They were mostly easy because I knew them from college and they knew me. They knew I was smart and hardworking. More importantly they knew my father and how rich he was. That was probably a reason why most people called me by my last name. It was something I shared and will always share with my father. As soon as they found out though what I really did for a living, they’d pack up and leave without another word. One girl did manage to leave with a few words though. “You’re a fucking bum, Stevenson” she said. Yeah, I was.

That went on for awhile but word must have gotten around as to what I was up to, what my life was like and eventually they all started leaving me alone and staying away from me. I never resorted to prostitutes. They felt cheap and wrong. If you’re going use someone, don’t use them because they had no other choice. Getting sex from someone who had nothing else to sell but their bodies just seemed wrong to me. So it’s been six dry months. Six very celibate months.

But now, I seriously needed a blowjob. My hand was too familiar and didn’t have the same excitement I got from another person. I wanted to feel someone’s mouth on me. I wanted someone’s touch to caress me, to make me feel good. I needed someone to make me feel alive.

It was while I was pondering these thoughts that I noticed the number on the wall. I was in the public restroom on the train station and pissing away at the urinal. Normally, I would have ignored what was written on the wall but the word “blowjob” seemed inescapable from my mind right now and it stared me in the face.

Want a free blowjob? Text me 0945-6382451.

What the hell was this? Who would write her number over a urinal in the men’s room? It must be a girl right? Unless it was a fag. Damn, it could be a fucking fag.

But a free blowjob? That thought seemed promising. No, it must be a girl. No fag would put his number like that in the men’s room with those words. He’d be asking to get the shit beat out of him. Yeah, it must be a girl. If it’s a fucking fag, I’ll beat the shit out of him.

So I brought out my phone, I still had one as the bill hadn’t arrived yet. After this month though, I’ll probably have to have it cut whether I liked it or not. I took down the girl’s number and headed outside. I began writing a message.

Hey, I saw your message on the wall. Wanna hook up?

There, that seemed friendly enough. I was excited as soon as I sent it. Certainly, it states clearly what I was referring to and what I wanted and yet leaves the situation open to the possibility of being more than a onetime thing. If I could extend the free blowjobs to other days, why not right?

I waited for the reply for about five minutes but it didn’t come. My excitement was dying down and I began thinking that maybe I made a mistake. I was just about to walk out of the station when my phone vibrated. It was a message.

Who’s this?

Who’s this? What the heck kind of response is that? Well, obviously she wouldn’t know my number and consequently who I was but of all the things to respond, why ask that?

Somewhere in the back of my head I knew that that was a perfectly acceptable question but I also knew somehow that I didn’t want to give my name. What if this was some psycho stalker that would end up killing me once we hooked up. I didn’t want to hang from a literal hook.

Yet the prospect of a blowjob was just so appealing.

I decided to use my second name “Louis”. I wasn’t going to give my first name or last name in case it was some psycho. Yes, my second name would be safe.

My name’s Louis. What’s yours?

I sent my reply. Instead of waiting around the train station, I decided to head up into the street. When I got up, I exited into Edwards Avenue. It was a few blocks down from my apartment. I didn’t want to go home yet in case something happened tonight and I didn’t want to bring this girl back to my place until I knew she was safe.

My phone vibrated.

What do you want?

What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with this bitch? She leaves her number to offer free blowjobs then is now playing ignorant. She was starting to get on my nerve. I wanted to curse her in my text but my reply came out somewhat different.

I saw your message in the Edwards train station bathroom about a free blowjob. Is the offer still good?

I didn’t have time for this shit. If she wasn’t going to give me my blowjob then she needs to tell me now because if so, I was going to find someone else that will give me my blowjob. I waited for about ten minutes for her response. I wasn’t going to play hard to get with some nut I don’t know. I was just about to leave and find someone else when my phone vibrated again.

Do you know the coffee shop by that station? Meet me there in 15 mins.

That was it? A few texts and we were going to do it? I felt massively relieved and I felt myself twitch in anticipation.

I was going to get a goddamned blowjob!

I looked around for the said coffee shop. It wasn’t so hard since it was the only store in the whole area. It was also pretty much empty except for two other people seated inside. I went in and got a cup of their cheapest coffee. I figured that if I was going to sit there, I might as well buy something. I went outside and took a seat under one of those tables with large umbrellas. It was already getting dark. I sat there looking at every girl that passed trying to see if anyone would make eye contact. I was already excited and I felt like I was going to explode just waiting for her.

Fifteen minutes came and went. I looked at my watch impatiently and checked my phone for any messages. There weren’t any. The people that came out of the station just passed by as if the coffee shop didn’t exist. The two people inside the coffee shop had already left to be replaced by some kid with a skateboard sitting inside.

My coffee cup was fully drained. It’s been over twenty minutes and without any text message I knew this girl was a no show. I should have known better than to put my trust in some number on the wall. I was just about to leave when someone walked up to me. I looked up.

It was the kid with the skateboard.

I looked at him with one eyebrow raised as though to ask what the hell was he doing here.

“Are you Louis?” he said.

I looked blankly at him. It took awhile for the implication of what he said to sink in.

The number didn’t belong to a girl. It belonged to a fag. A fucking underage fag.

“Was that your number on the wall?” I said somewhat stonily. I was getting pissed. The kid suddenly seemed uncertain.

“Yeah, that was my number” he said softly.

I shouted at him. “Well what the fuck do you think you’re doing writing it there?” I was fully pissed now. Not only was I not getting my blowjob but I’ve been waiting for almost an hour texting a teenager for a goddamn blowjob. God, what the fuck?

The kid suddenly seemed scared as though he was going to bolt at any second. Well he should be scared for what he just put me through!

“I… I just thought…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He just stood there staring at my eyes. He had that look. I knew that look. It was a look I’ve been getting used to the last two years.

It was the look of disappointment.

“Nevermind” he said softly as he began to turn away. I reached out and grabbed his wrist with my outstretched hand.

The kid suddenly seemed afraid and it was clear now that he wanted more than anything to run away from me.

“Look” he began in a soft and scared voice “I’m not gonna give you a blowjob, ok?”

“I don’t want you to” I said. Hell, I wanted a blowjob but not from some underage fag. I didn’t know why I reached out to him. I probably should have just let him go. But somehow his look made me want to stop him. I was used to that look by now. I got it a lot from the people I knew. But somehow that look coming from this kid I didn’t know just didn’t sit right with me. It was wrong, just so wrong. “I just want you to sit down, ok? We can just talk.”

The kid looked suspiciously at me before speaking up. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

I let go of his wrist and sat back on my chair. I was leaving the next move with him. I wanted him to know that he was free to leave now if he wanted to. If he wanted to leave which he should have really since he didn’t know me, he could and I wouldn’t stop him.

If he wanted to sit, he could sit too.

And so he sat.

We looked at each other. I was trying to appear calm but not too calm to give off the impression that I wasn’t pissed. I was still pissed after all. I wasn’t getting a damn blowjob. The kid on the other hand seemed nervous, uncertain. It was then that I got a good look at him.

He was thin, very thin and a little on the short side. He couldn’t have been older than 15 yrs old. He also had blonde hair and a pointed nose. His jaw was a bit pointed which accentuated his being thin even more. What caught my attention most was the aura he seemed to give off. He seemed so soft, so helpless.

“Why did you write that message on the wall?” I asked.

The kid seemed to hesitate before finally answering softly. “I didn’t.”

I raised one eyebrow. Is this kid shitting me? “Are you telling me that you didn’t write your number on the wall? That some guy just happened to write your number in a train station near where you live? You must live nearby to have gotten here in 15mins.”

The kid seemed to withdraw into himself further and kept quiet. Somehow I knew that if any kind of conversation was going to happen, I’m going to have to change my style.

“Look” I said more calmly as I leaned forward in a somewhat consoling way “I just want to understand why you would write something like that in a public restroom.” I must admit, I was curious.

He looked into my eyes and must have seen something he liked because finally he seemed to answer my question. Well, somewhat answer it anyway.

“I’m gay.”

He let the statement hang in the air. That was it. He looked me in the eyes and said “I’m gay” as though it held the answer to everything. I leaned back on my chair again.

“So you’re a fucking fag, so what?”

The kid’s face looked like someone slapped him and he looked down on his lap again. This time though he continued without further prodding.

“Someone probably put it there to make fun of me or get me in trouble.”

Well somehow that made sense. Put a fag’s number in a men’s room advertising free blowjobs and he’d be asking to get the shit beat out of him. Heck, I was planning to do just that in case it did turn out to be a fag.

I looked him over. He didn’t look up at me at all.

“Why?” I asked.

My question must have confused him because he looked at me with questioning eyes. I continued.

“Why did you come here if you knew that it was to make fun of you or get you in trouble?”

At this the kid seemed to fidget again. “It doesn’t matter” he said.

“Of course it matters” I replied “you’re here therefore the reason must have been important enough for you to come.”

The kid looked away from me and seemed to stare into the distance. He had a longing look in his face that if anything made him look younger.

It also made him look terribly sad.

“I just thought I could make a friend.”

I raised my eyebrow at this. This if anything did not make any sense to me. “You wanted a guy texting you about giving him a blowjob as your friend?”

The kid shrugged and looked me directly in the eyes.

“I don’t have any friends” he said plainly.

“Why not?” I replied coolly.

“Cause I’m gay.” He said as though it was the most obvious explanation in the world. “You said so yourself. You called me a fag. Nobody wants to be friends with a fag.”

I thought about this trying to make sense of how this kid thought. To some extent that was true. Most people stayed away from fags but the way he said it didn’t seem to give off that impression. It just didn’t make sense to me that absolutely nobody would want to be his friend. I leaned my head to one side as though studying him from another angle.

“If I was younger, I probably wouldn’t mind being your friend.”

The kid looked at me suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, you would” he said almost accusingly.

“Yeah, you’re probably right” I said then I smiled.

For whatever reason, the kid couldn’t seem to keep his glare fixed on me anymore. A smile broke on his lips for the first time tonight.

“I don’t think you are friendless because you’re gay” I said calmly “I think you just assume that no one would be your friend because you are what you are.”

His eyes narrowed at me again. “You don’t even know me, mister.”

I smiled at that. “I think I do. I think I know you too well.” I leaned forward “When you almost left earlier, you gave me a look. You looked disappointed. Am I right?”

The kid seemed to mull this over. Finally he nodded.

“Can you tell me why?” I asked.

His forehead wrinkled in concentration. “I wanted to make a friend. When I got your message I thought maybe I could finally make a friend. But when I saw you and I saw how angry you were, I knew I made a mistake.”

I leaned my head to the side again as I carefully chose my next question. “How often do you try to make friends with other people?”

The kid seemed suddenly shy as though he was caught doing a dirty dead. “Not much.”

“Not much?” I asked with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Not at all” the kid said in a much softer voice.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because I’m gay” he said again in a somewhat exasperated tone “nobody wants to be friends with me.”

“Is that really what they think or is that what you think they think?” I asked as I leaned back on my chair again.

The kid seemed to think this over. “I don’t know, really” he said.

“Ok, let me put it this way” I began “now that you’ve tried to make a friend with me and obviously that is not going to happen, are you going to stop trying to make friends with other people. Just because you failed this once, does it mean that every other person you meet will react in the exact same way?”

The kid looked at me and our eyes met. I could only hope that he saw some sincerity in what I said. Somehow, it was important that he understood. I knew I had won when I saw a grin sneak its way to his face.

“I guess not” he said as his grin made its way into a full smile.

“Good” I said as I nodded “my work here is done. Now get the hell out of here so that I can find someone to give me a blowjob.”

The kid’s eyes seemed to sparkle at my words.

“Don’t even think about it kid, I don’t lean that way. What’s more I have no intention of going to jail.”

The kid laughed. I couldn’t help myself and ended up laughing too. It was then that I realized that I hadn’t laughed for awhile. Not for two years perhaps.

The kid picked up his skateboard and stood up, a wide, happy smile on his face.

“Thanks” he said.

“You’re welcome” I replied having nothing else to say.

The kid started walking away. I watched him as he made his way down the street. Before he was out of earshot, he turned around and yelled into the air.

“I don’t care what you say” he said in a loud shout “you’re still my friend.”

“Yeah, whatever” I shouted in reply. I couldn’t suppress the chuckle that came afterwards.

As the kid vanished into the night, I sat there and looked up into the sky. I came here to meet a girl for a blowjob and somehow found a kid that needed just a little bit of help.

I couldn’t help but wonder at the possibilities.

I picked up my phone and opened my contacts page. I scrolled down to an unused number saved in my phone. I dialed it. It rang three times before someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mark.”

“Robert?” Mark always called me by my first name. “Oh my god, it’s great to hear from you. Why are you calling? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” I chuckled at him. God that felt good. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab a pizza and some beer.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Same place right? When do you want to meet?”

I looked towards the road where the kid disappeared moments ago and a smile crept on my face – a smile that has been longing to come out for two years.

“Right now would be good. I’m coming home.”