Punk Rock Girl 2

Note: This is actually a true story. Everyone involved was 18 or older.

*****

I am enveloped in darkness. I can hear my friends, and some others, on the floor, and by the door, and on the ceiling. They are speaking loudly, and giggling maniacally, but my mind can't piece together exactly what they are saying. The light comes on, and I squint, feeling blinded. My friend turns to me, and I am struck by his dilated pupils and glossy eyes. He says something to me, but it takes a few seconds for it to sink in completely.

'Light bulbs are the sun's nipples.'

I ponder this. My brain goes over reality, what I know. I realize that the universe that I have grown accustomed to may be wrong, and I cannot tell what is true and what isn't in my drug addled state. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and four or five men walk in. Introductions are made, in French, but I am much too far gone to remember any of my French. The door closes, and it looks infinitely far away. One of the men walks to me, a trail of brown leading out behind him. I shake my head, trying to clear it.

'What's good man? It's Rafael.'

I stare blankly at him, he laughs and moves on. The men set up their hookah, and begin preparations. Loud angry French hip hop is being played. Demons creep into my mind, and I begin to panic. I tug the door open and run from the shack I have been in for the past three hours. The outside is cold and bitter. There is sleet coming down. My friend quickly follows me, asking where I'm going. I make some vague statement about having to bounce. He goes back inside to say peace to the others, and then follows me outside. I am so fucked at this point, that I forget that I have nowhere to go. I walk down the block, the lights changing colors and fading in and out of focus. My friend is attempting to talk to me, but I have nothing to say. I tell him that I have to sleep, I have to go home. He consents, and says that he will go home as well.

I begin the walk down Pape Street, people staring at me. I must be quite obvious. I can't tell how long I've been tripping, but it feels like hours. I look up, and see The Danforth lights in the distance, but have to look down quickly again, terrified. I try to comfort myself, tell myself that I am fine, that I am almost home, but forming sentences is difficult, even in my mind. I remember that I can't go home, my mother is there, and I am no state to talk to her. Panic sets in. I weigh my options, knowing that I can't stay outside either. I decide on the park.

Upon arriving, I immediately see a girl on the swings, and am struck by her. There is something about her that is alluring, but I can't quite tell, especially in my mindset. All I know is that I want to talk to her. I approach the swings, looking at her. I stop about five feet away. She is wearing a metric fuck ton of eyeliner, and it's clear that she's been crying. Her black hair is frazzled and tangled, and she has the air of someone who has just run from something. She just notices me, and starts. I realize that I am staring, and since she is a teenage girl alone in a park at 1 AM, and I am looking a little like a schizophrenic homeless boy, this is probably not the best first impression. I smile at her, trying to make her feel more comfortable. This has a noticeably unsettling effect on her. I ask her if she's okay. She continues to stare. I go and sit on the swing next to her.

'It's Sean. What's your name?'

She looks down, almost resigning to me.

'I'm Caira.'

I nod, and look at the ground as well. I think of something to say.

'Is something wrong?'

'Something is always wrong. Sorry, that sounded bitchy. What I meant was, don't worry about it. I'm fine.'

'You don't look fine. Sorry, I don't mean to pry, it's just that you looked sad, and I don't like seeing pretty girls being sad.'

She jerks her head up at this, and glares at me.

'Are you seriously fucking hitting on me?'

I am a little taken aback at this. Am I flirting with her? I meant no harm. I really just wanted to talk.

'No, I'm not. But about four hours ago I ingested an ungodly amount of psilocyin mushrooms, and I don't really know what the fuck I'm doing. I really just wanted to talk to you.'

I suddenly realize what her allure is. She reminds me, uncontrollably, of the song Punk Rock Girl.

'I'm not going to fuck you.'

That's fine, I think.

'Will you at least tell me what's up?'

Her face crumples, and my hallucinations are suddenly set off. I shake my head again.

'I just got dumped. Which sounds horribly pathetic, but it really crushed me.'

'I know the feeling. I'm not going to try to console you, because I realize that at this point it would just be irritating. What I can do for you is help to numb. Want to get drunk?'

She lets down her guard now, and I see a smile. I smile too, and start to feel better about my fucked up conscious.

An hour later, I've gotten my vodka, well her vodka now too, and we walk to another park. We drink, we talk, we know each other, through ten ounces of Smirnoff. I stash the rest in my bag, and contemplate the rest of my night. She is leaning on me at this point, and I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do. I look at her, and she looks at me. (In her eyes I see the sea.) I lean in hesitantly, but she just scoffs.

'Not now.'

I am now so thoroughly confused that I have to sit down for a second. She just laughs. My shrooms have mostly gone away now, but everything is coated in an alcohol induced glaze. She sits down with me, and cocks her head at me, looking into my eyes, with a slight bemused smirk played on the side of her lips. Then she leans in and kisses me, and she tastes like ash and disinfectant. After a few seconds, she quickly gets up.

'Come on.'

Then she starts walking, and it takes all my efforts to rise and follow. She is still a few feet ahead of me, walking in and out of the pools of flickering yellow light from the streetlights, so far above us. I finally catch up with her, and ask her where we're going.

'Home.'

This is too cryptic for me to decipher, so I just follow. She turns down a dark alley, and I start to wonder why I trust her. She turns into a yard, and walks the cellar door of a lightless white house. It looks like one from my childhood. She fucks about with her keys for a second, and then swings the door open, walking in. A second later, light comes sparkling from the doorway, looking more inviting than anything my drunken soul has ever seen. I stumble in, and look around at her small room, with a futon in the corner, a TV opposite it. It looks very much like my kind of place.

She tells me to close the door, and I oblige. She kicks off her combat boots, and I remove my four year old tattered Etnies. Her leather jacket falls to the floor, and I am aware now for the first time that she isn't wearing a shirt under it, just a brassiere. I take off my plaid overcoat, now just wearing a baggy t-shirt and jeans. She goes and sits on her futon, and beckons me with her finger. I scurry over to her, and almost fall onto the futon.

She puts on a movie. It's about a young boy in England. The story is hard to follow, and soon neither of us is really watching. We are tangled together in a drunken warm and beautifully comforting embrace. I feel her soft lips against mine, a little moist. I press up against her body, running my arms down the small of her back onto her ass. She giggles a little as I feel her up. She can feel me growing against her thigh now, and gasps a little as I press it into her. I move down her neck, kissing and sucking.

Her hands go to my pants, feeling my hardness through my jeans. I moan as she rubs against it. My hand wanders down the front of her panties, feeling the moist fabric. I slide a finger up and down her slit, and she chokes on her breath. I look deep into her eyes, only half lit by the TV, and see myself mirrored in her tears. She looks as joyous and as miserable as anyone I've ever seen, like she's on the verge of bursting into tears or crying out in ecstasy. While her eyes are still meeting mine, I finally move my hand into her underwear, against her bare hot skin.

I feel the softness of her pubic hair, and the wetness of her labia. I part them a little, and tease her clit with my index finger, up and over and around and around. After a minute, she shudders and quietly cries into my shoulder as her muscles quiver and tense. Waves of pleasure course through her, and then she goes still.

Her eyes close for a minute, but then she resumes rubbing against me. Her underwear and my jeans are discarded, and she slides her bare vulva against my boxers. I'm so hard it hurts, and my precum is soaking through the cloth. I push down my underwear and it springs free, slapping against her stomach. She takes a sharp inhale, and stares me in the eye. I smile gently, and she rolls onto her back, away from me.

Now I roll onto her, holding myself up over her. I can feel her soft beating heart, and her tits against my chest. Her breathing is shallow, and she looks up at me expectantly, all guards down. I move my cock to her wetness, and slowly slide in. The warmth and softness is incredible, and I feel her muscles clench a little at my entrance. Her hands curl around my back, and her legs part more. I groan as I sink all the way in, bottoming out.

We both rest a minute, lying against each other, feeling each other. Then I start to move in and out, and she moans deeply. We stare each other down face to face, mine contorted in unbelievable pleasure, and hers with her mouth open and eyes wide in a silent scream. After only a minute I feel myself nearing the edge, and I pick up the speed. I feel the pressure building in the head, and I pull out and cum all over her abdomen, feeling the sticky warmth. I fall down beside her, utterly content and exhausted, not even minding the cum drying on my stomach.

My eyelids flutter closed. She rolls over against me, and I cradle her in my arms. I can feel the rhythm of her breathing against my chest, and I can feel my heartbeat vibrating against her back. She smells of alcohol, but also of shampoo and safety. I have a gentle smile as I fall into my subconscious.

***

I hear a door opening. I remember where I am. I realize that Caira's sleeping form is no longer next to me. I bolt upright, and am met with a penetrating bolt of pain through my brain. I half blindly look around, and see a middle aged woman standing in the doorway that I hadn't noticed last night. She smiles warmly at me, and offers me coffee. I look at her dumbfounded, and I don't know what to say.

'Where's Caira?'

'This way.'

And then she turns and walks up the staircase behind her. I topple forward, through the door, and climb the stairs slowly and arduously. When I reach the top, I see a small kitchen, with a chequered black and white tile floor, which I instantly like. I see Caira sitting at the table, sipping tentatively at her coffee. She sees me and her eyes visibly light up. Who I presume to be her mother offers me coffee once again, and tells me to sit.

For the entirety of breakfast Caira and I glance at each other across the table, but exchange no words. Her mother, whom I learn is named Katherine, asks me questions, like where I attend school, and what neighbourhood I live in. I answer in mostly short, one sentence speech segments.

Afterwards, she offers to drive me home, but I respectfully deny, saying I need fresh air. I am walked to the door by Caira, and I stand on her porch, and she stands in her doorway, and we look at each other.

'You are exactly the kind of person I need in my life.'

I nod, and agree with her in my head. She bids me goodbye, and closes the door. I think about what she said. It's true. It's not a romantic relationship, nor a friendship. It's just two people leaning on each other heavily. I insert my earbuds, and I step off her step. As House of the Rising Sun begins, I squint my eyes into the starting day.

I make it almost half a block before I start violently vomiting into the gutter.