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Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

80_ym_youngdudes_afknott.jpg
Art by A.F.Knott 2020

ALL YOU YOUNG DUDES

  

by

 

Cindy Rosmus

 

 

 

          Dear Young Dude,

          Or, as Tennessee Williams might put it, “Young, young, young dude.”

          Happy Birthday! Your post said you were shit-faced, already. A Fireball shot for each year? Bull-shit. That’d be thirty, and you’d be dead. Half that, you’d be in ICU.

          Maybe less. . . .

          Way ahead of you. By thirty years. All you young dudes . . . Like in that Matt the Hoople song. Before your time.

And mine? Stop thinking aching joints, saggy jowls. Think thirty more years of getting fucked, and doing fucked-up things.

          That weirdo Lars, who swung both ways? Who made the fetish porn movies? Pregnant bitches sitting on balloons, smoking? What we did, back then, would make your skin crawl. Your smooth, powdered baby skin.

Thought how cool it’d be to fuck a bi guy. Like a Mick Jagger, or some artsy-fart. Strap-ons, spiked urine cocktails. Some scat freak wanted Lars’ latest smoking bitch to shit on him.

‘Cos I wouldn’t do it, Lars dumped me.

          And Howie, that married guy, from work. Always with a briefcase, like he was in Secret Service. But in that briefcase was a sandwich, blindfold, and handcuffs.

One day at lunch, down the block, we found an old mattress in an alley. As Howie munched on the sandwich (rare roast beef on rye), I sucked him off, blindfolded, hands cuffed behind me. Wearing a pink leather miniskirt, with glass on my knees.

“I fell,” I told Keith, my boss, about my bloody knees, and torn hose. Sneaking off the freight elevator, I walked right into him.

Smirking, ‘cos that elevator was Keith’s and my secret spot.

Like the Talking Heads would say, I had some “Wild, Wild Life.”

Once, while visiting my brother Frankie, in that rural Christian rehab, we both hooked up. Him, with the visiting organist’s son, me with Frankie’s roommate, Ian.

A dreamy-eyed felon, we fucked in their room, while Frankie and the kid went off, somewhere.

Probably the woods. On lots of trees, scriptures were carved. No matter how far you went, no matter how dark and scary the woods felt, another comforting Bible verse showed up: “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8.”

Yeah, we’re all sinners. But I fucked up anyone who got in my way.

Like that cute Spanish chick Howie hired. Mariah. Who snuck coke on the ladies’ room sink right after Mariah left? So the bitch-in-charge would find it?

Who called Howie’s house late at night, giggling when his wife answered?

Who switched on the gas, in all the burners, in Lars’ kitchen? After his power was shut off? Left him in a drunken stupor, with candles burning.

Before strangling young dudes at their request, I strangled some who fought back.

But years of strength training paid off.

          More than thirty.

          Right now, that Fireball has burned up your gut. Maybe the first shot did. But you trusted me, so you kept downing them. You trusted me at your place.

          After fucking me up. Twice.

          One more: That was powdered bleach, not aspirin, in my cheating husband’s coke. On our first anniversary, we were alone, in a candlelit room.

          Who’d ever believe I flunked chemistry?






Cindy is a Jersey girl who looks like a Mob Wife & talks like Anybody’s from West Side Story. She works out 5-6 days a week, so needs no excuse to drink or do whatever the hell she wants. She’s been published in the usual places, such as Shotgun Honey, Hardboiled, A Twist of Noir, Megazine, Beat to a Pulp, Out of the Gutter, Mysterical-E, Dark Dossier, and Twisted Sister. She is the editor/art director of the ezine, Yellow Mama. She’s a Gemini, a Christian, and an animal rights activist.




A. F. Knott is a self-taught collage artist focused on book layout and book cover design as well networking in conjunction with Hekate Publishing, one of its missions, bringing together artist and writer. Sometimes seen selling in New York City's Union Square Park. Work can be found on 

flickr.com/photos/afknott/ Any exchange of ideas welcome: anthony_knott@hekatepublishing.com

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2020