I’m finding the Jewish section of Eberhart to be decidedly long, tall in a short way, broken in with the age of days past. The Jews have all moved out by now and Puerto Ricans have taken over. They retain the nomenclature of the Jewish neighborhood for reasons unknown. There are dripping cunts, prostitutes with skirts lifted up to reveal some kind of snapping pussy that will take your fingers off. One of them stops me and asks if I want to do a Cleveland Steamer. That means at the point of orgasm I take a shit on her chest. She has to explain this to me as I’m broken, blurry-eyed insect person, ravaged by Baroline and I’ve grown three inches and lost fifteen pounds. This has the bizarre effect of stretching ligaments so that it is difficult to hold my umbrella as I walk, the umbrella brought along in case there is another freak downpour. Knew a man on the east side had his whole face eaten off by the rain, unsteady chemicals that react to bronzing agents, the man’s vanity proving to be his undoing.

I tell the prostitute that in the city they call this a Hot Lunch, not a Cleveland Steamer.
“Oh yes, she replies. Too close to Cleveland for their comfort.”
I counter with an invitation to do a Donkey Punch routine which consists of fucking the whore in the ass and then punching her right as you’re about to cum. This works best if you knock the whore out and then the asshole tightens instinctively.
She says, “I do it all. Dirty Sanchez, everything.” The Dirty Sanchez is when you take a girl from behind and fuck her and then stick your finger in her ass and rub the shit across her upper lip to give her a shit-stache. Then she resembles someone that would be named Dirty Sanchez.
That she offers this without hypocrisy, as a Puerto Rican prostitute, fills me with dread.

I decide to drill her to see if she’s an agent. “Bismark?” I ask. This is when you cum on her face and then punch her in the nose so the sperm and blood mix.
“Dog in a Bathtub?” This is when you try to stick your nuts in a whore’s ass. It’s named this because the effect is like trying to keep a dog in a bathtub. I learned this from a whore in the meatpacking district that I scored from once. I also gave her a Bismark after she’d escaped the Dog in the Bathtub and she angrily shouted out, “Why don’t you just have your ballsack laminated?!”
“The Fountain of You?”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“That’s when I sit on your face so you can give me a rimjob and I jerk off and cum all over your tits.”
She nods again. “This is good, senor.”

I continue plunging, desperate to find something she won’t do.
“New York Style Taco?” Vomiting on the whore’s genitals.
“The Dreaded Rear Admiral?” Fucking a whore from behind while standing up, the goal is to make her hit a wall or table with her head. You become an admiral when you can navigate her around the room without hitting anything or using your hands.
“Chili Dog?” Shitting on a whore’s chest and then titfucking her.
She nods to all of these and I’m filled with fear.

I have to break this girl. I decide to go outside the deal we’ve arranged over hostile waters of enmity, the angels of kindness spitting on us for our sick compliance, each taking our own unique avenue towards accomplishing what we want. I must degrade this whore worse than she’s ever felt before. She must get the sexual equivalent of Baroline, an experience that will defeat your spirit for once and all and have her come crawling after me, begging for more.
After she’s naked, revealing her sagging flea-bite tits, her furball bush, her ugly marks of use, I cover her face with Saran Wrap and piss on her cunt. Then I lie her face down and tie her hands behind her back and take a shit right in her hair. I smear this around with my cock, which I then stick in her mouth and tell her to get ready to swallow. She’s not expecting another blast of piss so I time it just right, releasing the urine stream as I whack the side of her head savagely with my fist, all the time yelling, “I’m mad! I’m mad! This is everyone’s fault!”

But the Baroline is a more harsh mistress and after an hour of this type of activity I grow bored with the effort and break down a capsule to snort. I ask the whore if she wants one but I had forgotten that I stuffed a used condom in her mouth. This was inflated with a pocket of air that reached down her throat. Coupled with the Saran Wrap still covering her nose, I try to calculate exactly how long she may have been without air. Hard to tell skin color on account of all the blood and urine on her face. I remove a five pieta bill and insert it halfway into her cunt. We’d agreed on ten but I had expected at least two hours from her.

I stumble out into green hailstorm skies, angry virulent coastal winds blowing in from some part of the island. I see families rushing home, prostitutes vomiting openly, semen mixed with mai-tais. The Frontier is right out there somewhere and I know I must find my way back to my part of the city.
I’ve taken residence on the north side of the craphole. Asshole dicks and sperm emenations.
A scientist undoubtedly doing shifty research with unsound hypotheses in place accosts me on the street, shaking my hand and asking where the whores are.
“All around,” I say and point to a missionary walking past and say, “There’s one! Untouched by all but the hand of God!”

The scientist begins foaming at the mouth and eagerly removes his rubber gloves and drops them on the ground. “Just my type,” he mumbles, “still breathing and old enough to bleed.” He pushes me aside and I spin in a circle, this movement disorienting me in my current state. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I think randomly. What’s right for some might not be right for others. Excelsior and so forth, eureka I’ve found it.
I begin to sink to the ground and I’m pulled back by the image of the scientist holding down the screaming missionary girl while he sedates her and prepares to move her back to whatever hell hole laboratory he’s managed to secure for 400 pietas a month. I envy the man his catch, a pure sweet virgin honey pot.