I took the seats out of my mini van and replaced them with a mattress. This was not as comfortable as I imagined it would be. We were constantly bumping into each other and breathing heavy air into each other's faces. One time Jay got pissed. "You got to be fucking kidding me!" he yelled, and then he punched his pillow hard, over and over again. It was terrifying. I spent the night wedged in the corner trembling in fear.
The first time we slept in the thing was at a service station in upstate NY. Jay constantly sledge hammered me with his elbow and his snoring was almost as bad as the godless beeping of the Mack-trucks as they reversed out of their parking spaces. But the worst part of the night was the fucking horror movie my mind would play. Every time I heard a male voice outside my vehicle, I imagined it was coming from some lunatic truck driver talking to a swarm of other equally murderous males. I would imagine them looking into my mini-van, seeing Jay and I all cuddled up..."Faggots!" they would yell, then start tearing the side door off my mini-van and smashing us into the cement, like we were an empty bottle of whiskey. I was not able to sleep, and after a few hours I was ready to hallucinate. It was like dreaming and it was filled with chubby little girls that were getting hunted by ravenous bears. These girls were my spirit animals. I was sure of it. Watching them die was like witnessing a doctor drain my own blood.
By morning, Jay was up and chipper and completely replenished. Meanwhile, I felt like one gigantic red eye that was on the verge of deflating.
Once we got on the road, I noticed that we were near Niagara Falls, so we decided to take a look. The town of Niagara was not what I imagined. I had figured it to be touristy and semi-fancy. Nothing ritzy, but clean. Instead, what I found was a series of run down motels that still advertised they had 'color TV'. At one point we stopped at a gas station to ask for directions. The woman behind the counter had a dead face, like someone hypnotized her a long time ago and forgot to snap her out of it.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"We are looking for Niagara Falls."
"'Falls'?" she said, like she had never heard of the thing. "Oh right, 'Niagara Falls' they are about a mile down the road, north. What you got to do is just take a right on Main Street, then you should see them---they're pretty big."
"I bet they are," I said.
Finding the falls should have been easy, but instead of turning into the parking lot I turned onto the bridge that led to the Canadian border. I had neither a passport or a registration for my vehicle. Before customs, there was a toll both. Squeezed into that toll both was the one of the most depressing looking men I had ever seen. The man looked like he hadn't left the booth in years. As if all he had ever breathed was air mixed with car fumes. Like he had never heard silence, just engines and the sound of voices that were going somewhere better.
"Listen," I told him. "I didn't mean to turn here. Is there any way we can not enter Canada?"
"Well, you could turn around here, but then you would be going the wrong way on a one way street, and you would probably get pulled over, seeing we are at the border and right next to the a police station. But, if you wanted to, you could turn around."
There was no hope. I felt like my life force was being sucked into his jowls.
"Well shit," I said." I don't have a passport."
"Oh, you don't really need a passport," he told us. "Just as long as you have a picture ID, you'll be fine."
I prayed that this compost bucket of a man was right, then drove on.
The guy at customs was irritated at the very sight of us. Pinched. Like he was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
"What? Who told you that all you needed was an ID? Well, I'm going to let you in, but you see, these driver's licenses don't actually prove anything about your citizenship. All they prove is that you drive in NY. So I will let you into Canada, but I cant promise you that they will let you back into the US."
He then had me pull my car over to the side to get searched. Luckily, they didn't find the bowl my girlfriend had lost in there months ago
The Canadian side of Niagara Falls was more how I imagined it. Not too rich, but sterile, and there were tourists everywhere. I went through all the motions, like I was having a good time. I took pictures of Jay and Jay and me and just me. I commented on how beautiful and powerful and majestic it all was and stared into it like I was completely enchanted... but it was all an act. The only thing I could feel was terror. That nervous customs guy had me on edge. His eyes. They had looked so severe...
After being in Canada for a half hour we were on the road back to the US. The customs guy coming back was relaxed, a stud actually. The type that doesn't just charm the girls, but can even get a guy blushing and giggling, no matter how masculine he might be. We even told him our tale of how we ended up in Canada. We were all laughing together like old pals. Shit, I figured he was about to hand us a beer and start talking about all the girls he'd fucked.
"Hey," he said, trying to take a slightly more serious tone. " You mind if I check the back of your van? Its standard procedure."
"Sure, " I said.
And that is when he noticed the mattress.
"You guys sleep on this thing?" he asked. "Together?"
He looked clearly disgusted. Any bit of friendliness his face had was gone.
"No, you see, we don't..."
"Just get out of here."
Once we were good and gone and back on the highway, we started laughing hysterically. It was all so surreal. Had we actually been in any danger? And that guy... the mattress...the look on his face...all we could do was laugh... whatever had happened, I felt like the chubby little girls were set free without a scratch on their bodies. Everything was safe and soft--- and blissful.
"Throat Medicine"
I woke up with icy air crawling into my ass hole. I felt delicate and brutalized from all the whisky I had drank the night before. And there was a heat coming from my friend Rosie, who was lying in bed next to me with her tits hard and pointing upward, and drool leaking down the left side of her face. We were in a tent that was spacious enough to contain a massive, exceptionally comfy, queen sized bed. For the most part, I was comfortable.
I could only remember scraps from the night before. I remembered grabbing Rosie on the way to her tent. There were midnight mountain shapes subtle in the background, like tired monsters. Her breath was fowl, but she was a good and desperate kisser. We rushed back to her tent and ripped into each other. I remember her tits and her ass, which was thick and firm and god-like. I remembered the asshole hovering above my face and my hands deep in her pussy and her screaming her orgasm, like it was a plane speeding downward. I remember the dense suds from her pussy. It was good. And even though I was hung-over, my dick was hard just at the thought of it.
Rosie woke up shortly after me. Her eyes seemed like they were still in the middle of a dream. She wiped the drool off of her face, and then looked at me.
"Good morning," she said.