Toxic Taicho

It started as prank. Blue Jones disappeared from the Lennox, some said he was fired, other that he was killed, but nobody missed him. In fact people feared he might sometime come back.

And then they found him. Somebody found out he works as escort. They even got his number. You got out with the girls, and G. drunk as decided to call him. She ordered his services. „So, will you go there G.?“ L. taunted her. „No fucking way, have had enough of his bullying.“ G. replied.

„I will go.“ you said. Everyone went quiet, looking at you. „Are you serious?“ G. said. You insisted. „He’ll be at Rainbow at 9.“ G. said.

Rainbow was worst fucking name for this place, it was collection of hideous brutalist buildings with small square in the middle. He was standing like glittering butterfly in the middle of that grey concrete nastiness. You at first thought it was some woman, but you recognized him by the short black hair, still the same. He wore sequined lilac minidress and cheap white fur coat, thigh high stiletto boots. He turned. His face looked pale, his pervy Gomez mustache gone, but skin caked in flawless makeup as in old times you knew him. „It’s you.“ he squinted his black eyes at you. „Have you missed me?“ he asked, but under that attempt on arrogance there was weariness.

You told him that it wasn’t you who called. „But you came anyway. Why?“ he said. Didn’t look angry. „Don’t even know. Maybe was curious, Jones.“ you replied. „Have you learned to dance yet?“ he asked. „No.“ you said with defiance, remembering how he was bitching nonstop about your lack of skills. He grabbed you as if to dance with you, being tall on his heels he bowed his head down, pressing his cold cheek on yours, his body on yours. He smelled of heavy oriental perfume. „Would you forgive me?“ he whispered into your ear, moving slowly in the circles on that concrete square, which was otherwise absolutely empty, only street lamps and lights from the shop windows casting shadows. „If you behave.“ you said. You felt wetness on your cheek. Was he crying?

He asked you if you’d like to come to his flat and you said yes. His place was rat hole, dark and narrow, so contrasting with his colorful appearance. It was allegory to his soul, because this man was dead inside. What happened to him who knows. Maybe he died and reincarnated, but this man was shadow of the club Blue. Where Blue was strict and arrogant, his unstable emotions leading to anger very often, this broken guy was gloomy and depressed, vulnerable.

You lay into his bed, it smelled like him while he was peeling layers of his work clothing and jewelry off. „Leave these on.“ you said, pointing at his fishnet stockings. So he did with a glance and also his lace undies so perfect on his big ass. He crawled on top of you, caressing your breasts over your shirt as you were still dressed. You petted his hair, thick and soft under your touch. He placed his hands under your shirt and you grabbed his hair pulling him closer so you could kiss him. His lips were soft and plushy. He slowly undressed you, worshiping your whole body with that mouth, from your neck, to your chest, down your stomach and between your thighs. He made you come with his tongue, his face wet with your slick and tears again. „Why are you crying Blue?“ you asked. „I can’t give you what I’d like to. My dick is dead.“ he said. Result of his drug habit back at Lennox.