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ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

My Dad told me not to worry about it. He told me it’s the world’s oldest profession. He was right. Ever since Adam ate that apple we’ve been chasing her. Every man pays for it in some way. It could be buying dinners or rings. For some men it just comes down to cash. I never had to pay for it before the accident. It was the opposite. Women chased me. From the age of sixteen I’ve always had a woman after me and have never asked a woman out in my life. I had three different women ask me to move in with them. I did. I was a non-professional gigolo. Now I sit in my wheelchair wondering what women are thinking when they stare. They stare at me but I no longer know why. I wink and flirt but none of them want me… the good ones that is. The bad ones want me. There’s been a succession of the bad ones. By the bad ones I mean the broken ones. But you’re sitting brain damaged half-deaf in a wheelchair, I hear you say. Well by broken I mean emotionally broken. But aren’t you emotionally broken yourself, I hear you ask? Well ok, I mean a succession of wrong women. I have a silver bearded and bilingual neighbour who told me I was crazy for turning any woman down in my position (no legs, no memory, no job, no money, no hope). He was right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I can tell by looking a woman in the eye if it’s going to work. I can tell by looking at a woman’s body if it’s going to be worth the effort. The feminists and angry women are shouting SEXIST PIG!!!! I can hear them. Angry women and feminists don’t live in the real world. They say it’s a man’s world but it’s the woman who chooses. Most women haven’t figured that out. The feminists haven’t figured that out.

I keep meeting women who want to be my friend. They keep giving me their phone numbers. I want to fuck all of them, even the ugly ones. Everybody wants a friend but me. I’m not a misanthrope but I don’t need people the way they do. I’d be happy with one person if they were the right person. I have a phone and wallet full of people’s names and phone numbers I’ve forgotten. When I say people I mean women I’ve forgotten. I should be more careful. My Mother tells me off. She tells me that I’m too picky and also tells me that by going for looks alone I am missing out on some really special women. She is right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I keep meeting nutters. I keep meeting the strangest women. They’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s the wheelchair or maybe they can just smell my pain. There was a beautiful woman just the other week. She stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way. I smiled at her and she burst into tears. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t say why she was crying. She just stood crying while I sat wondering. I sat wondering if she was crying with me, for me or over me? Again, I know I shouldn’t be so picky. Maybe if I got to know her and cuddled her she’d stop crying but I didn’t want to find out. I’ve cried enough of my own tears.

Women. I thought I knew them before the accident that almost killed me. I did know them as I was then. I don’t know women as I am now. A Female Friend told me off a while ago. She is a mother of two and took the tone of a mother of two as she told me. She told me off as I told her of the women who’ve turned me down since being in a wheelchair. I said that heaps of women had flirted with me so I’d asked them out but none wanted to get to know me. I’m always asking women out after they’ve flirted with me to be told they’ve got a husband or boyfriend at home. I asked Female Friend if they were flirting with me at all or was I misreading signals? I told her I thought that they were. Female Friend took that mother tone as she almost screamed, they’re not flirting with you; they’re probably just impressed and want to get to know you. Impressed with and want to get to know what, I asked, the wheelchair, the hearing aids or the buggered brain? Andy, she said again like a mother, they’d be impressed because you’re pushing yourself up hills and not giving up. I told her I’d rather they were unimpressed and still wanted to fuck me. She said, well they’re not are they? She is wiser than me. My Mum always says, don’t you know Mothers know everything? Female Friend knew it. Mothers do know everything.

I still need sex as much as I always have. Not being able to get it has turned me into a wanker. I wank like a horny boy. I wank four or five times a week. My spinal injury has affected my legs bum dick and mind. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp from thinking too much. The animal in me pauses as it peers out of the woods. I start to question why I’m doing it? I wonder why I’m laying on a bed with a box of Kleenex waiting to come on to sheets of 2-ply. It’s really my mind that goes limp. Just last week my mind took over as my Macintosh was connected to *******. The first image made me swell. I fell in love with the woman on my screen. Somehow my love of the woman on the screen was killed. I lay watching busty sex videos while my erection faded. At first I didn’t know why my erection was shrinking. The images turned me on. It was only after the pitch of my lust was quietened that I could hear what my mind was saying. My mind was reminding me of the excitement of a woman’s breath on the side of my neck. My mind was reminding me of cuddling a woman until she falls asleep snoring. My mind was reminding me of waking up and still being in love. My mind is at war with my heart and my soul. My mind is at war with love. I miss love. I still need love as much as I always have. My body needs love as much as my mind.

They’ve agreed to pay for two visits to a sex worker specialising in spinal injuries. I looked at her website. The photo on her page made her look like she works in a fish and chip shop. She looked old weathered but happy. I rang my case manager and told them I would rather have my penis lowered into a deep-fat fryer than put it in that dirty old thing. It took a lot of ringing around before they found me a younger version. She’s a hot Asian. The photo on her site makes her look like an engineering student. I rang her on a Wednesday afternoon. She picked up so I introduced myself and told her the name of my insurance company. She told me she’d heard of me and the complications related to my injury. A friend had given me a list of things to ask her. I launched into them. I asked her if I could expect penetration out of an encounter? I told her I’ve only managed a three quarter hard since the accident. I told her that might be because I haven’t been turned on properly or that it could be because of damage to the spinal cord. I asked if I would be allowed to penetrate her or not? She paused a second before she answered. She said timidly that she couldn’t really talk as she was actually on the bus. I laughed and asked her again, come on tell me what can I expect and am I allowed to fuck you? She laughed and I laughed again. It made me happy to think I could still relate to the opposite sex but sad to think that I now had to pay for it.

I still can’t decide wether I should go through with it. It feels dirty having to pay for sex. It also feels dirty laying on my bed with a hand on it with 2-ply at the ready. They say money can’t buy love. Money can’t buy love but money can make it feel like it.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

The Eight Hundred Dollar Blowjob

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They say that a musician should never go back and play old material, well I am not a musician; even when I make music. I would hardly call myself a writer either but this story created so much controversy when it was first aired on Sam de Brito’s Sydney Morning Herald blog “All Men Are Liars”. To tell the truth I was abused by so many angry women that it has pretty much turned me off of writing. This story has been removed from Sam’s blog posthumously since his death, I wonder how that would make him feel?

                        THE EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLAR BLOWJOB

t’s been two years since I’ve had sex. I wish I could say something witty or charismatic regarding this state of affairs but unfortunately this is due to a building site accident resulting in my paraplegia and brain damage. I have had one drunken pash with a girl in a pub almost a year ago. She said I was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. I protested at her charms while my friends laughed and egged on her drunkard lust. The night went on and on, I drank enough beer to make two men drunk. The night ended with her stroking my penis which became aroused and erect without my feeling so. I remember looking into her eyes as she cooed and coaxed my ego and then looking down at the penis bulge in my jeans. The next morning I awoke with the first hangover since coming out of a month long coma.

An accident started all of this. An accident I was told that had I been ten years older, the doctors wouldn’t have bothered keeping me alive. Most days I wished they hadn’t. Apparently the brain will not recover from a fall of 3.8 metres once you are over forty… youth enables full recovery. Youth saved my life. 3.8 metres. About 1.4 seconds. That’s just time to flip from your feet to your head. Your entire body weight. Feet to head. I landed on my left shoulder, dislocating it instantly, then my head cracked down on to the concrete where it stole the hearing from my right ear. The same concrete also sent me into a coma, which resulted in me needing a craniotomy to alleviate the pressure caused from the swelling. The fall also broke my back. There are now two brackets holding my spinal column in place. I spent a year in a hospital. Lying in a bed. That’s too much time to spend in your head.

The accident was certainly a wake up call. Everything that I thought the world was made of is not. The accident has left me pretty numb from most of the waist down and erased large portions of my memory. At the time of my accident I was cock of the roost in the sexual food chain. Fucking at least eight days a week, my girlfriend alone was five. I wish I could say that I had learnt a lesson from all of my largely misogynistic ways but no. It took the annihilation of my body, mind and spirit to wake me up to the fact that all of the little things that I put no thought into are the basic revolving cogs of life. It took becoming a cripple to slow down my insatiable lust and show me that the world revolves just fine without me. My girlfriend of the time wanted me to ‘just stop calling’ and left me to rot in a hospital where one sick and perverted staff member violated my civil liberties.

Lets call a spade a spade. I was a born again virgin. And so, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, two years after my fall, one of my friends suggested that I sleep with a prostitute and being that I had, as I said, not even so much as licked a girl’s boob in the past six hundred and eighty four days,well, who was I to say no? So we sat with the weekly suburban news circular and phoned brothel after brothel, always going by the photos provided. After a lot of ringing around the various “establishments” in the Eastern suburbs of Sydney I finally found the girl I was after. ‘Eight hundred dollars an hour, but if you want to fuck her in the arse, you will have to negotiate with her.’ If the photo in the weekly rag proved true then I was ordering a raven-haired beauty, slim with a healthy tan and large breasts.

And so the big night finally arrived. Two of my friends came around to my house as a sort of verbal cheering squad. The escort agency told me I would have to shower when the girl arrived so I sat in my shower, not wanting to waste any time, washing myself periodically, soaping the penis, balls and catheter site particularly well until my friend Sam told me not to waste electricity heating the water cylinder up. In preparation for the night’s proceedings I had ingested one Viagra and also one Levitra. I felt could feel my blood pressure rising but didn’t really feel that hard as cool air kept creeping into the bathroom. I had found out through the escort agency that they had received news regarding my case from one of the various nurses that pass through my quarters. My mother had been to a clairvoyant recently who had told her I was to marry a nurse. I very much doubted that.

‘Knock-knock.’ What could they have heard? I thought to myself as I began to towel off, making my way to the front door on my commode chair. My friends looked at my hooker and then looked back at me with incredulous looks upon their faces as they nervously shuffled past me out of my apartment. There at the door stood a tall woman, about five-nine I would have said. She had dyed blonde hair and I still let her inside my place. Her skin appeared to be acne scarred which had been covered with rouge. She was wearing a low cut pink sleeveless t-shirt over a leather bustier top and blue generic jeans. She looked like she had just stepped out of a K-mart’s woman’s wear department. I passed her the money that she folded into some secret compartment of her black tasselled velvet shoulder bag. I didn’t want to look at her face but she kept talking and talking.

Finally after what seemed like five minutes I looked her dead in the eye and told her to come into the bedroom and take her clothes off which she then started to do immediately. As I transferred from the chair to the bed I have to admit a moment of pure terror pulsed though me when I noticed that she had zip-up faux leather stilettos and had even thought about matching up her pink neon t-shirt with little pink neon anklet socks. Despite the fact that she looked like she had been thrown together by the worst common elements of Australiana here was a naked woman standing in front of me.

I began to stroke my penis. I felt it harden as I looked down at her labia and the area around which was shaved clean. There was no way I would get down and lick that like I had previously wanted to. Still she was naked and within an arm’s reach of me. To tell you the truth she was pretty fat and on closer inspection her nipples indicated some sign of cosmetic surgery but being the breast man that I am I immediately made a b-line straight for her tits. I fondled those breasts for a long time before craning my neck towards them. I always loved to suck nipples. As my mouth neared her breast I felt a sharp slap on the hand and heard a shout.

‘No’ was the shout I heard.

I looked up into her brown eyes and asked,

‘What do you mean no?’

‘No means no.’ She meant it, her eyes had narrowed and her nostrils had started flaring.

‘So you mean I can’t kiss or lick any part of you?’

‘That’s right. It’s so you can’t catch anything I have or vice versa.’

What I felt like saying was,

‘You’re not even that hot, your fat and your tits are fake!’

What I did say was,

‘Okay.’

I have been kicked for so long that this was not a new thing for me. Just got kicked again.  This time it was an eight hundred dollar kicking. Two years. Two years of nothing and now this. A fat hooker with bleach blonde hair.

We had reached an impasse.

She went down on her knees, unfurling a condom with her mouth and started to suck. She took it all down, to the hilt. There was a violent noise emanating from her throat. Vrlpppph vrlpppph. Then she stopped and wanted to know more about my injury. Being the fool that I am I told her. I told her the terrible tale of my fate and the resulting loss of sex life. There was a look of pity in her eyes that made me instantly regret telling her a truth. Hookers, like most women only seek out the strongest and most powerful men. But where else can the weak and damaged go for loving? She began to suck and bob again. The noises generated from her mouth seemed contrived and hackneyed to me. Looking down into her sea of peroxidised hair I began to think of oyster mushrooms and filleted prawns. I looked down and was surprised to see that I still had an erection. The condom was full of sperm so it was exchanged for a fresh one out of the packet but only after my penis was cleaned first.

‘What do you want me to do now lover boy?’ She asked as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. I placed my hand around the base of my erection and said

‘Open your legs and let me fuck you’

‘I told you that’s not going to happen’ she said as she drew closed her legs. Tight.

‘Then why the hell did I pay you eight hundred dollars?’ I whined.

The mass of straw like hair went down to my penis and started sucking again. I saw that her left hand was holding on to my testicles. The sucking and bobbing continued. This time she was making gagging noises as she forced my cock deep into her throat. Looking down at her body, the convulsions made though gagging on my penis jiggled her fat around. Her stomach wobbled the way only a fat woman’s can. Her breasts didn’t move at all. Still to my dismay when I looked down I saw a large erection.

I thought of a litter of kittens tied in a brown hessian sack being thrown off a bridge into raging torrents. I looked down past my penis and saw she was masturbating at the same time. There looked to be vaginal juices flowing from her fanny but she had probably lubricated up before coming over to my house. She started to moan in an orgasm tone. Fucking lying bitch I thought to myself. After what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time sucking and masturbating she up and took off for the shower. My hour must have been up. I removed the second condom and held it up to the light to find that I had ejaculated again. I was surprised as I had felt nothing,

Waiting naked in the doorway on my chair with my half erect penis still waiting to penetrate a woman, she showered and dressed herself. I then watched her from my purple leather-seated commode chair as she clacked on out of my house on her ten-dollar stilettos. At the front door she turned and said,

‘You should get a cock-ring. Helps keep blood in the erection.’

‘Thanks’ was all I was able to spit out.

I watched her wobble out of my apartment. She slammed the door behind her. To me it was just another kick in the guts. One more kick, to really put me under. I couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous. This is the kind of stuff that could only happen to me. It used to be good fortune. Winning events, good things and happy things happening to me all the time. The God’s however had clearly decided I had used up enough of my chances and they either wanted me dead or adjusted. I now this know so it did not make the whole thing seem that bad or wrong to me. Paying someone to fuck you and then someone really fucking you.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

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ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

My dad told me not to worry about it. He told me it’s the world’s oldest profession. He was right. Ever since Adam ate that apple we’ve been chasing her. Every man pays for it in some way. It could be buying dinners or rings. For some men it just comes down to cash. I never had to pay for it before the accident. It was the opposite. Women chased me. From the age of sixteen I’ve always had a woman after me. I had three different women ask me to move in with them. I did. I was a non-professional gigolo. Now I sit in my wheelchair wondering what women are thinking when they stare. They stare at me but I no longer know why. I wink and flirt but none of them want me… the good ones that is. The bad ones want me. There’s been a succession of the bad ones. By the bad ones I mean the broken ones. But you’re sitting half-deaf in a wheelchair, I hear you say. Well by broken I mean emotionally broken. But aren’t you emotionally broken yourself, I hear you ask? Well ok, I mean a succession of wrong women. I have a silver bearded and bilingual neighbour who told me I was crazy for turning any woman down in my position (no legs, no memory, no job, no money, no hope). He was right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I can tell by looking a woman in the eye if it’s going to work. I can tell by looking at a woman’s body if it’s going to be worth the effort. The feminists and angry women are shouting SEXIST PIG!!!! I can hear them. Angry women and feminists don’t live in the real world. They say it’s a man’s world but it’s the woman who chooses. Most women haven’t figured that out. The feminists haven’t figured that out.

I keep meeting women who want to be my friend. They keep giving me their phone numbers. I want to fuck all of them, even the ugly ones. Everybody wants a friend but me. I’m not a misanthrope but I don’t need people the way they do. I’d be happy with one person if they were the right person. I have a phone and wallet full of people’s names and phone numbers I’ve forgotten. When I say people I mean women I’ve forgotten. I should be more careful. My mother tells me off. She tells me that I’m too picky and also tells me that by going for looks alone I am missing out on some really special women. She is right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I keep meeting nutters. I keep meeting the strangest women. They’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s the wheelchair or maybe they can just smell my pain. There was a beautiful woman just the other week. She stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way. I smiled at her and she burst into tears. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t say why she was crying. She just stood crying while I sat wondering. I sat wondering if she was crying with me, for me or over me? Again I know I shouldn’t be so picky. Maybe if I got to know her and cuddled her she’d stop crying but I didn’t want to find out. I’ve cried enough of my own tears.

Women. I thought I knew them before the accident that almost killed me. I did know them as I was then. I don’t know women as I am now. A Female Friend told me off a while ago. She is a mother of two and took the tone of a mother of two as she told me. She told me off as I told her of the women who’ve turned me down since being in a wheelchair. I said that heaps of women had flirted with me so I’d asked them out but none wanted to get to know me. I’m always asking women out after they’ve flirted with me to be told they’ve got a husband or boyfriend at home. I asked Female Friend if they were flirting with me at all or was I misreading signals? I told her I thought that they were. Female Friend took that mother tone as she almost screamed, they’re not flirting with you; they’re probably just impressed and want to get to know you. Impressed with and want to get to know what, I asked, the wheelchair, the hearing aids or the buggered brain? Andy, she said again like a mother, they’d be impressed because you’re pushing yourself up hills and not giving up. I told her I’d rather they were unimpressed and still wanted to fuck me. She said, well they’re not are they? She is wiser than me. My mum always says, don’t you know mothers know everything? Female Friend knew it. Mothers do know everything.

I still need sex as much as I always have. Not being able to get it has turned me into a wanker. I wank like a horny boy. I wank four or five times a week. My spinal injury has affected my legs bum dick and mind. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp from thinking too much. The animal in me pauses as it peers out of the woods. I start to question why I’m doing it? I wonder why I’m laying on a bed with a box of Kleenex waiting to come on to sheets of 2-ply. It’s really my mind that goes limp. Just last week my mind took over as my Macintosh was connected to Melons Tube. The first image made me swell. I fell in love with the girl on my screen. Somehow my love of the girl on the screen was killed. I lay watching busty teen sex videos while my erection faded. At first I didn’t know why my erection was shrinking. The images turned me on. It was only after the pitch of my lust was quietened that I could hear what my mind was saying. My mind was reminding me of the excitement of a woman’s breath on the side of my neck. My mind was reminding me of cuddling a woman until she falls asleep snoring. My mind was reminding me of waking up and still being in love. My mind is at war with my heart and my soul. My mind is at war with love. I miss love. I still need love as much as I always have. My body needs love as much as my mind.

They’ve agreed to pay for two visits to a sex worker specialising in spinal injuries. I looked at her website. The photo on her page made her look like she works in a fish and chip shop. She looked old weathered but happy. I rang my case manager and told them I would rather have my penis lowered into a deep-fat fryer than put it in that dirty old thing. It took a lot of ringing around before they found me a younger version. She’s a hot Asian. The photo on her site makes her look like an engineering student. I rang her on a Wednesday afternoon. She picked up so I introduced myself and told her the name of my insurance company. She told me she’d heard of me and the complications related to my injury. A friend had given me a list of things to ask her. I launched into them. I asked her if I could expect penetration out of an encounter? I told her I’ve only managed a three quarter hard since the accident. I told her that might be because I haven’t been turned on properly or that it could be because of damage to the spinal cord. I asked if I would be allowed to penetrate her or not? She paused a second before she answered. She said timidly that she couldn’t really talk as she was actually on the bus. I laughed and asked her again, come on tell me what can I expect and am I allowed to fuck you? She laughed and I laughed again. It made me happy to think I could still relate to the opposite sex but sad to think that I now had to pay for it.

I still can’t decide wether I should go through with it. It feels dirty having to pay for sex. It also feels dirty laying on my bed with a hand on it with 2-ply at the ready. They say money can’t buy love. Money can’t buy love but money can make it feel like it.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan