Tales From the Gutter

Joanna the Germ Gets Fouled


When I awoke it was dark. The door was open and the fluorescent light from the walkway outside illuminated the motel room ghastly white. I looked at the clock and groaned.

“9:20? Fuck me..” The best-looking whores would all be gone. Having made their quota early they’d be home or off clubbing somewhere, but that didn’t bother me much.. my mind was festering and my body so agitated it was doing a slow boil, the signs were clear.. no fetching, vivacious cunt with her lovely smile and splayed legs could possibly satisfy me tonight.. tonight I wanted cheap whore meat to plunder and carve, a gutter bitch who’d take my cock hammered down her gagging throat gladly.. spread her hole open wide, sniveling with her teeth clenched while I fucked her brown meaty cunt into pancake batter. I stumbled from the bed and threw some water on my face.

“You’re a foul Tramp tonight, that’s a fact..” I thought staring woefully in the mirror. I dressed quickly, smoked a roach and headed out the door.

The reality of Tijuana’s streets always takes me aback.. no matter how festive it sounds from my room it’s dark brooding baseness always puts me on edge at first. But tonight my mood and the street’s were a perfect match. My nerves were sputtering.. I walked down Revolucion rounding Coahuilla with my shoulders hunched and my legs jerking me spasmodically through the throngs on the sidewalk. The scent of depravity billowed from my pores.. pulsated through my body staining my thoughts bloody black. I wasn’t just out on the prowl for sex, I was bent on revenge. Just any old fuck wouldn’t do, I wanted to fuck some lowly whore into cringing pleading submission.

The Roja was in full Saturday night swing. Constitucion was packed with cars moving slowly down the hill, jockeying for position with their headlights ablaze. Men leaned over the balcony rail of the corner motel watching the bustle down below.. whores lined-up shoulder to shoulder against the buildings and on the curbs in short skirts and scoop-necked tops showing lots of succulent brown tit.. the music from the clubs thumped and blared, the barkers were doing their fast-patter hustle as men solo and in two’s and three’s milled the sidewalks and crisscrossed the street.. Mexicans in lacquered straw hats and shiny boots, guerros in t-shirts and short pants, Japanese businessmen, Europeans, Australians.. all perusing the whores on their way to their favorite clubs and bars. A raucous street band was racing through a number around the corner, its drum pounding maniacally and its horns braying out of tune.

I wound my way through the cars and made a beeline for the corner of the alleyway where the junkies hang out. Some junky hurting for her meds would give me what I needed. There were so many whores leaning against the wall it looked like a chorus line.. thin pinch-faced Jana was there.. Veronica with her Fellini-esque makeup.. Alexa, short quiet Alexa with the downcast eyes. I’d fucked several and only vaguely remembered the experience let alone their names.

I stared down the alleyway lit with so many colored lights it looked like a carnival fairway. The girls were lined up like pastries in store windows both sides of the street.. cars crept slowly down its length with shadowed males craning their necks left and right at the bounty of bitch eye-candy on display. The music from the bars was cacophonous, colliding and mixing with the shouts of the barkers and laughter of the men criss-crossing the street. I stood there watching and waiting till I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Time for a walkabout..” I thought, hoping by the time I returned the bitches upstairs servicing customers would be back on the corner waiting for another cock to suck and take up their well-lubed fuckhole. My mood was growing fouler by the minute.. I turned and made my way through the throng crowding the intersection and headed up Constitution.

Walking in the street beside the line of parked cars I was gazing at the whores standing patiently along the buildings and the curb. The sidewalks were crowded with men.. they flowed between the whores either side like a river between its banks. Cars and taxis crested the hill on 1st street and slowly made their way down the incline with their headlights gleaming.. I raised my arm to shield my eyes and saw a short dark figure silhouetted ahead standing slumped between two parked cars. I stopped short squinting, trying to make her out.

She was bundled in a corduroy coat sizes too big, clutching it tightly at her neck and waist.. her black hair was snarled, wisps and tangles stuck out in all directions like a dandelion after a stiff wind. Her shoulders drooped and her eyes were focused on nothing.. she looked dazed staring blankly at the trunk of the car before her, her face drooping like wax with a sullen gloom. She appeared lost, as though she knew once where she was headed and for what but had somehow forgotten along the way.

It was Joanna, the runt whore I referred to in my journals as the ‘monkey-girl’, an undeserved slight because she was actually kind of cute depending on where in her high she was. She was tiny, barely 5 feet tall, dark-skinned and soft around the middle, and almost always a filthy mess.. it was rumored she was a major carrier of sexual diseases and I believed it. That was the main reason I’d never fucked her, even though her small cuteness reminded me of some of the 12 and 14 year-olds I’d fantasized fucking. She was a crack and chiva (black-tar heroin) junky, and the street’s preeminent pariah whore.

She must have sensed me staring.. whores have this acute sixth sense about possible customers. She looked up suddenly and those dull, weary gloom-filled eyes of hers momentarily cleared and locked on mine. I stepped forward leaning close.

“Cuanto para fucky-sucky?” I asked her.

She suddenly looked distracted as though she thought I was talking to someone else.