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Monday, October 28, 2013

A New Start at the House of George Part 3



I have set up an interview with the owner of a house who is looking for a roommate for one of his “additional bedrooms.’ 

His name is George and his house is located off of Central Avenue and is about a 15-minute walk from Joe’s house. George’s house is in a pretty residential area; there is a gas station on the corner and a Denny’s two blocks away.


I make a mental note to see if I can be transferred from the Colonie Denny’s to the Central Avenue Denny’s. I begin my Denny’s training at the end of this week, so it might take me awhile to work out a transfer.

The house sits on the corner of the block and sits a little ways back from the street. A short brick path leads from the sidewalk to the front door. The house looks huge from the outside but it is all one level. There is no way, from standing outside that I think there is any room in this house for more than one bedroom.

I walk around to get a look at the side and back of the house. An above ground swimming pool sits in the backyard surrounded by a four-foot tall metal fence with a metal gate that leads to the street. Large bushes have been planted to give some privacy to people when they swim. From where I am standing I can see a pool deck built into the side and attached to the house.

I walk back around to the front of the house, walk up the path, step onto the porch and ring the doorbell. Looking at my watch, I see that I am right on schedule. Nothing happens after I press the button but I can hear someone inside the house screaming “Fuck You! Fuck You!”  But no one comes to the door.

I wait another couple of minutes and ring the bell again. Silence that is followed by someone inside the house screaming “Fuck You Fuck You!” Then I hear a whistle followed by silence. Then someone screams “Cocksucker, Cocksucker!”

Leaning to one side I can see a little side window that I peer into. I can see a figure heading towards the door but I can hear another voice screaming out “Shut the fuck up!” I’m not really sure that I want to go in here but the minute I turn to walk away the front door opens.  “You must be Geoff,” says a rather gruff voice. I turn back and see a man standing there. he stands there holding open the screen door with one hand and putting out his other hand coaxing me to come inside.

The man stands about six one and I guess his age to be late 60’s early 70’s. His hair is shoe polish black and he sports a pencil thin moustache, that is the same color as his hair. His eyes have no sparkle to them, the skin on his face is weathered and the lines on his face create several little frown lines.

He tries to smile to put me at ease. It seems calculated and cold.
I assume that this is man is George. He is wearing a dark blue security guard uniform with big black clompy shoes; handcuffs that hang along with a club swing from his utility belt. Suddenly, everything about this man says Serial Killer to me. “I’m sorry, I think that I need to…” I say stepping back off the stoop. “Nonsense,” he says taking a step closer to me on  the porch he reaches out his hand and catches my elbow.

“You came this far, you might as well see the room.” He slowly pulls me into the house closing the door behind me.


To be continued……

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Monday, October 21, 2013

A New Start at the House of George Part 2


Joe’s house does not disappoint with the coming and goings of Rent boys and Daddies. It’s one daily drama after another as things go missing and I tell Joe that he needs a revolving door installed in the front of the house. With his hearing aids turned up full, Joe yells through entire television shows screaming, “What did they just say?” and “This show makes no sense!” before he storms out of the room only to return again and again to make senseless comments. It’s exhausting.

I have already been here a week and things seem to be looking up and falling into place for me. Today I come back from running random errands and Joe seems to be having a strange bondage party somewhere in the house. I am assuming this because now I can hear a strange man in the basement yelling “Tell Daddy what you want!” and I can hear Joe screaming “What? I can’t hear you?” My larger concern is that if Joe is in his 90’s and the other guy is playing “Daddy” how old is this other guy? Is there a whole group down there? What will I see that I can’t un-see?

Unfortunately, I am staying in the room in the basement and I need to go down there. I brace myself for what I might see and Joe true to fashion doesn’t disappoint. As I enter the basement landing, I can see Joe standing with another (even older) man in ass-less chaps on all fours in front of him. They are both in Full Leather Daddy S&M Gear. Joe is busy shaving the testicles of the man on all fours with a razor. As he sees me sneaking down the stairs Joe pauses and screams “Hello Geoff!” “How was your day?” I avert my eyes and slide against the wall to disappear. “Good, I’m fine,” I mutter as I feel along the wall in the hopes of getting to the bedroom without engaging in any more conversation.

“Oh Geoff, this is Walter,” Joe says as he takes a riding crop in his other hand. He snaps it one quick slap against Walter’s ass as he introduces him and then spells W-A-L-T-E-R, giving each letter a slap. Walter, red faced and sweaty, puts his hand out to shake my hand grimacing as Joe brings the crop down again and again. I try to act like this is an everyday occurrence as I put my hand out to meet him. I touch his warm hand and feel the loose skin. It’s like shaking an uncooked turkey thigh. Suddenly, I can feel bile rising in my throat. “Nice to meet you Walter.” I add, pulling my hand back. “Need your shoes licked?” Joe asks. “No thanks,” I say forcing a smile and quickly dash into the bedroom area. “You can come back and play if you want!” Joe screams after me. I can hear Walter second that with a “Hmmmmm’ as the crop slaps down one more time.

“Yuck, yuck, yuckity yuck” I say to myself under my breath as I shake off the heebie jeebies and refrain from vomiting. Once I am in the bedroom I turn on a Walkman that I borrowed from Joe.  Duran Duran sings about “Girls on Film.” I turn it up as loud as it goes, I try to drown out the sound of the riding crop slapping Walter’s ass again and again.

There is good news and a light at the end of the tunnel. I have landed a job during the graveyard shift at Denny’s on Wolf Road in Colonie. I will need to take the bus until I can buy a car but this is great news. I also have a lead on a house several blocks away from Joe’s. I found a listing at the Gay Community Center on the roommate wanted board. It seems promising.

To be continued….

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Monday, October 14, 2013

A New Start at the House of George Part 1


When the waters finally part and it’s over, I realize that I have had enough. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I have lost what little was left from the first flood and now I have nothing. Nothing but the clothes on my back and even those are wet.

I am angry and I blame Kim for me losing all my things. I blame Kim for finding this stupid ‘fucking apartment and I blame Kim for caring about me and helping me. I blame everyone except me for what my life has become. I blame Cindy just for being there and I blame the landlord for his lack of proper response. “Blame, Blame, Blame!” 

I blame everyone for everything. I take no responsibility for this current situation that I have found myself in and I feel that I am going nowhere and I even blame Kim for that. Even though my actions have nothing to do with her I blame her for everything. I am angry, frustrated and I have nothing left. I need a change. I need to “run.” Life is easier if I just “run.”

The windows in the apartment no longer exist; I have smashed them all to smithereens with the broom. I let the water rush in to the kitchen at a faster speed; I mean, “Why put off what was about to happen?” The build up of the water and the flooding meant so much more than even I would understand until years later.

Kim, Cindy and I decide to part ways while we are cleaning up from this current flood. Well actually, Cindy wanted me out, Kim wanted me out and I want out. It’s the first time that we all agree on something.

Kim and I lived in our own reality and it was one that was on the verge of getting really ugly. Kim and I fought all the time and recently it had gotten physical. Cindy and I really couldn’t stand looking at each other and she had just moved in, but in truth, she was the one paying the bills.

The final flooding had pushed me over the edge and I needed out of the frying pan. So I ran to the gas station and used the phone. I forgot how bad things had gotten between David and me over Joe. I contact Joe and ask if I can stay on his basement floor. Joe tells me “I can have the room in the basement for however long I need it.” I tell him “it will be a short stay.” I walk to Joe’s house with nothing but the clothes on my back that is still dripping with water.
Joe true to fashion answers the door in his blue electric G-string. It is hard to act blasé when a ninety-year-old man in an electric blue G-string answers the door and walks outside onto the landing to greet you. 

“How are you?” Joe screams and throws his arms around my neck. “MMMMMMM, you sure look yummy!” Joe says as he pats my ass. Joe then takes my hand and swings me back to get a better look at me. I feel like a debutante at Joe’s private ball. The neighbors across the street look out at us from behind closed curtains.

At 90 Joe wears a hearing aid in each ear. He needs to talk loud so he can hear himself. “Full House tonight but you are more than welcome!” says Joe in his G-string as he swings me into the house. I am embarrassed as to what the neighbors think, not of Joe but of me.

Joe’s house is filled to capacity with the normal circus that I always expect to find. Runaways who have nowhere else to go, recovering drug addicts who have just left rehab and various youth on the fringe of society lay around in the living room.

Joe doesn’t live alone but has a roommate named Gary.  Gary has his own room on the main floor. Gary once told me that he has had to lock his bedroom door all the time; things have gone missing one too many times for his liking.

As I head into the kitchen I see my old roommate Adam sitting there with a big smile on his face.

To be continued…

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Monday, October 7, 2013

8 Balls and the House on Dana Part 17


Cindy moves into the apartment with Kim and me. Kim and I now share what used to be her bedroom and Cindy has taken over what used to be my bedroom. 

Neither rooms have a door attached to them, so we have attached bed sheets to the inside frame to hang down and cover the opening. We joke that it’s very exotic, sort of like living in a tent. The down side is that a bed sheet can’t keep various things out. This would include, cats, music and the sounds of your roommates voices, you always know what is going on in the apartment.

All of us are home when it begins to rain. We are all sitting on what’s left of our crappy sofa in the living room, staring into space. We all stop when we hear the sound of thunder and the “tick, tick” sound of rain hitting glass. We look at each other and I immediately walk into the kitchen to look out the window. Our next-door neighbors still have not changed their driveway filler from the little black stones to a tar pavement as promised. The landlord allegedly spoke with them and allegedly worked out some deal, but nothing seems to have changed. The landlord probably worked it out over a “ten year” plan.

The sky darkens and the clouds open up. The rain begins to fall. From my window view, I can see it once again just hitting the little black stones and bouncing off. Just like last time the water begins to rush over and around the little black stones and suddenly there is a river of water heading right for the window.

“Holy Fuck!” I scream as Cindy and Kim come running into the kitchen. The water true to form hits the well and starts to splash and jump against the window again. Quickly the level in the well begins to rise. “Paper Towels!” “Paper Towels!” I scream as if I was a Captain ordering a submarine and it’s crew to submerge.

We all jump into action. Cindy runs through the house and starts trying to get everything off the floor, Kim grabs the mop and a roll of paper towels and I run to the bathroom, grab towels and begin to shove them around the frame of the window. Within moments the bottom of the glass window in the kitchen explodes and the water pours into our house.

It is all out chaos as we back away and join Cindy in getting everything to higher ground, “Screw the paper towels!” Kim yells and throws them into the rapid moving water. The water is just as fast moving, as it was the first time as it spills out of the bottom of the window, hits the kitchen floor and begins to run for the rest of the house. Everyone is screaming as the cat’s watch from the top of the stove.

As the water rushes past the boiler it again blows out the flame. The apartment hasn’t dried from the first attack and most of our possessions and the clothes that retained their musty smell have all gone out to the curb for the garbage men a week ago. We have little to nothing left but the rain has returned to claim whatever is can find.

The water runs across the living room, leaks into the bedrooms, splashes into the bathroom. It picks up the litter box on its way, spinning it into the wall. At least this time I know how this is going to end. Kim and Cindy are screaming but their voices become mixed with the sound of the water.

I’m done. I’m tired, exhausted and my relationship with Kim is over. Moving Cindy in was so Kim could live with a steady, sane person. I’m a wreck. I’m a mess and I’m about to blow out of frustration. I grab the mop by the handle, stomp into the kitchen and begin to smash out all the windows in the apartment.

Kim and Cindy don’t know what to do. Tears are streaming down my face. I have nothing. I am nothing. There is nothing to live for.
I can hear myself screaming as the broom punches holes in the glass.

To be continued…

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

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