It's ten o'clock and I'm drunk already. I know what I'm doing: the others are only here to have a good time, but I'm out here seeking the Light. You'll have heard of the Light under many different names, even if you've never seen it. They tell you the names so you'll use them when you find it, and if you do they'll suck you into their club and tell you what it means and tell you how it should be, and if you listen to them long enough they'll tell you so much you'll forget how it was when it was shining. And then you will mistake their words for the Light, just as they do. 'Seek and you shall find' they used to tell me, but I never saw too many of them seeking anything. As for me, I'm seeking the light where I found it, on a meaningless night just like this one.
It was one of our usual places, but more than the usual speed: just one and a half hours from hello job to blow job, which was quicker than normal, even for me, and I seldom even have to look around. They come and lean against me, pretending it's the drink, and laugh in my face in the hope I'll let them come in it soon. It's something they see in me, I don't know what it is. The guys say things like they talk to the nice guys but it's the jerk that takes her home, but I don't have to be nice to get them talking, or even be a jerk to take them. It's not that the others never get anywhere, but I can pick and choose where I get and with whom. Although I don't pick and choose as much as I used to: why should I, when I so seldom have to talk to them afterwards? I remember in the beginning it sometimes went quickly in the joy we both had of finding someone so lovely. But in the end it just turned into a habit.
Because it was so fast this time, I hadn't had so much to drink, and maybe that had something to do with what came after, although I doubt it. There's 'not much to drink' and 'not so much to drink', and I'd had enough to know all about it. So had she. As I say, they often pretend it's the drink, swaying a little so they can tip forwards and touch me, get their nose close and smell me, and 'accidentally' brush a hand against my crotch or my rear. It's all part of the game, and I don't hold it against them. But when we got to her bed I realised there was no pretence in her body, and I turned her on her belly for safety. Never had I made a wiser turn: only a minute or two later she hacked and puked all over one side of her pillow and her bed. She coughed a little then closed her eyes and farted abominably. My attention was drawn to the perfection of her arse, which faded in a heartbreaking curve into the lines of her back, which continued in a harmony that would have defeated the hands of the greatest of sculptors before ending in disgrace at the look on her face, which resembled that of a cow in labour.
I saw no reason to stop what I had started, and concentrated on the positive. After a couple of minutes I realised I was riding alone: she had fallen asleep. I was astonished to see the transfiguration this had wrought: her face as it lay there next to her puddle was worthy in every way of the beauty of her body. I was suddenly convinced that this was its natural state, that the ugliness and falseness were upheld with an effort, a leaden mask to cover the face of her being, which she now had let drop in her exhaustion. But my sperm was starting to boil in my balls and my thoughts were loosing coherence. I shoved at her harder and she farted in her sleep. And then something unexpected happened.
As I pumped out my seed into her unconscious flesh, surrounded by the filth in the bed and the room, and breathing in the stink of both ends of her guts, I felt the orgasm spreading, leaving my prick, and rushing in a wave to take over my body. When it reached my head I lost all awareness of things outside me. I felt like a bubble bursting with light, floating free of the world, and held to it only by the meaningless tug of a twitching scrap of my flesh. Then the orgasm surged to fill my body again, even that link was lost, and I was lifted up on a moment of eternity.
When I awoke, my hair and one side of my face were covered in vomit of varying degrees of dryness. Her state was worse, and her face had lost much of the glory of the evening before: she was regaining strength and could hold her mask again, even in sleep. I moved her carefully out of the mess and went to clean myself up. Then I brought a cloth and a bowl of water and tried to do the same for her.
Nothing had changed in the room, the mess and the filth were where where they had lain the night before, but the light had changed in my mind. Sue where she lay with her beauty gone missing was just as she should be, as were our clothes in the dirt on the floor. Even the filth on the bed seemed necessary and right, and the mess on her face was no more unclean than the silt washed away by a river. I recognised the light that had carried me away the night before: now it was lighting up the world.
Given the state of her face, a river would have helped, and there was no way to be both gentle and useful. Her eyes opened slowly as the cloth came near them, then closed as she sat up, slowly.
"Thank-you," she said, softly and unexpectedly. Then "I'm sorry. This is not my life."
She didn't have to say what "this" was: it took in the whole mess from the bed to the room to the way we had met, the night before and a long stretch of our lives before then. I helped her to pack, and she left town the same day. The Light still fell on the hopeless little city and filled it with meaning and love.
When she was gone I went home and slept. When I awoke the light was gone. I looked out the window and the sun was the sun and the dirt was dirt and that was all and there was far too much of it. No beauty or necessity, only the day lying bleeding in the gutter in the evening of a town full of filth.
Now it's ten o'clock and I'm drunk already. I've heard of the Way and the Truth and the Light, but whatever it was that I found in Sue's cunt, it didn't feel like Jesus to me. So I'm seeking the Light where I found it. When I have sunk so far that I can sink no more, when I have heaped degradation and degradation upon my head, as I roll in the filth with a desperate stranger, in the very last moment before the drink takes my mind, or maybe even in the moment I die, I shall touch the bottom of this miserable life and scrape a hole right through it, and I shall find the Light again and know peace.