Blackhumouristpress's Blog

July 14, 2014

When Terry Met Terrance or Death by Viagra

“Is this a sick joke? Did you do this on purpose? Take this away from here this instant! This cannot stay in our cell another moment!”
Terrance never really knew the details of his cellmate and fiancé’s offenses. Terry shared a cell with Terrance at Statesville prison in the state of Illinois, in United States. Terrance, a large man among men, was what slave owners and NFL football owners alike looked for in a man. Terrance was wrongly accused of killing a police officer on the south side of Chicago. Terrance has served five years and he will eventually be exonerated but things such as murder and wrongful conviction take some time to sort out. You understand.
Terry arrived a little over two years ago and became not only a cellmate of Terrance, but also his girlfriend and fiancé. Terry spends a lot of time trying to get a judge to marry him to Terrance. The prison officials have told him repeatedly that such a thing in prison is not possible. Terry has written to the governor several times and the governor has read the letters and thought to himself; why not? A Democratic governor running against a well to-do Republican challenger, does not need to hand cannon fodder to his opponent and so the idea of a marriage between men in prison will have to be entertained after the election. You understand.
Terrance knew that Terry was responsible for killing a rich elderly man by forcing him to swallow three Viagra pills at gun point while having his 25 year old girlfriend ride him until he had a heart attack. What Terrance wasn’t aware of was that the rich elderly man, made a fortune making fur coats. Mink to be exact. Terry could not wrap his head around people killing such cute little animals for coats and coats for rich people to be more precise. Terry worked hard to be hired to cook for the rich elderly man in his home and when the time was right, Terry chose death by Viagra.
“Fucking swallow all three pills, you goddamn killer… All three or I’ll blow your fucking head off, so help me!”
Before long, the elderly man was as stiff as a board. At that time, Terry ordered the young gold digging girlfriend to mount the old man in a reverse cowboy so that she would have to face Terry with a cocked revolver. Within an hour, the mink killer had passed. And so it goes.
Terrance being a black man had always wanted a white woman. He never quite got around to finding one to his liking. Terrance was not willing to settle for an obese, slovenly white chick with a bad dye job. With the prospect of being in prison for the rest of his life, the idea of being with an attractive white male who was effeminate and truly a woman trapped in a man’s skin was not so bad. Terrance never fancied men but over time, the idea was not repulsive to him.
Like any couple, Terrance and Terry had their problems and differences. Terry was overly interested in the lives of the Kardashians and liked gardening while Terrance liked watching violent movies and MMA and boxing matches. Terry liked to be kissed and caressed before penetration and Terrance wasn’t much for foreplay. Terry would lay in Terrance’s arms after love making and eventually doze off to the sound of Terrance snoring in his ear. When you take away the differences, Terry loved that Terrance was strong and protective and Terrance liked Terry’s feminine tendencies and delicate manner except for when Terry would get angry.
“Look… You my baby and I got to take care of you. When I was on the outside, buying a fur for the one you love was a good thing. I know you cold most the time and I thought that having a fur, a good and expensive article of motherfucking clothing, would be something good. You don’t want it, then don’t wear it. I’ll git my money back. You an ungrateful bitch. You never went without ya whole life and so when you git something nice and good, you don’t give a shit.”
Terry was shaking and crying and trying to think of what he would say in response. It was obvious that Terrance was not understanding the evil in killing a harmless little animal for prestige.
“You could have given me anything else for an anniversary present and I would have loved it but this is a spit in my face… You are either stupid or insensitive but either way, you are oblivious to my feelings and that hurts more.”
Terrance lifted weights later that day, hurt and angry while Terry weeded in his garden. At meals, they ate separate and went to bed in separate beds quiet and angry at one another. Terrance couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned and thought about apologizing several times but couldn’t bring himself to do it for hours. Terrance didn’t believe he intentionally did anything wrong but knew that the only way out of it was to kiss ass. At 1:07am, Terrance whispered to Terry.
“I apologize for whatever you think I did wrong…”
That did not go over very well. You understand.

March 19, 2013

My Dinner With Andrea

Filed under: Short Story — blackhumouristpress @ 5:18 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Percy looked well rested and fat. He ordered a beer, a martini and then a bottle of red wine that he had read about in Wine Spectator Magazine while taking a shit.
“This bottle of Malbec comes from a region of Argentina that is very sandy. I do taste a very earthy quality in the wine. I think I will order the steak with this. I really believe it will taste even better with the steak. It was ranked 99 out of 100. You can’t get much better than 99.”
Percy worked as an assistant to a man who owned a pet shop. Andrea was purchasing pig ears for her three pugs one day and asked about the help wanted sign. When people are not buying neon fish or pig ears, Percy would be dusting crickets with protein for the Geckos or standing in the parking lot of the pet shop in a giant rat suit that was donated from the owner’s brother who had a job protesting work sites that hired non-union labor. The pet storeowner had Percy dance and wave to cars on slow days in the rat suit.
Percy earned $8.00 cash and it made Andrea happy to see Percy doing something besides strumming a guitar in his underwear in the living room while watching court disputes and smoking pot. Monday nights were the nights that Andrea would have Percy use his own money to treat her to dinner. Percy was a wiz at finding inexpensive places that were actually very nice.
“This is a great find here. You have this Ecuadorian couple cooking and serving in this tiny place. Their fat children are over there playing handheld games like any other American children. I love the pan flute music. I can imagine a Quechua Indian woman carrying a bundle of sticks on her head, wearing a bra and Fedora while her drunken husband staggers softly behind her on a dirt path leading to Quito… Two for one Ceviche and prix fixe on Mondays. Not a soul in this place.”
Andrea wanted to tell Percy how horrible her day was at work. She wanted to tell him how insecure she felt that the new blonde woman was getting a large chunk of her workload and that her boss seemed totally smitten with the young attractive woman. Andrea was a bit hippish with a large bust and was well into middle age. Andrea hung on to Percy because he was not going anywhere. He was predictable and opposed to change. Percy would be there forever and that was comfort in an ever-changing world.
Two gay men entered the restaurant. Percy made eye contact. The gay couple looked at Percy. Percy looked away and then looked back at the men. One man had on long dangling earrings and had frosted tips. The other man looked like a man. Andrea braced for Percy’s thoughts on the gay couple.
“My old man if he were here, would ask what this world is coming to. Our economy is ready to collapse, our GDP has flat lined and the big social quandary is worrying about gays getting married. I guarantee you that in my old man’s day, they weren’t worried about homosexuals while people stood in soup lines during the Depression. And the thing now is that they’re so fucking brazen. They come in and give me the stare down. One is dressed like Ziggy Stardust and the other just another gay truck driver and they look at me like I’m fucked up.”
“If gays want to be married, let them be married. Who really cares anymore?” Said Andrea.
“Sure… Next people will want to marry a canned ham or a Shetland pony and we’ll just have to look the other way. Where do things end?”
Andrea took a drink of her wine and firmly placed her glass down and looked squarely at Percy.
“Yes indeed. Where will things end? I work and look forward to eating out occasionally and then hear your theories and thoughts on everything. Why don’t we talk about taking a dream trip to New Zealand?”
“New Zealand? Why New Zealand?”
“Because there is nowhere you can go other than the moon that is as far away from this place as New Zealand. If all we ever do is run the same track over and over, is that living?”
Percy raised his glass and his eyebrows. He was impressed by that question. “So it so that we are bored. We’re all bored by the routine and the mundane. We run to sports and The Bachelor to escape the reality of our surroundings. The boredom that we see in our lives may very well be a created by us unconsciously in our quest to make money to do things and have things like a carrot at the end of a stick. Nietzsche said, nothing is so stifling as symmetry. Symmetry is boredom, the quintessence of mourning. Despair yawns. There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering — a hell of boredom.”
“Percy… Fuck Nietzsche. He wasn’t a god and didn’t even believe in god. I need to know where we are going.”
“Sweet potatoes… That is the thing about faith. People want to believe in Santa, The Easter Bunny and leprechauns and really we create things so that we don’t come to the conclusion that maybe this is all there is and we won’t come back as a better human or sit in a waiting room on the right side of the throne to get our moment with the maker and then fuck off for eternity. I can’t tell you where we are going.”
“I meant, where are we as a couple going. I didn’t mean where do we go after death.”
Percy was uncomfortable with the fact that the gay couple was looking in their direction. They had to turn themselves completely around to look at Percy and Andrea. Andrea didn’t care. She was sad and insecure. She wanted Percy just once to ask her what was wrong and what could he do to help her. Maybe just a hug and a kiss to the forehead. Instead Percy was oblivious.
“These two fucking queers think I’m game for some sort of a twisted threesome. This is what I’m talking about. We keep opening doors and now it is becoming commonplace for fags to make straights feel uncomfortable. Men are still men and when men look at men the way they would a woman if they were straight, it is because they have one thing in mind- fucking.”
“Percy, dear… Nobody in this place wants to fuck you right now. Trust me when I say this. Trust me when you hear this.”
The David Bowie looking man, who was dressed effeminately, got up and sat at the open chair next to Percy and Andrea. The straight looking man then took the other chair. Ziggy Stardust spoke excitedly.
“Today is our first wedding anniversary. We went to Argentina for our honeymoon to this very winery that makes the wine you’re drinking and we found this wine to be the very best. We would like nothing more than to order another bottle and share it with two people who understand a really good wine. It may be forward of us, but what the hell… Life is short and living is what you do right now.”
The startled Percy thought about the statement that was not written by Nietzsche or Freud or any other deep thinker who was possibly fucked in the head. It came from a friendly woman trapped in a man’s skin. The quartet finished two more bottles to the sound of pan flutes on a half priced Monday.

Create a free website or blog at