Buddy’s eyelids peeled open reluctantly. He didn’t know how much he’d drunk, but if the pounding in his skull was anything to go by, he’d have said he’d drunk his weight in whiskey sometime in the last twenty-four hours. With clumsy hands, he probed his pockets for his tobacco and rolling papers, biting back a curse when he found that they weren’t where they were supposed to be.

He hauled his body up into a sit, resting his elbows on his knees while cradling his head between his hands. Running a hand through his short dark hair, he couldn’t remember a damn thing about what had happened last night, but all he knew now was that he needed a fucking cigarette. He looked down and found himself wearing a football shirt, which was really fucking strange since he hated the sport. He stood up, peeling the shirt off his body and dumping it on the floor. He must have lifted it off some cocksucker in the bar last night. Some fucking souvenir from a night he couldn’t even remember.

He stalked around the kitchen looking for his cigarettes, agitation and addiction taking its toll on his temper. They weren’t where they were supposed to be, and he fucking hated it when things weren’t where they were supposed to be. He lashed out, kicking a pair of red high tops out of the way. As they thumped into the paper-thin wall of his apartment, his tobacco and rolling papers tumbled out. He walked over to them, shaking his head, thinking that it must have been some fucking night…or day… ahh, who the fuck knew. Rolling a fresh cigarette with practised precision, he lit it and took in two deep drags.

With his cigarette still balanced between his lips, Buddy kicked off his shoes and stripped off his jeans. He sucked in another drag, stumbling towards the shower as the smoke drifted after him. He pulled the cord hanging from the ceiling, turning on the bare bulb and starting up the water while he finished his hand-rolled. When steam was billowing out from behind the shower curtain, Buddy flicked the butt of his cigarette into the sink and got under the spray.  

Water barreled over his head and neck, sluicing over his muscular chest and stomach. He was still surprised that he’d even been able to get this body after all the nutritionally defunct food he’d had to eat when he was on the streets. He’d been wiry then––sinewy and lean––but that was always an advantage for him. People didn’t see him coming in a fight. He was always the first to pull a knife, and always the one who finished the scuffle with a payment of blood. He had a lot of firsts out there on the street, including his first whore.  

He remembered he’d been scrounging around the dumpster at the back of a Chinese restaurant when she came out from farther down the alleyway with the john she’d just sucked off. She’d caught him staring at her and offered him a freebie because she liked the color of his eyes. The whore was good. She let him dominate her, restrain her; he slapped her around a little, too.

“Choke me,” she breathed as his body pounded into hers. The sound of flesh slapping flesh was music to his fucking ears. With a growl, he’d wrapped his hands around her throat and applied a little pressure. The whore’s lids grew heavy with arousal. With a sneer pulling up his top lip, he squeezed a little harder.

Buddy felt his erection form from those vivid memories. Taking the familiar weight in his palm, he ran his hand up and down the smooth shaft, feeling it grow even harder still. He began pumping his hand along the length of his cock, thinking about the last time he had fucked someone––someone completely nameless and faceless to him. That was the only way to do it as far as he was concerned. Women were only good for one thing from his experience. His favorite fantasy while jacking off was having the girl bound and gagged. He didn’t like it when they could touch him. He did like to hear them scream around the ball gag in their mouth though. 

The ache of his orgasm was coming. He could feel it deep down in his body––a tingle of pleasure warming up his skin. He picked up the pace, stroking himself from the base of his shaft to the tip, twisting his wrist to crank out a little more pleasure, his balls tightening from the extra attention. The intensely warm feeling that had started traveling up his shaft began to burn like liquid fire until his orgasm pulsed out of his body in slow hot waves all over his hand and stomach. He milked his body until the rest of him was shaking. With one final shudder, he released his cock and washed himself off quickly before killing the water.

Water dripped from his hair and slid down his chest as he stood in the steam for a long time waiting for his cock to go soft. But it was just as hard as it had been before. When he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom, he realized what he needed to do. 

Throwing on some clean clothes, he slid his feet into some old shitkickers and left the apartment, determined to find one of two things: A whore or a fight. If he was lucky, it would be both at the same time.