Mac and May

May 17th-26th, 2014

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Long before I discovered my dick to be bleeding I was staring at the X where JFK’s head came apart with a hamburger in hand. For no real reason I point Big Macs to sites of significance and so raised one to the mark. Viewing history through the lens of fast food brought forth no clues but it did make me laugh. So I raised the Mac over and over, approaching the murder from multiple angles. Once sated I carried on to Fort Worth.

There I indulged in drinks and conversation with a girl who’s read my shit. After adorning myself in board game jewelry I set off in the middle of the night for Oklahoma. I didn’t make it out of Texas before sleep overtook me and so began the search for a safe spot. Some rural town offered no such luck as its roads were little more than dirt, none wider than the trucks parked off them. The houses were falling apart and those that weren’t were wrapped in chicken wire. I drove some more and found my bed behind the railroad in a barely bigger town.

The next day I carried on to Tulsa. There I was set to hang with a spellcasting psychic who’s been a constant in my life for six years straight. I got into town come early afternoon, the sun scorching me in my car. This place had dried between now and my last visit. Its bridges crossed a dying river now mostly made of sand. My friend, Vampiric Spektor, resides next to the long gone water. Approaching it made me know I was near. To me the river was a landmark. To him he’s never crossed the street to walk the path along it. From what I’ve gathered he’s forever had an unhealthy life in this parched Oklahoma city.

The town, so dry and dusty, reminded me of Waco, a place I’d camped just weeks before. My first night there the cops woke me just after sunrise with a knock to the window. They ran my ID and asked my story, then asked I be on my way. As with all encounters of this nature my asking of ‘Have I broke the law?’ was met with vague replies. Hours after my waking I was at the Waco compound where so many burned under the careful care of law enforcement.

I thought I was the only one there as the grounds seemed empty. Most of what surrounds them are patches of land populated by livestock, giving the impression of isolation. But there was more than just me as this was but a day before the anniversary of the siege. Within minutes I bumped into a documentarian preparing to take his yearly photographs. He explained how he catalogs the changes to the physical landscape and interviews survivors. He was set to meet up with one that evening. He showed me around the grounds, pointing to where an underground school bus was buried. It once acted as an entrance in and out of the compound so as to avoid sniper fire. He also showed me where most of the deaths occurred and so of course I pointed a Big Mac:

Now weeks later I was in a town one state over to document my own obsession with a charismatic figure, Vampiric Spektor. Vamp is a man I discovered off Youtube many years ago while still in college. He became my afterschool hobby. I was completely sucked in by this obese oddity with a black cyst on his forehead. He produced hundreds of videos which helped fill my days. They spoke of fantastic things, ranging from metaphysical concerns to harassing the postman for an arrival of cash. That money was set to be transformed into pills. Once the envelope arrived empty he spent weeks performing psychic sniffs on the paper, searching it for clues. And so this is how things went with Vampiric. He was forever up to something goofy. This was reflected in his rants which were almost always both humorous and bizarre.

word to the wise when dating someone with the blood of anton zander lavey….investigate her mental status first…then follow the pattern of her lies to the source….she’s got telepathic powers yo….my girlfriend is using her powers for bad and im wondering if theirs a way to turn them off…her frequency is 777.7 megahertz…. its a frequency not really used but its a frequency i use to communicate with the holy one 

I consumed hundreds of these videos and in time made friends with the man behind them. Soon our relationship turned sexual and I constantly threatened to suck his cock and marry his asshole. We dated on Facebook and talked on the phone. I used this connection to lure him into sending erotic vids of him spanking his bare bottom. I was little more than an internet troll in the guise of a sympathetic soul. But in time Vampiric’s weirdness got to me and I began to enjoy him in a genuine way.

I gave up on embarrassing the dude and simply came to know him, forever checking on his declining health and increased magical powers. I actually annoyed him with how friendly I grew. Despite our friendship things remained somewhat sexual between the two of us. He asked if my little sister would fuck him in a threesome with the girl he was dating. I declined on her behalf, wanting to keep him for myself. His everything was an endless mystery which I wished to unravel on my own. For years he fascinated me and then I finally met him on the way to my first Bonnaroo. Now four years later we were set to hang for the second time. Before entering this situation I knew I had to straddle the line of viewing him as a cool dude and yet also a curiosity. That line was sickly thin and I still don’t know if I tipped off it.

I met him at the door to his building and he had a shopping cart as he expected piles of presents. Before our meeting he demanded I supply him with pop, cigarettes, and game cards. I said I had the stuff in my backpack, which I did. I hugged him a hello and we headed upstairs. We walked slow since he was as unhealthy as ever, the last of his teeth now plucked as they’d abscessed. We stepped into his apartment and I handed off the loot in secret as his father was waiting in the next room. Despite Vampiric being well into his 30s his father acts as a caretaker and so chaperoned the meeting.

His dad was normal and nice so I had to act the same. I picked up on the fact that he didn’t care for Vampiric’s supposed abilities. When Vamp said his friend can do energy balls his father asked if that was only on webcam. As Vampiric answered my every question he picked the stuffing from a pillow, a habit that helped him from scraping his own skin. Despite his father’s disapproval Vamp carried on with stories concerning his powers. He told me his friend in Salt Lake City was building an underground complex for magical people. From this compound they’d help rebuild the earth after God comes back to destroy it.

He told me his girlfriend lied to him about being pregnant with his kid. She faked a pregnancy and then a miscarriage. Despite this they continued dating. He said that though him and her have no kids she’s popped out nine others, all of which have been repossessed by the state. This pregnancy scare seemed to contradict something of his I once read:

Okay, i know many of you guys know what it feels like to be accused of impregnating someone and then having them say its your baby without any proof right? well heres the thing, i am physically incapable of having sex because of a huge stomach i have, she’s got one too but thats beside the point..

I wanted to lift that belly and suck the buttery cob beneath. Perhaps it’s best I couldn’t as later he let me know he’d had a string of UTIs from never showering. In time he revealed that he’s sterile and that only made me want him more. I needed my tongue to know the taste of a dead load.

We had an hour of good chatting before Vampiric faded to a painkiller induced haze. His words slowed and slurred into mutters. No more could he tell me about energy balls as his father rolled his eyes and offered me pizza. Nor could he expound once again on how his kidneys shut down from abusing morphine. I had so many questions as he claimed to have entered Heaven. Upon arrival he saw his dad who said to hang on and drop back to earth. I’d just have to come see Vamp another time to hear more of this and all his other wild tales. I knew this was all I was going to get from him and so departed, though not before pointing a Big Mac.

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Out of boredom I texted saying I could barely resist the urge to crawl under the table and suck his cock with his dad right there. That I wanted to jack him into a Ziploc and impregnate myself with the cum. I would’ve blown him for real though only for the story. I started saying we were engaged and yet he resisted my sexual advances, reminding me he was set to marry a woman. Curses. I resolved that if I couldn’t suck the cock of a toothless psychic then I’d fuck an old hag.

Within hours I arranged to bang a woman born in 1947. I’d be coming through Colorado a day or two after Oklahoma and wanted it to be my next stop. Where I slept between the two states I can’t recall. The original plan for Boulder was a daylong hike but internet clicking revealed someone from my Portland past to now live there. I fucked her four years prior and now was to be back at it.

Much had changed since I last saw her and yet here I was reviving a thing that’d come and gone. I figured that wasn’t so bad as this could work well. I needed a Big Mac Naked Lady and perhaps she’d oblige. Plus I was already envisioning our next encounter. In a few weeks I’d be passing back through on the way to Bonnaroo. I could stop before the fest for a recharge. And it’d be great for drug studies. A Colorado hookup could be perfect as I hoped to hit Texas many times and this was en route. Plus she was a buku cool lady, if not a bit strange, though the same could be said for me. Perhaps we’d call that our bond. If this went well I’d now have a place for sex, showers, and sleep. For once my body would thank me.

Despite the prospect of cumming inside a pretty lady that wasn’t why I wanted to see her. I’d grown bored with sex and so started finding enjoyment in odd experiences that happened to fall within a sexual context: Carrying a paraplegic juggalo in and out of my room to fuck her as she chewed tobacco. Sleeping with a married lesbian couple and making macaroni with them afterward. Hammering a train hopping heroin addict as her boyfriend stroked off to the action. These things were so much more memorable than sex, an act I no longer cared to pursue for gratification alone. Now I was set to sleep with someone a near four decades my senior, a pursuit I thought to be both odd and interesting.

I passed her house and parked down the street, knowing this might break bad. I figured with the car out of sight I could slip out under some pretense and just disappear. I walked the short distance, swallowed my nerves, and approached her dwelling. I came to the porch and there she was standing at the door, more attractive than ever.

She said she was sad it’d gone from me staying the night to coming over for just a couple hours. That she needed touch and comfort. Before my arrival I concocted a story of needing to leave at night as I didn’t care to linger. But for now I was here and so hugged her thin frame against me. She looked up and we kissed. She pressed her face into my chest, rubbing her cool nose and cheeks against it. I placed my lips to the top of her silver hair. We kissed more and soon moved to the bedroom. There was an open window that looked out to the street. Anyone who came by could see this encounter.

“Should we pull the blind?”

She didn’t want to and I didn’t object. I pulled off her clothes and then my own. I was tan but the stretches on my gut looked like ringworms. Her beautiful body acted as the antithesis to all I offered. She was flat chested and petite with hair ringing her hole. A glob of yellow lady cum lay dead beneath her opening. A boy older than me once crawled out from there. Though her fertility was long gone her appeal remained intact. I propped her on a massage table and we got to it.

She brayed and smiled to herself with one eye closed and the other open, traits I now remembered from before. Once finished she seemed happy, said it helped with the sadness. She wiped herself clean and we moved to a real bed, her head now to my sweaty chest. She talked at length about her Buddhist shit, most of which I can’t recall. She also spoke of her attraction to young men despite their flaky nature. I knew my age was the only factor in how I was now naked with a beautiful old woman. She could use me if I could use her. Soon enough we got back to it. She pumped me dry.

She said I was allowed two showers and could now take the first. I’d slipped in raw so scrubbed below with soap and vigor. After the cleanse I stepped out to dry. I slimed my D in hand san off the counter, acting as my own unlicensed doctor. It burned. In the foggy mirror I looked at my naked self, my stinging cock. This was fun but I wanted it to be over. It was time to get going. Before the shower she spoke of heading out for happy hour drinks. I replied with neutral words, not wanting to do more than put in bonus strokes and hit the road. I dried myself off and redressed my body. I went out to my car under the pretense of getting shoes as I’d come in barefoot. In the car I debated whether to just leave or let her know. I went back and told her that I was taking off. She grew angry, arguing that I must stay. I didn’t want a debate.

“I could’ve just left but I didn’t want you to wonder.” I seemed to think this made my actions less hurtful and shitty. It didn’t.

“Nolan, please don’t do this.”

I didn’t have to think it over. I got my strokes and was good to go.

“I’m leaving. I just wanted you to know”

“Nolan, please.”

I fled at a sprinter’s pace and soon sped away, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Once a good distance off I stuck a hand down my pants to apply more hand san, smearing it across my cock and up my ass. I passed through the city and called home to see what my parents were up to. For them it was just another day.

I warped through Wyoming, Utah, and Idaho, doing little more than driving and crashing out in the car. I’d been away for over two months and it was time to get home. But after I landed in Portland I was only back a day before making plans to leave once more. I bought a cheap ticket off some high schooler and took off for Washington. There I was to experience the three day Sasquatch! Music Festival set along the Columbia Gorge. The drive was nonstop beauty and I arrived in a short five hours. I was parked next to a vineyard and so in the spirit of things uncorked a well-aged Four Loko. People in all places constructed their camps and popped open beers. I could see and endless sea of cars, tents, and drunk people stumbling toward the music.

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Over the next three days I drank, danced, and puked in portable shit buckets. Before a show someone yakked a splatter pattern across the cement. I’m sure a spoonful would’ve induced a drunken state. Rather than getting wasted on vomit a bunch of us threw down garbage to soak it up and create a barrier. Around this we danced as if it were a shrine and trash was our tribute. That put me in a really great and goofy mood. Then the show began and destroyed me with joy. People were singing and dancing to everything, completely overcome by the entirety of what was happening on stage.

I arrived an hour and a half early to another show and spent the in between talking to a Canadian. Just before it got going he bailed to bang his girlfriend in their tent. The music was incredible and I danced after midnight beneath the black sky. There were moments during that set where mind, energy, and body all aligned with what the band was doing. I hadn’t felt so good in ages. Despite this perfection it’d been hours since I pissed and now my bladder was sloshing with booze. I picked water bottles off the ground and emptied into each as thousands danced around me. Once full I tossed them to the storm of stomping feet. I’m sure the shoes popped open my piss and made for wet dancing. At least for me it all stayed dry.

At night I’d walk back after seeing a good day’s music and dancing to DJs spinning from RVs in the campground. I’d crawl in my car and bed down drunk with blankets pulled across me. The music ended around 1:30 but in an area deemed “District 9″ the partying went all night. That wasn’t the scene for me. I’d shove plugs in my ears and sleep in comfort ’til well past sunrise. Come morning I’d cleanse myself with well water, a Nalgene, and squirts of shampoo. Hobo showers couldn’t clean my nethers but they worked well for the rest.

For breakfast I ate shitty food and washed it down with sun-warmed whiskey. Within the fest I fed myself by eating off the ground and drinking discarded beers. Sometimes I had to pick out cigarette butts before consuming what I found. On the floor of a portable shit bucket was $70 and I pocketed it for profit. Then Monday morning the fest was over and people were on their way. I searched the campground for grift and scored canvas chairs, a cooler of beer, and a bottle of Malibu. Days later I developed a disgusting chest cold that surely came from my gourmet ground food. The fact that it was free made it worth it.

I drove back to Portland beyond burnt out and yet still infused with energy. My skin was crisped, my asshole itched, and I was greasier than the inside of a cum coated belly button. I’d had such a good time over the past week or so and this fest was the topper. But despite that peak my day had only just begun. A friend of ours took a train west from North Dakota and arrived a day prior to my return. I had to get back to Portland because we’d be rolling out to the ocean come afternoon.

I started my day snatching beers in a Washington campground and finished it watching waves lap the Oregon shore. Years before this I collected my Big Mac Pacific Ocean photo but there was no reason to not have another. I forgot the actual container but I’ve held so many there’s a ghost copy within me, ready to be snatched from periphery and aimed to where it needs to be. I approached the waters and raised a Big Mac, once again unsure of why I felt compelled to do so, of why I did anything at all. I couldn’t explain my actions and yet felt no need for justification. Framing the world in sleaze, grease, and cardboard just seemed the thing to do.

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The entirety of my Big Mac project can be found here:

Mac and Me