A Love Story Unlikely
You know, when I was growin up, practically right outta my egg, I knew I wanted to be somebody everybody knew. A star. Name in lights.
'Course we all know it don't turn out that way. This story starts with a happy ending. That ain't too normal, but then again, you're gonna learn real quick-like that this ain't no normal story. Name's Whistler, and that's all you gotta know. I'm a cockatoo - get your jokes outta the way, I heard all of 'em - and life done what it has to me.
See, it all started when I was comin out of the fanciest French restaurant this side of the Manny Bridge, pickin my beak with one of them fancy reusable toothpicks. I got in my limo and had my driver take us away. It was a rainy night, and as the limo pulled out my tires splashed this poor old mook sittin on the sidewalk and I laughed, clipping my cigar.
Just kidding. Haha, it's like a joke but it's not funny. See, I'm the guy that's there feelin sorry for himself in the gutter. Just got splashed by some fuckin' yuppie in his god damn stretch Hummer. To be honest, it's somethin I'm used to, and I should be. Really. Ain't no use gettin my feathers too ruffled, though...like I said, it's pretty much common happenings. The whole, "Hey today it'll be cool if life shits all over my god damn face" thing, I mean. Cynical? Maybe, but tough shit. I bet if punching bags could talk they wouldn't sing "Here Comes the Sun."
I curled my knees in my soaked jeans I been wearing for God knows how long to my chin and sighed.
I think I shoulda been mad, but I forgot what feelings felt like. It's sad when a man breaks, 'cuz it ain't like a vase or a pot or somethin'. You can't just, like, tape it together or put some glue on it and call yourself fuckin' Jesus. No, when a guy breaks he's done broke for good...least that's what I thought back then. The worst part about hitting rock bottom is that it's just you and the rocks and nobody else. How long does a guy gotta ask for a miracle, you know? I bet right now you're wondering, "Well gee strangely attractive avian fellow, I wonder how you had gotten yourself into this predicament!" I would tell you, but someone's walking over right now. You like that? A little third person with the first person, that's...that's clever. Hmm.
Anyway, remember what I said about rock bottom bein' only the rocks and yourself? You better, I said it like five fuckin' seconds ago and if you're that forgetful we're gonna have problems. Anyway, so I was sittin' alone feelin' sorry for myself, like always, and here comes this god damn cat. Now, as a member of the superior feathered race, I have a little problem with cats and their tendency to call me dinner. I looked at the guy a little cautiously, and he just kinda stared at me. Awkward as fuck, that's what that was. Awkward, that is, till he done finally opened that fuckin mouth of his. Those god damn pointy teeth. So he says to me, "I just got booted outta my place, think you can show a guy the ropes?" Like, he assumed I'd been homeless for like, forever. I have been but that ain't none 'a his God damn business. I looked him over, skinny, feminine, sandy haired little feline of a guy, and he looked pretty silly with his fur all wet and droopy. He was carrying a violin and a gym bag with what I guess were his clothes in it. He was a pretty snappy dresser, if he weren't soaked to the balls that was.
"I suppose, here's the street, that's where you sleep. Now go the fuck away." That's what I said. I ain't no word artist or nothin. He looked a little incredulous, like he expected a nice response from someone who looked like he should be on a wanted poster or the front of a fishsticks box.
"You sure? We just met, maybe you'll like me." He said, scratching his nose. Fucker didn't even flinch.
"I'm gonna give you three seconds before I cut your balls off and feed 'em to you. Trust me, I'm a dude with too many problems. You don't wanna talk to me," I said all gruff like.
"I'm gonna give you five seconds to shut the fuck up before I pull those balls out of my throat and give 'em to you so you actually got some," he spat back, poppin a squat right next to me.
If I had ears I'd pop em up. Kid's got balls, that's for damn sure. I couldn't call him a kid, he was the same age as me, or looked like it. I'm 20, by the way. Young, I know, but I feel like I'm 80 from what I've been through. Gettin off track again though. So like I was sayin', the guy just straight sits next to me. I smiled and patted him on the back. "I dunno if I could fit em in your mouth, guy. They seem pretty big." I laughed, that hollow, scratchy laugh like you hear on the health insurance commercials. "So to who do I owe the pleasure of meeting someone who ain't a fuckin wuss?"
"Name's Liam," he gargled, rain musta got in his mouth, "and I'm here because my folks don't think I'm fit to stay at their place."
"And why's that, Liam? I'm Whistler by the way."
He stared down for a second, lookin real sad like. When he lifted his head up to look at me, though, he got happy, maybe a little mad. "I'm just one of them rebel kids I guess."
Me and Liam weren't so much different. We were both stuck on a street corner in the Bronx at night in the rain.
...That's pretty much it.
I'd been there much longer than he had. We ended up talkin about little stuff, until we ran out of stuff to talk about and ended up just starin into space. "So, what's the violin for?" I asked, noddin towards it.
"It's what I'm best at, it's what keeps me alive. What's the guitar for?" He yawned.
Oh, I forgot to tell you I was carryin a guitar and a backpack full of clothes and food. Well now you know. So anyways, I says, "It's pretty much the same. I use it to play with and beat jackasses over the head with. So be careful, jackass." I smiled at him. I don't think he got the joke 'cuz he just frowned. I did too.
We ended up fallin asleep later, just snoozin'. The next morning I woke up to the sounds of honking and people saying the most wonderful things, like "Hey fuckhead, move your god damn ass," and "Go shove a hose in it, you fuckin' mook." Man, I love New York.
"Wake up, Liam. Don't wanna get mugged or nothin." I nudged him, and he yawned, those fuckin' pointy teeth again, and scratched his head.
"What exactly is there to wake up to?" He asked. The fur around his eyes looked stiff...was he cryin'?
"You gotta make some money to eat, dipshit. Now follow me, and if I turn around and you ain't there, tough shit." I pounded him on the back quite roughly and it made him cough, which made me smile. So my favorite spot to play and have people throw me their pity is in front of the Martin Luther King statue near the Greyhound Station. You gotta get there early to mark your territory, so we did. Luckily, the stupid little runt was smart enough to follow, and plopped back down, rubbing his eyes and yawning some more.
"You ain't gonna eat me, are you?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow as I flipped the latches on my hardtop case and slid it out in front of me with the top open.
"I'd rather not end up sick or having AIDS or something, thanks," he spit back, and I rose my crest feathers a little bit. Damn him, damn him. After ignoring it, or at least trying to, I rubbed my hands together, those stupid scaly yellow things...and started to play. I ain't sayin I'm the greatest in the world, but when it's all you do all day for years, you get pretty damn good. The cat musta thought so too, because he came over and just kinda stared. I wasn't payin attention much, just waiting for someone to drop the change from when they paid for that coffee I wish I had into my case. One people, two people, three people...that meant I could eat today. Liam went ahead and left, or at least I thought he did, until I heard the most peculiar thing ever. A violin's voice rose outta the honks and hissing of steam vents, and it matched almost perfectly with what I was just improvising.
I stopped and turned around, and Liam was sittin on his knees all Jap-like, swaying his tail from side to side, and playing that damn violin beautifully. I don't think he noticed that I stopped, since he was so into it, and so I started up again, and a whole crowd of people were coming to watch us. After we were done, they all clapped and came up to talk to me, but left as soon as I told them to "Fuck off before I geld you." Liam weren't too happy.
"What the hell is your problem?" he fumed. "You catch more flies with honey, you know. Start being nice."
I rose my crest feathers again and got all angry-like. "These are the same people that spit on you for being yourself! As soon as the music stops, it ain't nobody's business. All you have to look forward to is-" And that's when he kicked me in the stomach.
"Yo, yo YO! Watch yourself, fuckhead, the cops'll snap your scrawny little neck if I don't!" I yelled, pushing him away. "What the FUCK was that all about?"
"You're being fucking stupid," he said, and turned around, then started playing again. I couldn't believe it, he just kicked me in the damn stomach and then he tried to pass it off like he just shook my hand. Maybe it was the shock, but I just ignored it. I went back to my playing, and he went back to his, and that was that. Once again, a crowd surrounded us, we sounded great apart but we sounded fuckin' awesome together. Then I started singing, and he matched me in perfect harmony. Damn that stupid cat.
After everyone had left, we had about a hundred dollars. That weren't sayin much, I'm sure, but that was enough to eat for about a month. That wasn't what I was plannin on. I was walking around with Liam, not really sure what to say, when I saw that fancy French restaurant that we'd met at. Musta been a sight, the poor maitre'd seeing two raggedy-assed fucks like us walking in. I'm pretty sure he was getting ready to call security before we ordered a table. Then suddenly it was all about the tips, yes sir.
Anyway, me and the cat - sorry, the cat and I - sat down at our table and laid our stuff underneath it, sinking in. Night was rolling through the city, and we were both a little tired. "So where'd you learn to play like that?" I asked him, swishing my finger through the vodka the waiter gave me without asking. Smart guy.
"I was gonna go to Juilliard, yeah. They called me a prodigy. Ever since I was a kitten I knew that I wanted to play the violin."
"And what made you stop?" I said, downing my tumbler in one go. It wasn't enough.
"I didn't stop. I was forced to. Mom said, 'You have to go to school for something academic. I want you to be a doctor or a lawyer. Our name will be sullied if you don't follow the prestige!'" I laughed a little harder than I should have, the voice he did it in was priceless. "I took my life savings and bought myself a year at Juilliard. After that was up, Mom said don't come home. So...I didn't."
"Sounds like a stone cold bitch to me," I said, "but I ain't much different."
"Well, you'd understand if they thought I was like, gay or something. I look kinda sissy, I wanted to do music above all else. I think that's what they were most afraid of."
"Well you aren't a damn faggot are you?" I don't make art with words, I told ya before. He looked down and didn't say anything. So did I. This lead to a pretty long silence, until the waiter came to get our orders. I ordered something I couldn't pronounce and the fuck thought it was just the most hilarious thing, and Liam got something like a soup. I told him not to worry about money and he got lobster. Fucker.
While we're waiting for our food, let me explain why I finally felt a pang of...feelings.
So back when I was a little kid, I drew on everything. Walls, my feathers, books, the carpet, the air, you name it, I probably drew on it. I couldn't stop. It was like an addiction. Mom was fuckin pissed about it though. She always, ALWAYS was. She'd scream and yell, I think it's 'cuz of what Dad did to her. He liked to punch on her a lot, and I think she took it out on me. She always said I had his eyes. I think whenever she looked in mine, she saw the man's face that had done her so much wrong, and she just couldn't control her words...or her fists. After getting hit enough, I turned into a completely different person. If my own Mom don't love me, who does?
Getting beat up by a girl is pretty embarassing, so in order to justify my black eyes, I'd constantly get in fights at school. I was a rough and tumble little chick, and I spent a lot more time in detention than I did behind a book. By some God-given miracle, I survived until I graduated high school, and it was solely because of my friends. I was that jerk that passed classes just because he was on the football team. I was that jerk who made fun of you every day. I was that jerk who stole your girlfriend and left flaming dog shit on your porch. That meant you probably hated me.
My artistry skills never suffered, even if my psyche did. By the time I was done with high school I was an exceptional artist, creating things people loved and enjoyed. They only liked the art, though. When they saw who did it...they just got mad. As soon as I put my paints down I was nothing but a lowlife asshole to them. And so I wanted to get a degree or something, show that I could do it. So of course, I shot for the stars. Rhode Island School of Design.
Course, 40k a year weren't easy to pay for. My mom said college didn't matter. The poor old crone gave up on life long, long ago. So she didn't help. I had to raise that money all by myself. And by raise, I mean, pretty much steal. After a couple months of lifting wallets and even robbing a convienience store, I finally got enough to pay for at least a semester. So I went. I went, and my mom said what Liam's had: "Don't come back."
I could understand why. I deserved it. Plus, there was another thing my mom didn't know about me, and that was that I was...a faggot.
I don't like saying it any other way, because that just ain't how I talk. I don't know how it started, or why it started, but I've just always liked guys. I'd like to think it's because I hated women because of what my mom had done to me. I kissed my first boy in like, seventh grade. That's when I knew that I was gonna be what I was gonna be. It worked out for me too, even though I was rough and tumble, I'll be damned if I wasn't the hottest motherfucker in the room at all times. When I first met Liam I thought he was pretty hot, but I wouldn't have said so. His silence when I asked him if he was gay told me all I needed to know.
Poor kid, though. I deserved everything that happened to me, but he didn't. He was just followin a dream.
Enough of that, our food's here.
So we're munching down, everyone in the restaurant watching us, and we're chatting about this and that, which whatever one of us likes, and all of a sudden, Liam's paw starts touching the inside of my thigh. I froze and so did he, and we bolted upright, blushing and feathers/fur on end. "S-s-sorry," he stuttered.
"It's uh...it's cool," I said, and went back to eating, albeit a lot slower.
After we were done, the waiter, very cautiously, gave us our checks. He was a mouse, and just as skittish as he should be. Adding them together, it came to 80-something dollars, and I set the hundred down and got ready to leave. "Only a twenty percent tip?" The maitre'd said, picking up our money. He was an equally unimpressive rat.
My crest feathers went up again and I stood up rather sharply, making him back off. "You want a tip?" I said, and pulled out my guitar. "This is how you party, Liam." I gave the cat a wink and hopped up on the table. The waiter and the maitre'd were both shouting, as I gave a rousing rendition of "Be Our Guest." I thought it was kinda relevant. And that damn cat, he started singing along and playing his stupid violin. It was the prettiest and funniest thing I'd ever heard, and by the time we were forcefully removed from the restaurant, both of us were laughing and everyone inside was cheering us and booing the officers who so graciously showed us the door. We took our things and ran to the nearest alley, still laughing as we plopped down on the cold, yet still thankfully dry, pavement.
"So that's how you pay back people who give you delicious food?" Liam mewled, rubbing his belly and burping, still trailing off with some giggles.
"They didn't give us nothin but the stink eye, cat," I replied, laying down. "I just thought they needed a little excitement in their lives. They don't see us as nothin but little performing wind up toys, and as soon as we're done, we're nothing but junk." I closed my eyes and rolled onto my side, sighing. "Just take a chance and you'll find the little lights in life I suppose." I felt myself being rolled over, and by the time I opened my eyes, I already had a pair of lips wrapped around the edge of my beak. "Whoa! WHOA!" I yelled through his tongue, pushing him off and wiping my mouth. "What's the big idea?"
"Take a chance, that's what you said, right?" He wiped his mouth too, and gave me that toothy grin that made me feel a trite submissive.
"Yeah, but..." I tried to say, but he was back on top of me, rubbing on my chest and making me turn a flushed red. "H-hold on, I ain't no faggot, stop it..."
"Then stop me," he said, and bit on my neck.
As I cried out, I realized that I couldn't. I really couldn't. The bulge in my pants was the sole proof my beak was lyin. "M-maybe I don't want to," I stuttered, trying not to move or give him the satisfaction.
"Then I'll help," he purred, and moved his hand down lower. When it got to my waist, I shivered, and didn't stop him at all, just kept stuttering and sounding like a damn idiot.
"Why are you doing this? I'm not anyone sp-ECIAL!" I yelped, as his hand slipped behind the waistband of my jeans and found my dick.
"You just needed someone to care about you, like I do," he whispered, stroking me up and down, up and down, so painfully slow. "I know you're a good person. You just need help. And this is the kind of help I think is best."
I felt somethin funny in my stomach right about then. It was love. Now, I know what you're thinking. "Some guy giving you a handjob in a dirty back alley is love?" You know what, maybe it is. Who's to say when love can strike? This cat, this fucking cat, comes into my life at a time when I'd been needing someone the most, and has the balls to put up with me, AND make a move on me? Whatever your fancy definition of love is, it ain't what's happening here. I think this is love at its most basic...the most beautiful kind.
I sat up, with Liam in my lap, still tugging on my cock, and he pulled my pants down to my knees so he could get a better grip. "Feel anything yet?" he asked, smirking at me.
"I...more than you know," I said, and grabbed his head, bringing it to mine so I could intertwine our tongues. It was a passionate kiss, and the force of it stunned both of us. We just stared at each other, both frozen at the fact that we had just found love on the street. Liam made the first move, pulling himself out of his shock by dropping his pants as well and sitting on my lap, his shaft was about 2 inches shorter than mine, but just as thick. His form though, in the dark, he looked so...feminine! His hips were perfectly rounded, he was so lithe and flexible, I licked my beak at the possibilities.
Without saying anything, he lowered himself on my then-hard cock, not slowly at all, but with the primal force that only a cat could muster. His loud mewl and my sharp chirping mixed together in perfect harmony much like our singing did, and with that we took out our life's frustration on each other. I ended up on top of him, his knees and head on the ground as I shoved my member and apathy against his ass and helplessness, crashing together in a unity of dischord. Huh, artsy words...guess I was wrong.
We rutted like the animals we were for a good 20 minutes, both exhausted and sweating like we were in a sauna. We were panting like dogs, and it felt good to finally be cleansed of our bad feelings and filled with a new one. I slammed into him one last time and we both cried out as our orgasms mixed, mine into him and his all over the ground. We were filled with love. The strength of an orgasm backed by sheer willpower caused both of us to fall asleep not seconds after the fact.
So there I was, balls deep in Liam, in the middle of an alley where anyone could walk down and find us, just snoring away. You know what? I didn't care. Spontaneous and insulting was my lifestyle.
Next morning comes along, and I'm getting kicked by what feels like a pointy shoe. "Great," I thought before opening my eyes, "A fucking cop." I opened them and a pig in a suit was leering over me. The animal, not a cop. It wasn't a pointy shoe at all, it was a hoof.
"Yes, um, I believe I saw you at Petit Fleur yesterday, and I was wondering if we could talk for a little..." he peeped, obviously a tad nervous. I looked down, Liam was still sleeping and my long jacket covered up the fact my dick was still in him.
"Uh yeah, just let me...gimme a second, I gotta pee so go around the corner." The pig did so, nodding and rushing off, jiggling like swine do. I stood up, shuddering a little when I pulled out of the cat, and zipped up, brushing myself off and kicking Liam in the side. "Wake up, fairy dust. We got a visitor." Immediately he zoomed up, tugging his pants up and yowling loudly as he caught himself in his zipper. I knelt down and helped him, giving him a kiss on the forehead before speeding off to meet the pig.
"Yes, yes, my name is Ian Portsley," he said when I caught up to him, "and I am the A&R rep for Swinely Records, we're a fledgling company you see. We really liked your performance last night, and we'd like to see what you can do if we expanded your repertoire past Disney songs, ahaha...hmm." He tried to laugh but I didn't smile.
I felt an arm on my shoulder and was about to say something when I was interrupted. "Oh really? Well, this is a two man band," Liam piped up.
I looked back at him and nodded slowly. "Yeah...it is. I'm Whistler, he's Liam."
Ian had a look at the both of us and said, "Is there any other hobos I should know about?" I laughed for the first time in a long time, and I mean the meaningful laugh.
"No, just us," I chirped, nodding to him to follow us down the alley so we could pick up our things.
"You know, you're being a lot nicer," Liam whispered to me, holding my hand.
"A guy just saw us naked and three seconds later asked us to audition for a label. You think I have a reason to be mad?" I whispered back, then stopped. Wait, what the fuck did I just say? I actually, seriously, really didn't have a reason to be mad. I felt kinda disoriented, and wobbled as I carried my bags. "Alright Ian, let's get in your car or whatever."
He called someone on his phone and around the corner came a limo...the same limo that splashed me a couple nights before. That fucking stretch Hummer. I laughed so loud it scared even me, and dropped my things in the trunk. "Anything wrong, Whistler?" Ian asked.
"Oh no, I just...no." I kept on chuckling and jumped in the back seat.
That was about 2 years ago. Liam and I, or "Back Alley Love," as we were now known, have just finished a signing of our second platinum album. Poor Ian died of a heart attack about 2 months ago, but his son's carrying Swinely pretty nicely. We've made them a countless amount of cash, both from the story, and the fact that we're not too subtle about our homosexuality. The activists love it, and so do the fangirls.
We've got a drummer and a bassist and all that cool stuff now, we're on tour, and life couldn't really be better. I wonder what people would think if I told them this started with a bout of buggery in a side street...but then again, why would I care? I'm me, and even though my outlook on life has changed, I'm still the same guy.
We stopped to celebrate at Petit Fleur again, And before we left, Liam told me to meet him. I asked him where, and he said I'd know, then he sped off. After picking up the tab and, again, not tipping the maitre'd, I stepped outside and went to the only place I thought he coulda meant, that alley. I found him standing there, staring off into the sunset. "What's up?" I asked, stepping behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist, putting my head on his shoulder.
"Did you imagine back then, when we met, that we'd do anything like what we've done?" he asked.
"I guess not. I knew there was a couple times I wanted to kill you." I chuckled and kissed him, biting on his ear a little. He moaned, that sweet moan I love so much.
"Well, neither did I. Neither did I..." He droned, turning to me and handing me a box.
"What's this?" I asked, spinning it around in my hand.
"Open it, faggot."
Not one to argue with reason, I did so. Inside was a simple gold band, and I fell right on my butt.
"Well?" he asked, looking at me with a sly grin.
"I...I guess...I mean, of course I will." And then, the impossible happened. I cried. Liam noticed and knelt down next to me, giving me a kiss with the same passion as the one we shared that night. I grabbed him and let the box fall down, pushing him onto his back. We went at it one more time, for old time's sake.
After we were done, I picked up the ring and put it on, straightened out my wrinkled suit, and led Liam by the hand back to the limo I'd driven there. It was raining again, and as I pulled out I splashed a miserable looking Husky puppy. I stopped and got out, giving him a towel and a couple hundred dollar bills.
"It's all a circle, kid. Don't let it stop halfway." I said, turning to leave.
"Fuck off, asshole," he spat, throwing the towel at me.
I turned back and smiled, before getting back in my limo.