It all started with my good friend - Producer Gay. Living in Los Angeles for the last five years, I've met more than my fair share of colorful personalities. Amongst the overwhelming crazy, one of my favorites is Producer Gay (PG). He's quite a big deal in the world of TV, film, and cocaine. As is often the case with Hollywood hot-shots, drugs run in abundance when PG is in tow. A Saturday afternoon at this cherished friend's home looks like a scene shot on the reels of a Smut film. I rarely attend such parties, but when I do, I walk away with enough stories to fuel my insatiable palette for crazy.
A few weeks back, whilst in the midst of unemployment and financial demise, PG extended an invitation to San Francisco. He was a key note speaker in an entertainment and media conclave just outside the city. The plan was to drive up the coast on a Wednesday and he offered I come along for the ride. With little on my plate outside the impending welfare line, I became excited for a six hour road trip. PG had a full schedule of work for Thursday and Friday, leaving us time to hang out in the evenings and return home Saturday. Without life's usual list of daily duties and responsibilities, this trip came at just the right time. I planned my trip around PG's commitments, so I expected to be on call for heavy-handed evenings with the freedom to write all during the day.
As typical as Los Angeles "Entertainment People" seem to be, PG is no different. There are always a ton of empty promises surrounded by a mystifying smoke and mirrors act. Prior to this trip, PG had alluded to assistance with getting my book published, so it only seemed fair that this trip would be one in which I had the opportunity to pitch my manuscript. I was also promised immediate placement with employment back in the City of Angels, so this seemed like a smart trip to take. The odds seemed more so in my favor here, rather than applying for jobs all week in Los Angeles. Truth be told, a vacation with the option to spend time alone writing was the most exciting offer I had received in quite some time.
The trip was extended to me on a Monday with a plan set for the drive up that Wednesday; a quick decision with little time to plan. I couldn't help but think this trip may change my life. My imagination ran wild with the possibilities. I dreamed of a TV show popping up on the lineup for next season with myself as head writer and visionary. Of course this was pretty far-fetched, especially given the lack of follow-through with PG in the past. He's great at getting my hopes up and then raping my trust viciously. That being said, our relationship has evolved over the years and he has proven a great friend. Perhaps he's a bit full-of-shit, but who in LA isn't? I'm pretty sure it's a requirement when moving to the concrete jungle and assuming a place in entertainment. He had promised me immediate employment upon our return, so I went into this trip on that very assumption. The trip was amazing. It was chaotic, insane, and life-changing - all in one big swoop. All that said, I'm going to spoil one thing for you: PG did not so much as get me one single interview upon our return. As far as publishing my book or turning it into a movie, I'm still waiting to have THAT conversation... Honey Boo Boo will most likely fit into a size 2 and win Miss America before I hear delivery on those empty promises.
While I just drug PG's nose through the dirt, I do owe him thanks. He's a great friend in other ways and he accepts me for me. That's more than I can say for most. Plus he supplies me with endless hours of material. And if that wasn't enough, he took me on a trip that changed my life.
Let's get back to the trip at hand. We were scheduled to leave around one-thirty in the afternoon that Wednesday. PG was going to pick me up promptly and off we would go. I wasn't overly anxious for six hours in his tiny muscle car, but luckily I would be riding shotgun and able to relax while he drove up. Around eleven o'clock Tuesday evening, PG texted me: "Plans changed. Be ready at 11 am." I had planned my whole morning - which included two loads of laundry on top of still needing to pack a bag - around a 1:30 departure, not 11 am. There wasn't much I could say as I was the invited guest, so I just accepted the new plan. I went to bed almost immediately and set my alarm for six am. The next morning I prepared myself around our new earlier departure time. A few minutes before 11 and I was packed, all ready for our adventure. Approaching my front door, expecting my chauffeur to arrive, I received a text: "Make it 1:30. I'm fucking hungover. You're going to have to drive some of the way. And I invited another friend for the trip, so we're going to have the best road trip!" All of a sudden, I realized this was not the trip I thought. My plan to pitch PG endlessly for hours was now squashed. We were no longer going to spend days just the two of us. Nope, now we had a third rider. And I had no time to back out without shitting on the potential promises from PG.
As I stepped back and thought about it, I realized that this could be a good thing. See, the thing with PG is that he needs constant anal stimulation. His prostate is in heat like a feral cat in Mexico. PG can best be likened to an open syphilis wound, reeking of infection. He will sleep with just about anything. Perhaps bringing a third person could make for a buffer. I was not planning to contract any STDs this trip, so sex was out of the question. PG and I do not have sex, which may be why he hasn't helped place me job-wise. (Who am I kidding?! Of course that's why.) He has more connections than most, but I'm not that hard up for a job. Perhaps I should be, but I'm not. Still, I didn't have room to complain about this new addition to our drive as I was merely an invited guest. With that, the dynamic of the trip was going to change, but I was optimistic, hoping to make the best of the situation.
After two and a half hours of twiddling my thumbs at home, PG rolled up to my door. Walking outside with my bags, my friend stepped out of his parked car looking like a casualty of a brush fire. He had a ripe scent to him and could barely hold his eyes open. "I haven't slept yet. Last night was insane and I was fucking a trick all night. I'm blown out of my mind. You're gonna drive." And with that the true nature of our trip presented itself. Sure, PG may have been attending this trip for work, but he was up to his usual antics. I had gone to bed at a decent time and woken bright and early, eager to start our journey. PG went bar hopping and snorted enough coke to rival Tony Montana (Scarface), leading to a night of dirty anonymous sex; the kind of sex that would make Larry Flynt cringe. And, high in the moment, my Tony Montana invited his trick on a trip that I thought would be work related for us both. Obviously this trip showed me a lack of foresight.
So, in the throws of drugged out passion, my trip was scheduled to be a sex fest for PG and his new trick. "Raanan, I don't even know his name." This is what PG informed me, shortly after announcing the whereabouts of our new rider. Given his lack of sleep and cracked out nature, it became obvious that I would be driving the entirety of the ride up. Attempting to be a team player, still under the rouse that this would be a work placement trip for me, I obliged his toasted demeanor. "I'll get his name for you, love. No worries." I had already agreed to this trip, so the best I could do was to go with the flow. As I drove the tiny sports car back to my friend's Hollywood condo, I expected to pick his trick up and get on our way to San Francisco. I had no intentions of leaving during rush hour, but I had little claim to the logistics of this trip. Once we parked in the garage of PG's building, he informed me that he still had to pack. As we took the elevator up, I had no idea what to expect. I was told that he and his new trick had been doing lines of blow, all the while I was sleeping in preparation for the trip. They were preparing trick's asshole to be a gaping black hole of semen, while I got my beauty sleep. As PG began to pack, I had the opportunity to meet his trick. "I'm Raanan. What's your name?" As the trick informed me of his name - Jacob - I continued to refer to him as "Trick" in my own head. He hadn't achieved enough of my respect to deserve a true name. He hijacked my trip - at least that's how I felt. I'm sure I sound like a judgmental bitch right now - which I definitely am - but I had good reason. As Trick walked towards me while PG showered his crusty nose, I was surprised by what presented itself in front of me. Normally my friend would entertain a lair of young Adonis boys - all aspiring actors - who threw themselves at him in hopes of financial and career success. This boy was a bit different. He approached me in a stained t-shirt and a pair of ill fitted pants with more zippers than a denim factory. He had tattoos covering his hands as well as a scripture on his neck. I have a love of tattoos and a few myself, but they're all manageable from a professional standpoint. Being under 25 years, Trick only had the most ostentatious of tattoos; nothing that could be covered by articles of clothing unless wearing a ski mask and gloves. We were in Los Angeles and not Aspen, so this did not seem like the clearest thinker. He had a chinstrap of unkept hair that trickled down his neck, presenting him somewhat homeless. When PG finished packing and preparing for the trip, I assumed we would be right on our way.
"We have to stop at his apartment first, so he can pack" PG informed me, pointing at his new friend. "To Jacob's house?" I asked inquisitively, but my intentions were also to announce Trick's name in order to remind my friend of new company's title. "It'll only take a few minutes for me to pack", Trick informed me. Again, I was not calling any shots, so I tried to go with it. As the three of us took the elevator down to the parking garage, Trick informed us both: "I still have your babies inside me." This was Trick's foul way of sharing the dirty details inside his rectum. He was carrying a few loads of semen inside himself. I guess a shower wasn't necessary to clean those out. Instinctually I responded: "You need to clean yourself up!" I can be pretty blunt and direct and dirty is as dirty does. Time for his shower. As we plugged his address into the GPS, I was informed that Trick lived deep into the San Fernando Valley. Anyone who knows LA and the horrific traffic it caters to daily, knows that a drive that far can add mucho time to any trip. I'm an aggressive driver, so we found ourselves at Trick's home quicker than expected, but not as quickly as directly from my house, like we had planned. "I'll be five minutes! Let me just jump in the shower and pack a quick bag," Trick informed us. To which I replied, "Make sure and clean out your ass. You don't want to spread cum all over the seats..." Like I said, I can be pretty direct.
PG was on a conference call at the moment and I stepped outside the parked car to smoke a cigarette. Five minutes turned into thirty and before I knew it, we had been waiting well over an hour. Distracted and unreachable while on his conference call, PG left me to wait on my own, essentially. I had no say as to whether or not this foul boy would be coming with us, so clearly I had no claim on his time schedule. After a nice long hour and a half wait, while rain began to sprinkle down, Trick approached looking less showered than he had before he left us. As an aside, when rain approaches Los Angeles, the people cry out in pain as if the sky is falling. Driving on an LA highway during a rain spell is about as unsafe as you can be on the road in Southern California. It would have been nice if Trick had taken the drive into account, but this trip proved his lack of awareness many times. Did I mention how dirty he looked? Words can't describe the level of stank and stench that dripped from Trick's person. PG likes dirty boys, I just didn't know he liked them this dirty. That being said, I figured as long as he's occupied with sex for this trip, I would be okay.
As we got back on the road, I realized the sheer horror of this ride up. Every few minutes, while my foot graced the pedal, Trick would announce to the car his present state of dirty. "There are babies inside me. I have your [PG] babies growing inside me." Yes, Trick was still bragging about the semen that was uncleaned from his sphincter. "Do I need to buy you a wet nap?" I asked. "You need to clean that shit up - pronto." As Trick detailed the contents of his anus, I learned more and more details from the night before. At one point, while PG was drilling Trick sans condom, it seems that friends had stopped by his Hollywood condo. Trick was uncomfortable by this, according to his own admission, yet he continued to allow PG to continue to fucking him, caught up in the throws of passion. "Raanan, since we're becoming friends... (for the record, we were not) I feel like I have to be honest with you: I've never done that before." I found this hard to believe, but I continued to probe, sitting in traffic unaware of the destination this trip would take us. "What haven't you done before? Had a one night stand while your penetrator's friends watched?" Trick went on to explain that the voyeuristic nature of the evening was very uncomfortable for him. And he continued to share that he had never had unprotected sex before. PG informed me that Trick was screaming "breed me" throughout the entirety of their encounter. For those of you that don't know - within the world of dirty gay subculture - "breeding" refers to the action of penetration without prophylactic concern or protection. It specifically refers to the act of ejaculation while still penetrating. Anyone that screams "breed me" or asks for one's "seed" most probably has been to the Rodeo before - multiple times. We weren't talking about a novice, yet Trick kept telling me it was his first time. "I don't want you to judge me." All I kept thinking was "too late buddy, too late".
As the drive really began, I prompted we stop and grab coffee. I needed caffeine if I was going to endure an unwashed mess claiming virginal status all the while discussing the "babies" inside himself. Imagine Paris Hilton releasing a tell-all book where she claimed to be a thirty year old virgin. No one's buying your book, darling. Sorry. So we stopped at a Starbucks where I could grab some coffee, followed by sustenance for the two crackheads I was driving up to Northern Cali. PG wanted hangover food, so we settled on fast food. Jack in the Box it was, so these two could get their greasy fast food on. Approaching the drive thru window at Jack in the Box, I encountered an advertisement for a heart attack on a plate - the Brunch Burger. This burger is a hugely packed Bacon Cheeseburger on a Croissant. I jokingly asked PG if he would like one and we both laughed at the grossness level of said "meal". "I'd have it, but I'd prefer not setting my heart into an early ceasefire. I would rather live through this week." The whole while, Trick sat quietly in the back seat - for once.
When it came time to order, I declined any "food" - if you can call it that - as I had my oversized coffee. PG then ordered a Chicken Sandwich and Fries, with a large Diet Coke. I then asked from the driver's seat what I could get for Trick. "Two Brunch Burger Meals and a Large Strawberry Lemonade." At first I thought he was joking given our prior conversation, so I asked him once again. Trick immediately restated his intended meal. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Yes, of course. And I'm getting a strawberry lemonade, because soda and coffee's not very healthy." I kept thinking "but sugar water and two heart-attack platters are the definition of clean eating?!" It was obvious already that this was going to be a long trip. Upon leaving the fast food "restaurant", we then proceeded to sit in traffic for over three hours without moving as much as a mile. We were stranded in this tiny sports car, all the while still in Los Angeles, just trying to get out of the city. To top it off, the whole way Trick kept the conversation going with his butt babies. I kept wondering why he hadn't taken the time to clean his asshole when he took over an hour and a half. What was he doing? Why did we have to drive so deep into the San Fernando Valley?! Once we reached the outskirts of the city, PG decided that he was going to retire to the back seat for a long nap, while Trick and I got to know one another.
We pulled over to the shoulder to play musical chairs. As Trick jumped shotgun, I found myself in my own little personal purgatory. Firstly, he appointed himself said DJ, in full control of the radio. While I'm a major control freak, I can exercise restraint, especially when I'm merely just a casualty of a messy trip like this. I don't mind someone else playing the music, but after over three hours in a car together, it had become obvious that I was the only driver. I had no pull in anything regarding this trip other than what lane I chose to drive in. PG was cracked out of his mind, asleep in the backseat, while Trick had no license and a possible bench warrant for a number of DUI's. We couldn't risk him driving and we couldn't risk me being the least responsible in the group, so here I was behind the wheel as the only sober one with a current driver's license. While I love the musical stylings of the 'Top 40', the DJ session by way of Trick was an unsettling version of the current hits. For over four hours, I had the fine pleasure of learning the words to Rihanna's 'Unapologetic', Britney Spears's 'Work Bitch', and Miley Cyrus's 'Wrecking Ball'. While I was familiar with all three of these songs, listening to all three and only those on repeat for multiple hours brings a newfound depth of understanding to each song. PG was fast asleep in the back seat this entire time and I just continued to drive on. I hadn't woken up that morning with the intentions of being the official driver, but at least now I can add "chauffeur" to my resume.
As Trick talked my ear off, just about everything that came out of his mouth was utter shit. He tried passing himself off as a stylist, perhaps unsure of my knowledge of said profession. The best part of this was when he informed me that he was Katy Perry's official stylist. I didn't want to break it to him, but that admission was completely false; just a string of many fishy proclamations. Johnny Wujeck, my baby daddy (in my head) styles Miss Perry. Nice try, Trick. On our third or fourth rendition of 'Wrecking Ball', Trick began to cry. Unsure of what I was sitting next to, I asked him what brought about such tears. "Well, 'Wrecking Ball' hits home for me. It reminds me of my last long term relationship." To which I instantaneously responded: "Didn't this song only come out a few weeks ago?!" He informed me this relationship was a lot of heart ache and I chose to keep the questioning restrained. I shut my mouth and ignored his mood swings. As we continued to drive, Trick continued to talk my ear off as Rihanna, Britney, and Miley played at a blasted high. He began to talk about the cracked out mess in our back seat, PG. "I'm not really into white guys normally and he's definitely not my type. I think we'll just be friends..." I was rightly confused. Well, that may just about be the understatement of the year. You don't just blow lines and cock all night, then agree to a weeklong road trip if you have no intentions of sucking that dick again. I would never agree to a trip after a one-night stand, only because it presents a non-verbal contract that my ass is yours. If you don't want that, don't follow the man that left his "babies" inside you. Trick continued, "maybe we can really get to know each other (He and PG) on this trip and see about dating." The thing is that I know PG pretty damn well and I was well aware that this was purely sexual in his head. He hadn't even remembered Trick's name less than a few hours after having the dirtiest of sex. I knew this trip may blow over not so kindly. As PG slept and I listened to the filth that came out of Trick's mouth, he continued to spew verbal diarrhea. "I told him we're just going to be going on this trip as friends. I'm happy to get my own hotel room." While this all sounded very nice, I knew full well that my friend was under a quite different impression.
This trip had only just begun and yet I haven't even scratched the surface of Trick's dissension into a clinical liability. My Road Trip to San Francisco had only just begun and we were barely outside Los Angeles. Stay tuned for Parts 2 and 3, where arson, pornography, and Miley Cyrus are full-frontal and center.
And with this, I bid you adieu and hope you enjoyed Part 1. More more more to follow.
xoxo.
R
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