Subcreatures of Central Ohio 1

I came to live here because… well… hell… I don’t really know why I picked Columbus, Ohio. It was cheap? But ever since I got here it’s been one hassle after another, dude. I mean, it’s been hard to find work. I’m a certified personal trainer, but I left the last two gyms I worked for on bad terms so I can’t use them for references. I don’t want to go into why I was fired, because that’s the past, but let’s put it this way: at least I was acquitted of all seven counts. Besides, I don’t want to work for the man’s gym. I stole some money from my folks back in Jersey to get here. They cut me off, so basically I was left no choice but to rob them. It was pretty sweet. I was able to do it during a family intervention for me. I stole some credit cards and loose cash from my folk’s bedroom. My old man kept cash in an unlocked lock box in his walk in closet. With his gun. I used the cards first because I knew they’d be shut off quick. I paid for bus fare and bought a shit ton of food at the convenience store: shitty sandwiches, Nyquil, Cheetos and Red Bulls.

When I got to Columbus I paid two months’ rent at the Y and got a cheap cell phone. I panhandled enough money to run off some flyers advertising personal training services that I posted around campus. Back in Jersey, I developed my own routine of total body weight exercise. I used the professional black and white photo of me, looking tight as hell, above my name and title: Jermy Łęgowik, INTENSE PERSONAL TRAINER. I fringed the bottom of each flier with tabs of my phone number. Truth be told, I wasn’t in the greatest shape when I hit Ohio. But, I worked out like hell after I put up those fliers. If I was gonna pull this off, I’d at least need to look like a real personal trainer, again. Since I didn’t have any demands on my time, I could work out six hours a day if I wanted to. Here I was in a new town coming off of an Oxy addiction without an income and all the time in the world and I still couldn’t drag my ass to the gym. I found myself lookin’ to score from some of the dudes down the hall. The Y has a strict policy but shit still happens. I got a lot of noise in my head and I need something to turn it way down. Preferably something prescription strength.

A few weeks later, and just in time too because my five thousand had dwindled to around seven hundred, one person from the tear-away called. His name was Ezra; He seemed pretty cool and as we talked I found out we liked some of the same music and games. He was an ex-Juggalo. As tempting as it is, I never became an official Juggalo. I was more into martial arts, Oxys, Perkys, banging crazy fuckin’ gym chicks and losing my jobs.

When we met face to face in the Y lobby, he smelled like cigarettes and weed. He wore his hair shoulder length but it didn’t look like he could even grow a moustache or beard. He looked pretty chill but could tell fitness was def not his thing. Zero muscle tone and wide hips. Man boobs. A druggy body, soft like a girl.

“30 bucks for half an hour.”

“The flier says 20 for an hour.”

“I think you read it wrong.” I got confused and wondered if I really put twenty on the flier; I didn’t have any handy for reference. It looked like he was gonna start to walk away. I don’t know… his body twitched and it looked like he was turning around.

So I said quick, “But, that’s cool. Twenty.”

“Look… I got forty. If I give you forty what do I get?”

“An hour and…” I tried to calculate, but I was terrible at math. “… Two hours.”

“I won’t be able to last two hours working out. Can we steam or sauna or something?”

“Yeah… sure… whatever. You’re payin.’”

I got Ezra into the gym at the Y on a guest pass. I had no idea how I would get him back in after my limited amount of guest passes was gone, but by the looks of this dude he probably wouldn’t even make it through one of my sessions. In fact, I decided right then I’d run this guy extra hard so maybe he wouldn’t come back and I wouldn’t have to worry about it. That’s also when I remembered how much actual personal training and working out sucked anyway.

“Where can I put this?” He held up his back pack.

“We can store it in my room.”

When we got to my room, more like a cell, he threw his bag on the bed. He had a girlish face and roundish hips. I was taking him in. His ass was huge. Being off drugs and all the working out I was doing recently had made me really horny, and I was definitely having too many thoughts. Now, as far as dudes go, I’m not so sure if that’s my thing. I don’t have much experience there other than with produce up my ass. But, the more I explore the kink sites at the public library (they say you can’t do it- there’s always a work around), I’m finding I kinda dig chicks with dicks. Or even just a dude dressed up like some skank. It’s kind of like a fantasy of mine. Would that make me gay? I turned- before it could get any more awkward- and held the door open for him.

“Okay… let’s hit it.”

In the gym, I took Ezra through some basic calisthenics; before long he was huffing like he never moved a muscle in his life. He growled and whined a little. His big, girly hands almost couldn’t keep a grip on the bar. It was pretty funny. He was like some hillbilly bitch. Then I made him do some squats and it’s like he lost his equilibrium after three. He wasn’t even doing them weighted. I think he has a female’s center of balance. I made him try it three more times before letting him squat using a weight ball against a wall to support his gloppy ass. Three sets of five deep knee squats, butt lower than knees. Otherwise, it doesn’t work. After that, we moved to free weights. I had a hard time keeping myself from losing it watching him puff through all this. Shit was fuckin’ comedy gold. I swear… better than reruns of Seinfeld!

“Start with these five pound dumbbells.” He did like seven reps and then dropped the bells to the floor with a huge clang.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

He disappeared into the locker room for about fifteen minutes. When he came back, he was all red. His face was soaked.

“I think I’m done for the day. You wanna go smoke a bowl?”

“You ok, man? You were gone a minute.”

“Oh… yeah… bowel problems. I’m an ICP fanatic with IBS.” Even though he was convincing, I didn’t believe him.

“You got some weed?”

“Yeah… some dank.”


KEN, oil on mirror, copyright 1994 GPD

When we got back to his place, I saw that his roommates were these bed-bug infested pagans… man, they had it bad. Man, as soon as I entered their “lair” as they called it, Beluga was on me like white on the Klan; I was fresh meat. My body hasn’t completely gone to hell. Beluga was pretty ugly, but- one thing I’ve learned- ugly chicks will fuck the shit out of you. She was round like a flesh colored Christmas ornament with a shriveled arm that was pretty much useless but for knocking stuff out of the way or hitting folks. Turns out she could beat a motherfucker senseless with that arm and not feel a thing. This smokin’ goth chick named “Heather” also lived there with her 6’4” bi lover, Mouse. Myryan was rail thin with big tattoos on each of her limbs. She was so-so looking with make-up on, but without it, forget it. Beluga, was like the head witch, I suppose because she was always tryna give somebody head.

“Yeah… we’re all Gardnerian Witches. And poly.” Said Heather. I hadn’t been introduced to Polly yet but I hoped she was a red hot as Heather.

“And bi.” Added Ezra maybe a little too excited. His lips looked really wet all of the sudden.

“And ALL gender nonspecific.” Shot Myryan with a bit of snark. Myryan was coming off as bitch so far. And I know I can come off like a real dude, but I think I’m pretty open-minded.

As I looked around, I noticed they had crooked pictures of Indian chiefs, men made out of leaves and dream catchers hanging above the smears, drifts of dirty dishes, diapers and filthy toys. The place smelled like fast-food grease, feet with slow moving undercurrents of unwashed snatch.

Right after we were introduced, Beluga asked me if I knew anything about plumbing. I guess her kitchen sink and garbage disposal were clogged. I told her I was a licensed plumber back home. But the truth was, I dropped out the apprenticeship my dad helped me get due to my little pharmaceutical problem. I went into the kitchen looking around at the mess of dirty dishes shoved everywhere including in the oven and fridge. Beluga followed me, with her bright red hand on my back, through the mountains of clothing and trash. The closer she was, the more pungent the odor was coming from her.

“There it is.”

Islands of smeared plates, pans and silverware poked out of the brown water flooding the sink.

“Uhhh… ok. Do you have any gloves?”

“Myryan!” She screamed. “Get me some gloves.”

“Fuck you, heifer. Get ‘em yerself.”



“Can you get me some gloves to clean out the drain?”

She rubbed my arm and gave me a twice over. I was checking her out too. Seriously, when I looked at Beluga I saw someone who needed to lay off the protein and carbs and take a walk somewhere. Maybe eat something that wasn’t boxed scalloped potatoes and cat hair enriched meatloaf. She was desperate for a fuck; half crazed and with tons of abandonment issues, this broad was coming off with the heavy sex vibes the more she talked. Mouse bowed through the doorway with a pair of dirty pink mittens in his hand.

“I don’t think those are gonna work for what I need to do.” I said, after considering just taking them out of politeness.

“Do you think someone can work on a sink with those? Is that what you think, you fuckin’ moron? I swear, sometimes I think these men can’t do anything but make babies.” She snorted storming off- in that moment I realized she looked and kinda acted like a white-trash Miss Piggy. Mouse and I stood there in awkward silence for a moment before she returned with some brittle, hole-ridden rubber gloves that had dried adhesive caked on what was left of the fingers. As I emptied the sink, I tried to control my thoughts and I must’ve been talking the whole time because she finally said, “Would you just shut the fuck up for a second and look over here.” When I did she had taken her stretch pants off and was straddling a kitchen chair. She worked three fingers in and out of her bright red vag with one hand and held her stomach out of the way with the other. You wouldn’t think that the fabric of stretch pants provides much of a stench barrier… I wouldn’t’ve thought so either… but believe me… the smell of that thing uncovered nearly knocked me over. Holy shit. Worse than the stench of the stuff that was emptying out of the sink.

“Not that it’s not tempting… but, if it’s all the same to you… I want to get this done.” I was struggling to not say fuck it and haul my ass outta there. “Do you have any tools?”

She sat forward, resting her arms on the back of the caned seat, and glared at me with her glassy eyes. Her mouth was kinda open and the bottom of her belly sagged in front of her gaping cunt.

“Oh, Jesus. What… like a hammer?”

“Maybe. But, more like a wrench. Maybe a wrench and hammer both.”

She went to a drawer by the refrigerator. “What’s it look like?”

“What’s what look like?”

“What you said? A ranch?”

“A wrench.” She didn’t know what a fuckin’ wrench was. “A long handle thing with adjustable jaws.”

There was a pissed off rattling and clanking as she shoved shit around the drawer. But then it stopped suddenly. When I looked to see if she’d found something, she was glaring at me again and licking her thin, pale lips. She held out a screwdriver that smelled like cat shit.

“It’s clean. Mr. Flatters mistook our old toolbox for a cat box.” Said Mouse, leaning on the refrigerator and watching us with an amused expression. He kept the pipe clamped in his jaws, even when he spoke. “But I doubt you’ll be using that to fix the drain. We don’t have any wrenches because some dumb bitch threw them out with the old toolbox.”

“Oh, fuck you, crusty dick.” Said Myryan from the other room. The babies were screaming somewhere in the house.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s