Brush Creek Charlie, D. B. Reynolds [top non fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

crept their way across her shoulders.
Carol’s fingers worked their way down into the skin, going straight to the tense muscles and joints. A draft of warm, mesmerizing breath drifted around her ears, then on the side of her face. Sandy making love to Carol never felt better.
“Let’s head to the bedroom to finish this up,” Sandy initiated, her voice seductively inviting.
“Don’t mind if we do,” Carol replied, pulling her shirt halfway up to entice Sandy.
“Whew! It’s getting sort of hot in here.”
“We can cool each other off or steam each other up. The choice is up to you.”
Sandy and Carol closed the door to their bedroom. Non-stop erotic pleasures took them beyond dimensions in which only the lovers enjoyed.


CHAPTER—24

All the willpower in the world couldn’t help Charlie escape out of the body he’d been cursed with. Mirrors became his worst enemy. Looking at his reflection simply demolished his self-esteem. A badly-pitted face and downright wrecked dental work inflicted a self-hatred upon him which could’ve never been explained. Voices. Demonic voices. Misleading voices. They spoke to him in frightening overtones. The harsh reasoning of “if only” punished his sense of mental and emotional well-being.
If only I could clear my face. If only I could get some of my teeth straightened and others replaced. If only I could have a pair of cajones and a prick to have mad sex with a woman. If only I didn’t go to Vietnam and take part in murdering innocent women and children in cold blood. If only women were interested in me, I’d get my self-esteem back, possibly go out on regular dates. If only I could make myself accessible amongst crowds, I’d take on the attitude that I can conquer the world. For Charlie, all of the “if onlys” were wishful thinking.
His hatred for women grew by the day. Still, the voices of demonic dimensions spoke to him. Go down to Brush Creek once again. Once you get to Brush Creek, you won’t have to dump a dismembered body into the sewage infested waters. Just go there and disrupt the harmony of nature. Find animals to kill and sacrifice to the misgivings of Brush Creek. Before acting on the commands given by these voices, Charlie heard loud music coming from the first floor. Stepping into the hallway, the crooning voice of Luther Vandross faltered up and down the stairways.
“Those faggots are at it again!” Charlie sizzled through clenched teeth. “The lords of all gaylords down there are always complaining about me making noise up here.”
The only way for Derrick and Mitchell to hear complaints voiced by Charlie is for him to make a trip down the flight of stairs. And he did just that. He knocked several times. Derrick opened the door nursing a frosty bottle of beer. A lousy odor of hard alcohol blew from his mouth. A host of other gay men trotted over by the door to be nosy.
Charlie moved one leg closer inside their apartment. “Guys, I know I’ve been known to make some noise from time-to-time upstairs. But these wild parties are happening every weekend and it’s gotten to the point of being annoying.”
Derrick swagged his head. “Charlie, you seem to be the only one here at The Rosenburg complaining. Now, if Mitchell and I went to the management about that workshop castastrophe you’ve been up there creating, you would’ve gotten thrown out of here a long time ago. We’ve been fair with you, and you should be fair with us.”
Charlie moved himself closer inside the apartment.
Derrick stamped his hand at the middle of his chest. “Charlie, you don’t wanna come in here.”
“Being around lots of gay men doesn’t bother me,” Charlie sustained. “As long as they keep their hands to themselves. You know, just don’t get the wrong idea.”
“Charlie, I’m telling you, you don’t wanna come in here.”
The odor of all-male sex saturated the air. In both bedrooms, gay male sex took place. Derrick and Mitchell weren’t ashamed. The abomination of carnal homosexuality knew no boundaries within their apartment. Charlie looked across the front room and the biggest surprise threw him way off guard. A gay male porn movie played on a sixty-inch television.
“Shucks, man!” Charlie detested, a disfiguring twist around his mouth. “How disgusting to watch those kinda movies.”
“And that’s why I told you that you didn’t need to come in here,” Derrick defended.
“Sure, you did warn me ahead of time.”
“If you’re not indulging, then don’t complain.”
“Let me tell you something, Derrick. I’m one-hundred percent certified man. I’m straighter than the straightest arrow. We’ve been neighbors long enough here at The Rosenburg for you to know that.”
Watching two men do one another. Charlie just couldn’t stand one second of it. The gay lifestyle wasn’t for him.
“Will you guys be done before midnight?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
In the sweetest, yet feminist voice, Derrick said, “If all the boys here are satisfied, then we might be tired out and ready to close up shop. Why’d you ask, Charlie?”
“No particular reason.”
“Something going on at midnight?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you going to start all that bamming and kicking and jumping up there again?”
“Not on your life.”
“Are Mitchell and I gonna have to show up at your front door with the police?”
“Never the police.”
Derrick observed the pits embedded in Charlie’s face. The frown he disguised from his face he let loose inside his guts. Charlie faced enough humiliation in his lifetime. Several men appeared from out of both bedrooms in the back of the sex-saturated apartment. They wiped sweat from their faces. They buckled up their pants. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out they’d engaged in male group sex.
“My timing’s way off,” Charlie said. “I can see that I showed up at the wrongest of times.”
“Look, Charlie,” Derrick snuffed, huffing breaths of femininity. “We’ve been neighbors for quite some time. You already know that Mitchell and I are two gay men. You also know that we invite a lot of our gay male friends over from time-to-time. What goes on in our place is our business, and it’s our business only. What goes on in your place upstairs is your business. Be it anyone, straight or gay, what they do in the privacy of their homes and in the privacy of their bedrooms, it’s between them and that other person.”
Charlie clapped lightly. “Very well said, Derrick. Just go on and keep doing what you’ve been doing.”
“Mitchell and I have both worked for the IRS for over twenty years. All the people at the IRS know we’re an interracial gay couple. We don’t care if they accept us or not. We’re in love.”
Charlie’s nerves slipped into wrecked mode. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you work for the IRS?”
“Yes, you heard right.”
“The IRS building down on Pershing Road?”
“Yes, the IRS building at 333 Pershing Road. Something wrong with that?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. We’ve been neighbors all these years and I’ve never known where you guys work.”
“Why are you looking like you’ve been sentenced to death?”
“No reason in particular.”
“Excuse me,” Derrick said in his signature sassy voice. “We are working class people who know the meaning of earning a paycheck.”
Charlie wanted to pick Derrick’s brain. “So, did you know the woman who worked for the Internal Revenue that the jogger found in Brush Creek?”
Derrick shifted his emotions into overkill. “My baby Lisa Wallace. The nicest, the sweetest, the kindest woman in the whole wide world. The savage fucking beast who killed her and chopped her body up, I hope they find the bastard and do something a hundred times worse to him. I hope he burns in hell forever and ever.”
Derrick didn’t know that he was in the presence of Lisa Wallace’s killer. The beast who killed and mutilated her stood right before him. No remorse touched a single nerve throughout Charlie’s body.
“Quite a shame what happened to her. You just can’t trust a soul on this Earth.”
Two gay males slipped up from behind and fondled the more private parts of Derrick. This sent serious signals to Charlie.
“Well Charlie, as you can see, I’ve got some business to take care of. Guess I’ll be talking to you later.”
Derrick closed the door in his own polite fashion.
Charlie didn’t feel embarrassed or disrespected. He honored the fact that a group of homosexual men wanted to engage in more sex. He stepped outside and glanced up at the mysterious night skies.


CHAPTER—25

One of the remaining original concrete tunnels of Brush Creek ran south near the historical Leroy “Satchel” Paige Stadium. The well-manicured stadium faced the forever busy Swope Parkway and Deerbrook Apartments. Charlie parked his car near the intersection of Swope Parkway and Brush Creek Boulevard. The deep dark night presented itself as the perfect time for him to once again explore the demented world he’d been accustomed to. Raw sewage waters dripped from the top of the tunnel and down into more sewage waters and brush.
Squealing sounds echoed a few short yards away. Charlie heard those sounds before. Tunnels in Brush Creek were notorious for being occupied with large sewer rats. The familiarity sent him back to yet another episode of his time in Vietnam. Rat consumption skyrocketed into a booming business in Vietnam. Charlie witnessed the universality of this weird delicatessen and how it caught on with Vietnamese urbanites and American tourists. Rat meat actually turned out cheaper than poultry, beef, and pork. The rodents were easy to catch.
In a village filled with huts which’d become accustomed to cooking dogs and cats and snakes, were now cooking rats. Yummy! It’s exactly what those said who’d tasted the seasoned rodent meat. Charlie stepped into one of huts and looked around at the makeshift kitchen. Vietnamese chefs were steaming rat meat with lemon leaves. Large pots were stirred with sautéed meat with spring onions and herbs.