Channeling Bukowski


He awoke with the biggest erection he ever had in his life. He marveled at it for a moment before looking over at her. She was still sleeping. Exposing her ass to him driving him wild. She had a great ass. He remembered reading somewhere that dogs often would present to other dogs. He wondered if, even while sleeping, she knew that she could drive him crazy.


He pushed up against her, and she slightly wiggled. This was it. His ticket had just been stamped for a one-way trip to Lucky Town. He poked her again with what he called ‘his magnificence’. No response. He slowly started to rub her ass. Half-asleep, she rolls over and asks, “Hank, what are you doing?”

“What? Nothing, I just figured you were in the mood.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know, 2:30 or so.”

“It’s late.”

“I know but that never stopped us before.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do it.” He paused and thought momentarily, “Can I fuck your tits?”

“Can you what my what?

“Can I fuck your tits?”

“No. Are you out of your mind? Go back to sleep.”

“Come on, look at this thing. It’s magnificent if I do say so myself and you look so fucking hot.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re horny. I’m half-asleep.”

“Okay, how about you don’t have to do anything and I just fuck your feet?”

“I have to wash my feet first.”

“I’m sorry did you say you have to wash your feet first? I said fuck your feet, not wash your feet. Samantha, where are you going?”


She gets up stumbling into their bathroom. She lays a towel down onto the floor and stands on it. Turning on the water, she gets it to the correct temperature that she likes and lifts one foot and plops it down into the sink. She begins scrubbing her foot with soapy warm water. She continues on for a few minutes and tackles the second foot. When satisfied with her results, she dries them both off with the towel she draped on the floor. Still half asleep, she goes back to bed.


“What the hell was that about?” He asked.

“You said my feet stink.”

“I most certainly did not say that. I didn’t say anything of the sort. I was rubbing your ass to get you in the mood and casually mentioned it would be nice if I could fuck your tits and when you said no I asked if I could fuck your feet.”

“I couldn’t get in the mood because I had dirty feet.”

“You don’t have dirty feet. Now where were we?”

“We were going back to sleep. It’s late and I’m tired.”

“But what about all the feet washing? Don’t tell me it was all for naught?”


“Tomorrow? I was hoping for now.”

“Maybe you’re not really horny. Maybe you just have to pee. Go pee.”

“What? No. I don’t have to pee. I want you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not going to happen. I’m way too tired.”

“Okay how about this?”

“How about what?”

“How about I just jerk off on your leg while touching a boob?”


With this statement she jolts up in bed. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked him.

“What? Too much?”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.”


“I say no to sex and you immediately go to jerking off on my leg while touching my breasts.”

“Not both of them.”


“Just one. That’s all I need. One boob.”

With a disgusted sigh, she says, “Why don’t you just go back to sleep? Even if I were in the mood, you totally killed it.”


Feeling dejected, he left the bed and went into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and was disgusted with himself. Who in their right mind would offer to jerk off onto the leg of the woman that they love just because she wasn’t in the mood? Who does that? Not thinking too deeply on the subject and also not wanting his erection to go to waste. He decides that he will indeed take matters into his own hands. He’s all set and ready to treat his body like an amusement park when the lights turned on.


She stood there staring at him. He was like a deer caught in the headlights. She kept looking for a moment before walking over to him. Only this wasn’t the bathroom and he wasn’t jerking off. He was hunched over at his desk typing on the computer in his small office. “What are you doing? It’s really late.” She said to him.

“I couldn’t sleep so I thought I would write a little bit.” He replied.

She glances at the desk. A half bottle of whiskey and a well-read copy of Bukowski’s Post Office marked with yellow highlighter lay next to the keyboard. “Did you drink this whole bottle?” She asked him.

“Not all of it.”

“Funny.” She looks downwards at him, sitting at the desk. “Ummm. Where are your pants?”

“I don’t have any on.”

“You’re a real comedian tonight. I can see that you’re not wearing any pants. Where are they? You went to bed wearing them.”

He points towards near the door. There laid his crumpled pajama pants on the floor. “Can I ask why you’re not wearing them any longer?”

“This is how I write now.”

“Okay… That’s new. What are you writing anyway?” She stood behind him and began reading what he had written. “Are you Hank in this story? Is Samantha supposed to be me?”

“No, Well yeah, I mean sort of. No, it’s not us. You know what I mean?”

“No, I have no clue what you mean.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Change it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Change it. You make us sound like idiots. Fucking feet and tits? How would you even go about fucking a foot?”

“Well you take the feet and you put them both together and make a makeshift vagina out of them.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve fucked someone’s feet before we met.”

“Oh no, it’s all research, baby.”

She stands over his shoulder and re-reads it again. “This is not what you usually write about.”

“I’m delving into territories. Broadening my genres.”

“You know I’ll support whatever it is that you want to do, but this isn’t you. This is you trying to emulate someone that you’ve admired since college. This is you trying to see what happens when you take whiskey and a pen to paper together.” She puts her arm around his shoulder and kisses his head. “I think you need to re-find your voice again. Go back to some of the older stuff you written and compare it with some of the newer stuff. You’ll see exactly where you found your voice as your writing became stronger. You have to find it again.”

“That’s not a totally terrible idea. I can do that.”

“I also think it’s time that you do two things.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Lay off the ‘The Buk’ and lay off the sauce.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do or do not. There is no try.”

“Did you just Yoda quote me?”

“Hanging around with you long enough you learn to pick up a few things. I’m going back to sleep.”

She started heading out of the office and back to the bedroom. “You coming to bed?” She asked.

“Soon.” He replied. “I’m just going to finish up here.”

“Don’t stay up too late. We have a lot of things we have to do in the morning.”

“I won’t. I’ll be right there.”

“And stop drinking.”



She brought up a good point. He did like her idea of ‘re-finding his voice’. He would sort through older works and compare it with newer ones. Then he thought, have I really lost my voice? He re-read what he initially wrote. He thought about what she said again. He could tone it down some for her sake. He could change things around, not be as crass or suggestive. He could go searching again for his voice.


He re-reads over his untitled work again and he smiled. It was a half-tired, half-drunk kind of broad smile. He wasn’t going to change a thing. He went back to bed wondering if it was too late to see if Samantha wanted to have sex.



The End





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