"Hey, man. Sure, have a seat. Relax." Stretched out himself, pointing his legs and spreading his toes in an extended hold before sighing and slumping back into his chair, example not taken by the interviewer, who was fussing with his bags.
"Thank you. It'll take me just a moment to get the equipment ready, then we can begin."
"Sure, no rush. Take your time. Say, you don't happen to have any string in there, do you?"
"Uh, no. Sorry. And don't touch the cables. Please take that out of your mouth!"
"Aw, man, it's such a good chew." He patted and stroked the snaking cables with his hand, tilting his head. Will they move?
"How did you live so long? Or not die from electrocution?" He arranged the recorder on the table, pushed a button. "Okay, go when ready."
His radiant black hair was immaculate. "It was a bachelor's dream life, man! Late nights, smokin', prowling the neighborhood, no ring around my neck to say I was taken or whipped. Just me and my man, hanging, enjoying life.
"The ladies? Oh, we loved the ladies! But, you know, the ladies don't always love you back. They're a tough game to play. But I was a great wingman...sure! Most can't say no to me, especially when I bust out my special moves, with my special sound. Rrrrrrmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmm, yeah! Got my man into some space to make special sounds of his own, he and the lady we were romancing. Yeah.
"What? No, I had a couple of years of love-making. I don't know where I lost them...back then, in those days, I'd lose myself days at a time, just kind of fade out then a day or two or three later, bam!, I'd come back to myself. Sometimes I'd be in the back yard, sometimes blocks away, my dick tired and my body sore, ears all scratched up. But I'd pound on the back door, he'd let me in and we'd have some chow, maybe a drink out of the toilet, talk about shit. You know, the usual guy banter after someone's gotten some pussy.
"I was about three I think when I lost my head for a couple of days, and when I came to my ear was seriously messed up. I think I got a bite that got infected, too. Man, those things smell! So my man put me in the box inside the bigger box and we went to that place, the house of fear, and they cleaned me up. And it was a few days after that that I noticed, Hey! My balls are gone. I looked for them for awhile, but I never found them.
"But it was cool. That's when I developed my killer wingman routine, helping out my man. Good times.
"Now, I heard some of those house-bound folks say the life I lived—the life we lived—was immoral. You know: decent folks don't run the streets, don't drink from the toilet, crap in the yard, blah blah blah. Their yards are crap-filled! Their minds are dull! Their man doesn't love them like mine did me! Yeah, that's right. You know how I know? Because when I was an old, old man, so old I couldn't even hardly remember what pussy smelled like, my man invites into our house some friends, and these friends have a friend of theirs, and Oh man! She is fine, young and fine and she likes me. Yes she does! Follows me around, sits next to me, washes my face. Yeah, I shared my blanket with her. You know what I'm saying? 'Cause I knew what was coming. And when she was ready, when the intense heat of life came on her, there I was, and I didn't need a wingman to help me with this lady! We got it on, right there in they foyer. I felt like I was two again. Two months later I came here, but it's cool. I like going out on a high note.
"God doesn't send you a virgin if your yard is full of crap. No way. My house was right, and me and my man lived a righteous bachelor life, right up to the end. Somebody up there, up here, loves me. That's for damn sure.
"Now, let me chew on that cable. Can't hurt me now!"