Excerpts from the upcoming novel BOOZEHOUND


The redhead plays pool at the table adjacent to us. She leans on the table, stick aiming, intense concentration. I’m envious of those sleeve tattoos—sexy murals frolicking around her pale shoulders and arms. Here’s my chance. We walk over, very slowly, Steve McQueen cool. She glances over. I gaze at her. She doesn’t turn away.

“Dude, she’s eyeing you,” Dwayne informs  me loudly; he thinks he’s whispering, as he clutches my shoulder.

“Who?” asks Jenny.

“The redhead chick’s been eyeing Manuel this whole night. She wants some of that Mexican chorizo.”

“Oooh, yummy.” Jenny licks her thick red lips. She’s such a fucking tease.

Why in the hell is Dwayne telling me this in front of Jenny. Damn dude, you’re going to fuck everything up with Jenny. I’d never get to hold that Salma Hayek ass now. Then, oddly, I become happy he told her. A threesome? The mind wanders. Booze and weed work their magic. Yes, it’s going to happen.


“I got some balls you can play with, and since you’re a pro at shooting black balls in the hole, you’re in luck, bitch.”

“I prefer white balls.” I tell him.

“I got those too.”

Jake had them roaring. He reminded me of J.J. Evans, probably because his tight fro . Any minute he’d be bound to shout, “Dynomite!” I wonder how this skinny dude looks naked. A wicked imagination kicks in. The spotlight’s on Jake. He’s on the pool table. It’s a catwalk. Jake flaunts his stuff. He wears a silk Kimono with pink peonies. Jake the Geisha. The Crying Game meets Love’s Lounge. The golden sash is untied, a thin black leg revealed. The drunks are mesmerized by the African prince. He turns around and bends over, glancing over his left shoulder. The transparent Kimono outlines his butt crack.

The mood shifts just as Pachelbel’s Canon in D minor replaces the shitty garage metal the jukebox howled painfully the last few minutes. What’s with classical music in my imaginations?

The drunk mob chants. “What’s underneath! What’s underneath! What’s underneath!”

Jake moves slow motion-like to Pachelbel. It was exactly for this moment, here, now that Pachelbel had written his magnum opus. One thigh exposed, then the other. He blows a kiss at us. Or at me? He winks, licks his lips. Then, having our undivided attention, our very horny attention, he drops his robe. His cock is heaven! “Ay dios mio,” as grandma would say. All cocks and tits in the bar get excited. Boners galore! Underneath we witness Big Foot’s Cock, and underneath the beast, two large black 8 balls.

©2013 POZOLE.ink


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