I think we’ll have fun,
one of them said back.
949-555-6879.
**********
They were at El Prado. He had mineral water. She had high alcohol content ale. She was maybe 90 lbs, Chinese and 22. So this could happen, he thought. He asked: how was your day.
To be honest, I just got out of jail.
Well it’s settled, he thought.
He liked her. She was a painter and she went to jail for stealing paint. A tube of cobalt blue costs $65 apparently. She’d had to spread her vagina and ass in a cold auditorium while sheriff’s deputies searched for needles. At some point a busload of black male inmates got carted in and started yelling at her, told her hey ninja I’m a eat that sideways pussy. Every other woman was menstruating. The jail toilet was clogged and walled in by a mountain of bloody pads. When the trustee came around with more pads she said no and got yelled at. People keep them as toilet seat cushions. You don’t say no to anything. If you don’t want Kool Aid, you keep it to trade. They mix it with vaseline and make lipstick. I never hated women before but I don’t understand them now, she said. Who the fuck are you wearing lipstick for. I’ve had enough period smell to get my ovaries cut out, she said.
The night wound down and he said: I walked here. Drive me back up the hill. He took her to the park in back to hear the owls. Got her tits out in the moonlight. Inside he put on “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun” They got naked. He got on top of her on the mattress he’d put out for a kid he was babysitting. Got ready to go in.
What if I have AIDS, she said.
Well now you got it twice.
She told him don’t cum in me seven minutes in. Civilization has collapsed and I am a scavenger, he thought. She did have a sideways pussy.
**********
They were at El Prado. He had Kombucha. She had Sauvignon Blanc. He’d been fired that day. He’d been sober three months. It was his first date since he stopped drinking. His first normal person. He told her this. Well fuck, she said. What am I getting myself into.
I’m also on a new path of trying to be honest. And not use other people.
From AA?
Yeah.
Fuckin weird, she said. But I guess it’s a relief.
What do you mean.
I mean your profile makes it seem like you just drink and fuck skanks, and it scared me. My friends told me not to go out with you.
I can see why they’d say that.
Is that what you’re going to do to me? Take me home and fuck me on your couch and never talk to me again?
Not the last part.
How do I know that?
Look, I wouldn’t believe me either. But I’m going to be honest. This is my last OKCupid date. My sponsor told me to get off it. He told me not to go out with you, actually. But I’m glad I did. There’s a thing about you, fuck– I fucking suck at this. I just like you a lot. I want to see you again.
Are you saying this so I’ll come home with you?
No, he said.
You sure?
I’m sure, he said. I’m not like that anymore.
How to Pick Up Girls
The phone rings in your pocket and you think it’s her. “I went on that date and realized it was a mistake. Let’s move in together and never stop fucking” she’ll say. It’s Time Warner Cable. An urgent change to the status of your account.
You wonder how it went but you know. She took his huge meaty unprotected cock and came around it a million times until she breathed fire and was full of his offspring. She made that face you like when she’s on top. Weird look of concentration, like a sorceress. Better with him than with you. They have a mortgage now probably. In a year you’ll see her on the street gravid with yuppie eggs, pushing their firstborn in the number one safety rated sport stroller.
Call my sponsor. I gotta get this out of my head, I tell him. I know emotions are healthy but this is sickness.
Did you tell her how you feel, he asks. This guy and his Ward Cleaver pussy advice. Look, I’m sure she figured it out. Anyway I’m gonna get on OKCupid and go slay some ass. No, he tells me. Those internet girls are disgusting. You can go jerk off into some fat degenerate or you can find a real woman. Start a real relationship. Quality girls don’t have to go on OKCupid. They get hit on all the time.
Why then would I add myself to that dogpile. Plus, I don’t know what internet you’re on but mine is chockablock with nubile teen ass. But he’s right, he’s right. Go talk to a woman tomorrow, he says. This is your assignment.
Next morning I go to the coffee shop. It’s all men. Bearded whiteboys hunched over Tumblr. A fat guy reads Thomas Piketty’s Capital. The book of the summer. I’ve been waiting for someone to ask about it at a party. I haven’t read it, I’ll say, but I looked at a precis. I will pronounce precis like the douche I am. It will impress her. First I have to get invited to a party.
On the back patio there’s one woman. Gigantic ass. Face like a Mexican dwarf with Downs syndrome, but forgivable. I should talk to her. Check off my homework. Excuse me, miss. I couldn’t help but notice your fat pudenda clearly defined in your half sheer black yoga pants. Your chubby cunt crack looks like it’s about to come to life and say feed me like Little Shop of Horrors. I’d like to bury my raw helmet in those sweaty yeasty folds, all pungent in the summer heat. Let me know your thoughts. I say nothing.
Another one sits. She is cute, maybe 25. Before that awful dry season at 28 when girls have to get their shit together. Wholesomely pretty. Miss Clairol red hair. Not too red, just enough that she can call herself a ginger on the internet. Out of shape skinny but she’s feeling the top of her own tits, maybe taking a pet hair off her shirt. She has a framed canvas. She is drawing on it. Excuse me, miss. What are you drawing there. Is it my rigid purple cock spraying a hot salty load on your Miss Clairol hair, because if so you are really reading my mind. I say nothing.
Woman in purple yoga pants carrying a baby. The pregnancy weight made her ass floppy. I want to spread the crack open. Bury my face in it. Tongue out her hemorrhoidal postnatal asshole. Mount her and blast on her battered cervix so the kid has a little brother to grow up with. Her jiggly fat white girl thighs. Her soft functional maternity exercise clothing. Her war zone of a cunt. Something primal about it. Proof that her womb yields fruit. She is talking to the waitress, answering some question about the kid. His hair. She must get sick of talking about it. He can walk. He’s roaming free and climbing on the furniture. Clumsy. He’ll fall on the polished cement and crack out all his teeth. Permanently warp his skull. She has a fanny pack full of products for cleaning out his ass.
Now he’s making that baby eye contact with me. Awkward. Sorry for thinking those things about your mom. Enjoy that banana. He smiles at me. She looks. I say nothing.
It’s too hard. I leave and go to the gym. There are girls there too but headphones, iphones. Civilization was built to give women tools to avoid me. The day is a bust.
Try again the next morning. On the way to the cafe I pick up a copy of L.A. X-Press, the hooker paper. A girl works the counter. I have to speak to a woman. Jesus Christ, I tell her. I hold the paper up. These whores are disgusting.
Yeah?
Seriously, look at this. I show her. Sexy Alejandra has a 1/3d page color ad. She’s maybe 65. Body like a white tall kitchen trash bag after you’ve been stomping chicken bones down in it for three weeks. Her lips are full of sheep fat. I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick, I tell the girl.
Oh wow, she says.
And dudes are out there paying for this.
Wow.
I’m sorry for carrying this paper in here. But it’s interesting, you know, they have real world news. Like look, there’s an article about Honduras.
Wow, you never see that.
But you wonder who looks at the brutally murdered Palestinian teen and then wants to fuck a hooker.
Maybe, she says, the idea is that you get so worked up over the pain of the world that you nee
d an erotic massage.
Could be.
I actually like the horoscopes in that one.
Against all odds she is interested. I should keep saying stuff. The Mamas and the Papas is playing. The next thing I would say is: I can’t hear this band without thinking of Papa John Phillips rawdogging his passed out daughter on her 18th birthday. He wrote all their songs, you know. But the girl, I can’t see myself fucking her. So what’s the point. I order tea and leave it alone. The paper tells me new friends could appear on the scene, Pisces.
At night I go to AA. Astrid comes too, because last time she drank she pissed herself and I had to put her in a chokehold to get her upstairs. Afterward a cute girl talks to me. You look exactly like a guy I know, she says. My cousin. You ever flick the bean to him after a family beach outing, I want to ask . She was across from me at the big church table. I’d been eyefucking her all night. Once in a while she’d look up and our eyes would meet. Well here, I say, let me take a picture of myself. You can send it to him. She texts herself the picture. We’re going to Two Boots after, she said. Do you want to come. But I had to take Astrid home. And showing up with Astrid was the only reason this girl spoke to me in the first place. This was AA meeting #150 for me. AA meeting # 1 where I showed up with a tart in a tight dress. #1 where a girl spoke to me after. I hate women.
Well good, my sponsor tells me when I tell him the news. You got a girl’s phone number in real life. Now ask her out.
But I don’t want to. She seems too normal. And I don’t want a girl anyway. Not yet. I want to sit at home alone a few more nights reading that stupid poem and being a pussy about it.
I go home. I have a facebook message from this actress my brother fucked back East. She’s out here now. Once every three months I look at her work on youtube. Jerk off to it and think: I should ask her out.
I liked your story, she says.
Thanks.
I don’t agree with everything you write about but you’re more compassionate than you’d think.
I try to be.
I love your brother to death. From what little I know it seems you guys had a difficult childhood.
Yeah, I tell her. Really my childhood was fine. Why kill the momentum.
I had a lot of that same shit too. A lot of abuse. It’s hard to carry the weight of all that around. I’m glad you’re doing the AA thing.
Thank you.
I’ve wondered if I had a sex addiction.
Yeah?
Like a lot of the time all I want is to fuck or watch porn and masturbate and it’s a huge distraction.
Is it fucking up your life? I’ve found the 12 step thing helpful.
Like last night before I went to bed I took a picture. In case I woke up and wanted to send it to a guy.
She’s a human being who hurts and you are too. You want another girl and you’re just using someone to forget that for a minute. This will help nobody. This will definitely fuck you up. You know this. You know this. You type “come over.” Do you hit send or what.
Take Me Home Tonight
He was lit and he went to the back patio for a cigarette. It was Monday and the crowd wasn’t bad. Two to one ratio but one cute girl smoking alone. Mexican in Converse. 1981 Love and Rockets.
You look like the girl who blew Eric Stoltz in Rules of Attraction, he said. He knew she would know it.
Haha– that’s not the only thing she did in that movie.
The less said about the rest the better.
I actually love that movie.
Me too. It was the first time I learned that people wipe their ass while they’re still sitting down. That split screen scene with fuckin cinder block head James Van Der Beek.
I thought he was hot.
You live around here?
Yeah.
With your family?
Why, cuz I’m Mexican?
Yes.
No, I have a job and I pay rent. I went to college and I’m not pregnant, Sean Bateman.
The night is young.
Haha. What about you?
Up the hill.
You here alone?
I am.
Why?
I’m an alcoholic.
Me too apparently, she said. So what, you come here to pick up girls?
I come here to get drunk. Sometimes shit happens by accident.
I bet you do OK. He took a drag. She did too. I used to go out to pick up boys too but I’m through with that shit now. You never know what you’re gonna get.
Usually I got a pretty good idea.
You don’t have any bad stories?
Not really. Actually– buddy of mine just told me one.
Oh, your buddy.
No, seriously.
Tell me.
He was on a rugby team back in Boston. They’d play on Saturdays and then go get wasted all smelly and covered in grass stains. Not just booze, they’d do all kinds of coke and special K and shit.
OK.
They were at one of those Boston places. I don’t know if you’ve been but there are a million bars called like Fergus O’Flanahan’s with shamrocks all over. And, like, murmurs the owner was in the IRA.
Yeah.
They’re hammered playing pool. And there’s one hot girl in the bar. By herself. She looks like 19, he told me, and fucking cute as hell. Little blonde girl. She’s got an Eddie Money T shirt on and weird eyes. So they think she must be an ironic art student and steer clear.
Haha.
But one of the guys starts talking to her, and she is fuckin shithouse. I mean, she is slurring the fuck out of her words and can barely stand up. And they’re all like this too, but they have coke, they’re still standing. She keeps talking to them. They can’t figure out what the fuck she’s saying but she’s laughing her ass off, like screaming laughing, having the time of her life. And they’re giving her bumps in the shitter stall in the men’s room and they ask her to come back to this apartment they had. A couple of the guys lived there. This is the 90’s before drunk sex was rape. They’re like 22 at the time so it’s a basement and they probably still had a beer pong table.
He lit another cigarette. She did too.
They get her back– they get her back and just immediately start running a train. She still has her socks on and one guy’s making out with her and another guy’s eating her pussy and then they put her on the beer pong table and one guy’s getting his dick sucked and the other guy’s fucking her. And my buddy goes in the bathroom and gets– this one guy has cocoa butter, they all make fun of him for it because he probably uses it to fuck his leather couch– anyway my buddy gets the cocoa butter and they flip her on her side and they go full air tight. He’s fucking her in the ass, another guy in the face, another guy in the pussy. These guys are jocks, they’re not afraid of balls touching.
Oh God.
He told me she had a shitty ass but he was so wasted at this point. The rest of the guys are standing around jerking off and he gets them in and they get it so she has no weight on her arms and they get another guy’s dick in each hand. There has to be some word for it, the pentagram or something. She has five dicks going at once. Face pussy ass hand hand. A dude runs up to grab the one roommate’s fancy camera he uses to photograph birds and takes pictures. They got a bunch of coke left and they just keep doing this all night until they finally pass out. I bet the guys who fuck her pussy just blasted in her, no questions asked.
And the whole time she is screaming her head off, even with a dick in her mouth, he’s fucking her asshole doggy style and she’s pushing her butt back, and my buddy, good looking dude, he’s fucked a lot of girls. Never in my life, he tells me, has a girl loved dick like this. She’s an animal.
Lucky night for him, she said.
Anyway. They all pass out. She’s on the couch. Next morning they get up and she’s still faded as fuck. Still slurring her words and shit and can’t walk properly. Still giggly. They’re gonna take her home and so one guy asks where she lives. And she
says: I don’t know.
Haha.
They’re like what? How do you not know where you live? She just keeps saying I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know. Someone makes breakfast and she’s eating and she gets scrambled eggs all over her face and she’s just– not recovering. And it dawns on them.
What?
She’s retarded. Like severely retarded. Actually– anyone who can talk is only mildly retarded, you know, clinically. But you get the idea.
Whoa!
And they keep asking her where do you live, where do you live, and she says I don’t know where I live. They’re trying to say it all slow. One guy draws a picture of a house with a sun and a tree and stuff and makes a shrug gesture like– “home? Where home?” Just, I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know. They ask her so many times she starts crying.
Oh my God.
Finally they just drop her off at a 7-11.
Holy shit.
I know, right?
Did they feel bad about it?
He didn’t, but he’s a pig.
She laughed a little. That story’s kind of hot.
Yeah, I’ve jerked off to it.
He took his last drag. She did too. So what are you doing now, she said.
I don’t know. You want to come up the hill with me?
Mayyyyyyyyyyybe, she said. But I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fuck you.
No need to get ahead of ourselves.
I kind of have a boyfriend.
… how long?
Kind of long. But I kind of want to go home with you too.
Nothing bad’s going to happen.
OK, she said. Let me close my tab.
I’m gonna drain the lizard. I’ll meet you back at the bar.
Now you sound like you do this all the time.
First time the girl’s talked about her boyfriend though, he said. Feels a little unfair.
He saw her face change. He knew he’d gone too far.
The Pussy Page 11