City of Singles

by Jason Bryan

  When I first met her, she was always smiling, wanting to talk about happy things, how she loved her family and how much she admired her mom. A product of divorce like I am, she instead decided to try and love more instead of letting the rage from being abandoned get to her. Look where that’s lead her to now.

  Here she is, a bit older, a bit more beaten down in life. It hurts me to see someone without a bad-bone in her body getting used as she does. I look at her face and begin to imagine all of the girls who get into the porn business, used, grinded up like meat, fucked and facialed for the men of the world to jerk off to. Maybe porn whores are people too, like Karen, trying to eke out an existence for themselves. Maybe missing fathers made them crave male attention and receive it in the easiest route possible, Karen’s lucky to have a mother who put so much effort into teaching her good values. Without them, she could be just another internet meat hole, used by inconsiderate people for their own profit or pleasure. I carefully move off the couch, open my fridge, and pour a stiff whiskey on rocks.

  As chilled spirits touch my lips, the clanking of ice cubes around the cup fill my ears. It’s surprising how loud the little details are at 3:30 AM. The gate of my building rattles open as if the alley wanted to say good morning while popping ice cubes says good bye to sobriety. Sometimes it surprises me how fast I can drink a near full glass of whiskey, these three ice cubes don’t take up much room in this glass. Karen deserves to be with someone better, which is how I felt about the first girl I fell in love with. I couldn’t date someone who couldn’t be proud of who she was with.

  Tall, young, educated, and classy with perfect teeth, I couldn’t help but feel that I would ruin that chick. Karen deserves better than someone who would use her, and that other girl certainly deserved someone better than me. I loved how she would turn down any of my music with swearing and aggressive lyrics, the fact she had sensibilities to offend gave me a rush. I actually had to behave. The more I got to know her and her pure essence, the more I realized I couldn’t ever be with her. Why? I’d hate myself. I was sure I would bring her down to my level, rather than being able to pull myself up to hers. Maybe that was tradition thinking for me.

  A few years have gone by, wisdom now showing we would have met somewhere in the middle. Traditionalism can kill something before it’s even allowed to grow. Maybe that same social idealism prevents otherwise compatible people from ever believing in their love. So modern to feel that we’d be incompatible in the long term due to family reasons and status. Anything but by how we’d treat each other. My own family drowning in divorce and apathy. Uncles and aunts of mine fight like children, inventing spiteful nicknames for one another. So much so, my story to strangers and lovers became that I was orphaned. Her family is so close-knit and loving, I had thought there’s no way they’d accept me. I saw photos of them on Facebook and I pictured us together, gathered around her family dinner. Concerned parent faces wondering where they went wrong with their daughter. Then again, usually the raunchiest of chicks hide in plain sight. I laugh to myself and picture her on a mattress on the floor nude, doing lines of coke off the dick of some random hookup; unaware of her class.

  There’s a muffled noise from behind, looking behind me I see Karen rolling over on the couch. She’s all bundled up under the covers and looking so peaceful. I’m learning to appreciate the quiet moments as much as the ones full of bang pow boom.

  14 Thought Zombie

  Contemplating the universe with my dick in my hand, how it ever comes to this is anyone’s guess, but I know how it makes me feel. This warm tube appendage holds so much power and strength to keep one going, and to chart a course in life. My penis is the compass needle that should point in the direction of a friendly home port, carrying me across an ocean of possibilities. Instead, I wander and float, taking needed supplies from passing ships. Ancient sea faring people used the constellations to guide them, a sky full of beautiful heavenly lights. On a clear night in the middle of a calm ocean, I can only imagine the peace and simplicity of that moment; the opposite of my life.

  Blackbeard, my dick is Blackbeard. A poor choice of name, my pubic hair is a light brown, when it’s allowed to grow. The opening at the tip is a cannon port, firing rounds into or onto a girl to complete the fluid transaction. My second favorite position is when the girl is on top, leaning forward, her back arched for extra tension in her vagina. Memories of countless perky young tits float on my thought stream. Beautiful breasts bouncing against my face, my hands holding onto faceless hips while pushing it in deep. Finishing inside her, I always feel like I’ve accomplished something, a lack of that feeling when I waste cum on a stomach, tits, ass, back, or face. Visions of gold coins, parrot on my cock. I crack a smile. Little eye-patched sperm bandits, so eager to board another ship and wage war in wombs. My penis, the skull and crossbones on my underwear, pussy juice is as intoxicating to me as rum, a lust for plunder on the open seas of dating.

  If I had children by this point in my life, they’d be completely fucked up. I could have some out there and I wouldn’t even know.

  Rhythmic rain faintly pops and snaps, just me myself and I in the dark. A record that has reached its end, the needle as it marauds across the surface mimics the sound of cloudburst on my windows. I turn over onto my back and old springs under me groan and squeak. I can’t sleep. I’m kind of horny and my mind is racing, the slide show of ideas and thoughts turn to sexual memories, evoking exes and flings, their voices, their bodies. I was really popular among local nightclub girls in my early 20s, and all of the attention got to my head a few times. I hung out with my girlfriend and her friend all day at the beach, having fun and being flirty with both of them. Later in the day I was supposed to give the friend a ride home, a detour to my house for lusty, wordless, cheating sex. She was a petite and very sexy Asian girl, tiny ass and perky tits, her vagina’s labia was much darker than the rest of her skin, a deep brown. I came inside her and drove her home. I would go back a few times and get blowjobs in my car, my Mustang being so obnoxiously loud, she would have to sneak out and meet me blocks from her parent’s house.

  Rain. It’s simple. I relax and clear my mind. Rain. I still recall the way steam rises from the surface of outdoor pools. Years back I rented a house with a hot tub and pool in the backyard, used many nights for impromptu parties with liberated females. Bikini tops are as unnecessary as phone calls back after fucking. Underwater lights and chlorine laced kissing at 2 AM. My dick conjures up the image of another Asian girl, this one was deaf. I remember she couldn’t speak very well but she was very cute. She also would do my dishes whenever she visited, for free. I would pay other girls to clean my house after sex back then, fifty bucks to do all the dishes, wash the floors, and take out the garbage. Her way of showing that she was horny was to say ‘love cock’ while giggling and holding her hand across her mouth. It was more like ‘luv kok’ but nothing was lost in translation. I feel my penis stirring, asking what’s up. That deaf Asian girl had a really odd vagina, the lips were a purplish grey, and swelled up during sex. I never liked her much, I almost feel guilty.

  Is this what other guys do? Is this wanton behavior towards women and what’s between their legs the average behavior and thoughts of men? If so, how do I keep any daughter of mine away from men like me? My mind jumps back a decade, all the girls I was with, they wanted to do it. I remember how they would meet up with me knowing full well that we would have sex and that I was seeing other women. Why would I feel bad, unless I believed in gender roles and women to be the less promiscuous, delicate flowers I grew up believing in? No, no, that’s antiquated.

  Think back to how many women have flat out told you that sex is the only way we connect. I struggle with a traditional mindset and a life that is nothing remotely close to traditional. So much casual sex, I’ve forgotten more than I can remember. Maybe I’d feel worse about it if I had written it down, the ultimate testimonial to sociopathic dating for sex. My mind wanders through so many scenes of carn
al lust. A warm summer’s evening, meeting a blonde girl from Coquitlam with giant breasts. She turned into an escort a few years later, I remember she didn’t call me back for a month after we had sex the first time because I shot my cum into her hair. I remember it wasn’t on purpose, it was doggystyle pullout and the orgasm was particularly strong.

  Black and white mirages mingle with skin and shadow, flickering imagery of my first shocking experiences years ago come back to haunt me. I had dated some pretty conservative women before I had my first car. Having a vehicle turns cannon fodder into an officer. The power you have to move people about, take them places, keep them warm, comfortable, and music to carry an upbeat and flirty mood. These two trouble maker teen girls, both 17, met a 19 year old me.

  I had a Mustang, the chrome 5.0 on the side a virtual badge of a wanna-be bad boy. I picked these two girls up after talking to them on a local chat line. You could go to a phone booth and get a free hour for a single quarter, as long as nobody else used it. I talked to them for ten minutes before they asked for my phone number. I picked them up in Langley, drove back across the city to my place while they supplied the booze taken from one of their moms. Glacier berry mixes with Russian prince vodka for a 50/50 mix, the trend of strong drinks cemented at a young age. The shorter one, Courtney, gave me a CD to put on and explained her dad gives her liquor to party with on the weekends. It was a Wednesday, but they have a presentation at school they wanted to skip, and I seemed like a cool guy on the phone. I remember the taller one, Hillary, a sharp featured brunette with a beautiful pair of lips. We share laughs about the alternative schools we all fucked up at, our stories are pretty similar.

  Later that night we would listen to music, download music from Napster, get blindingly drunk and fuck. No condoms, of course. The girls would be awkwardly making out, but having fun doing it. I fucked Hillary from behind as she straddled Courtney, then lowered my body down and fucked Courtney, she squealed. Hillary passed out and Courtney and I listened to music, drank, and talked. The next morning they Skytrained back to Surrey and I didn’t hear from them for months. My dick is pretty hard remembering Hillary’s swollen teen tits, and Courtney’s big bubble ass on her tiny 5’0 frame. Both had ample amounts of pubic hair, their excited pussies both glowed a pinkish red between pale white thighs. I remember nothing else about them.

  I’m pretty hard, but I don’t move my hand. I squeeze my dick and more memories play on the back of my eyelids. Living at the time in Coquitlam, there were several periods of life without a steady address. Of all the places I lived as a fucked up youth, this was the most fun. A basement suite with one bedroom and two horny and cocksure young men; liquor, girls, shift work, and Nintendo wrestling games filled my life. I had a shitty job involving three and five ton trucks on a graveyard shift, the head office not even paying attention to the wakefulness or sobriety of their drivers.

  Everyone I worked with hated themselves and each other. Get in, do the job, get out. I never socialized beyond ‘hey’ and ‘see ya’ with the longer term employees, only the younger guys got along with each other. Everyone else was too concerned with who’s getting more hours and the easier route, a stew of union politics and uppity blue collar drones. The only thing that kept me going to that fucking job was the promise of some cold booze and hot pussy on the weekend.

  My friend, Chris, had a reputation for pulling in women with his looks and silence. He had a quiet presence that women found alluring, and riding the bus to and from work he would meet high school seniors on a daily basis. He had invited me to crash at his place after a messy, very messy, separation with his young girlfriend. She was 16, cousins with my friend Amanda. Both families equally as fucked up, Amanda to later OD and die as a hooker on Kingsway, while Chris’s ex ended up having several children with one night stands. He had a ton of porn magazines from as long back as I knew him, when we were 14. He seemed to know how to seduce women much better than I did at the time, maybe it had to do with how he also started drinking at a much earlier age. I can’t even remember how many girls him and I traded back and forth, a couple of 19 year old Lotharios offering bad girls a place to drink and crash.

  Life was just a day to day existence at the time, very little thought originating from my head. Days spent seeking out vice, income, pleasure, and laughter. Where did that kid come from, and how did I end up here? Two particular groups of girls came into our lives, one were volleyball players who followed Chris off the bus. He bought some coolers and a cheap large pizza. The girls came by as I was just awakening from my graveyard shift slumber. Five PM, it was already dark out, and the girls hopped onto the pull out bed and shook me awake. I remember being surprised at how outgoing they were, but then Chris told me they were drinking shots on the bus ride home. Blackstreet, Dr Dre, and Tupac sound like they’re rapping underwater, our ghetto blaster long ago blew out its speakers.

  The basement suite was more like a poorly converted garage than a proper living space; the walls were paper thin and the construction visibly shoddy. It was perfect for a couple of low life guys with no direction. The tile floors, while cold to the bare foot, helped amplify the tunes and we partied into the night. Chris and a skinny brunette disappear into his room, the door opened a crack and the skinny girl coos the slightly chubby brown girl’s name. I was stuck in the main room with a pretty cute but plainly dressed blonde girl. She says “sexual” at nearly anything that turned her on or that she enjoyed. Seeing her friends disappear into the other room together elicited a drawn out “sexual” from her mouth, emphasis on the x. We were drinking and chatting about bullshit, but I wanted some play too. I asked her how experienced she was, she had said her parents never let her date.

  She was so shy until she had a few drinks to work up the courage to bluntly ask to see my dick. Being shy and worried her friends would catch her, she put the blankets over her head, covered my body with it, and took my pants off. She rubbed my hard cock over her face and curiously played with it. It was pretty enjoyable and I had a drink in my hand, feeling pretty boss. This went on for some time, the blonde girl rubbing my dick across her soft cheeks, nose, and lips. She put both hands on it and squeezed it too hard, spilling my drink on the blanket. We both laughed. Almost caught with her head under the blanket, the bedroom door opened and the brown girl stumbled out, sobbing, in only her panties.

  “What’s wrong?” The blonde girl asked, hastily trying to hide the fact that she’s straddling me.

  The brown girl sits on the couch and quietly sobs. “So ... so embarrassed,” she mumbles.

  I pat her on the back with a booze-soaked hand. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about here!” I remember telling her, clueless to what just happened.

  She explained that she was trying to lose her virginity, her friend and Chris didn’t want to stop long enough to get Chris’s penis in her. The whole night of drinking was supposed to be about her losing her virginity and not her friend cheating on her boyfriend. Being the gentleman that I was, I offered to take her virginity. She smiled and was shocked that I would want to. She had no hesitation in getting under the blanket and taking her panties off, the blonde girl under the blankets beside her.

  I got on top of her, my half-hard penis dropping down to her opening. She was wet but I wasn’t going in, her eyes closing as she opens her hips up wider.

  “Ohh..” she quietly moaned.

  Slowly I began to enter her, getting harder from the moist massage of her tight inner lips.

  “Ow… ow, ahh,” she groaned. I pulled back out a little, and as I did, she clutched me in her legs and whispered “Don’t stop.” In one push I had thrust in her all the way, she shrieked for a second and let out a gasp. “Oh the sensations,” she whispered, the blonde girl parrots, “Sexual!”

  I fucked her slowly for a few minutes and asked her if she wanted to try it doggystyle. She said sure and I rolled her over. Our non-passion had ran down her crack, her brown asshole, a few black hairs creeping up from her vagina, gli
stened with her juices and blood. A wide set of hips and a bountiful ass, each thrust sent a shockwave through her cheeks, up onto her back. The blonde girl had her hands under the blanket and she sat there, watching intently. The sounds of the bed bouncing could be heard through the walls, the stamped steel legs of the fold out couch tapping out a rhythm on tile.

  This period of my life was a time of major growth. I had started to become aware that there were no standards, or rules, for men and women. This newfound clarity hit me hardest immediately after sex.

  I finished on her back and she collapsed onto her stomach with a sigh. She was smiling and breathing hard. I fell onto my back between the two girls, and pulled the blanket up over my quickly going flaccid self. The brown girl was so happy to have had sex finally, she high fived the blonde girl first, and then me. I remember it was after 1 AM when Chris and the skinny brunette came out of the bedroom, those wild girls gathered their stuff, put on innocent faces, and headed home.

  I booted up the Nintendo 64 and gave Chris a thorough ass kicking at one of the wrestling games we used to play. These were some of my favorite times with him. Our matches would extend into the hours sometimes, but this one didn’t. A Kevin Nash big boot busts his face open in red only :50 seconds in, I let up on the beating for a minute or two. He’s getting frustrated and I don’t want him to rage. He begins to put me into cheap little choke holds over and over, I respond with three pile drivers in a row, 1, 2, 3. Only four minutes into the match, too. Chris threw down the controller, walked into his room, and slammed the door. The shitty drywall cracked along the ceiling. I shut the machine off and got ready for bed, virgin blood marinating my sheets.