Archive | November, 2012

Passions: A Love Story, Part Four

29 Nov

Previously on Passions:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Interlude 1

Interlude 2

October 16, 2012

from: Angela Euna Kim (socalprincess@hotmail.com)

to: Filbert B. Kim (fkim@goldbergkimllc.com)

Filbert,

Lexus of Alhambra called me this morning. A man told me that my monthly payment was not made on time. I was at brunch with my friends and I don’t need to tell you how embarrassing it is to receive a call from a creditor regarding a late payment when your friends can clearly hear what is being said over the phone. YOU did not make the monthly payment on time and they are assessing a $100 fee and additional interest, and if there are three more late payments the car is in danger of being repossessed (!)

How could you allow this to happen? YOU need to take care of this right away. You also need to call on mom’s car and make sure her latest payments are up to date.  Please do this right now.  If mom got a call from a car dealership telling her she was a deadbeat she would be mortified.

Fuck.  The fucking car payment.

October 16, 2012

from: Filbert B. Kim (fkim@goldbergkimllc.com)

to: Angela Euna Kim (socalprincess@hotmail.com)

Dear Angela,

Why don’t you just call it what it is, you idiot– a fucking Toyota.  A fucking Toyota Camry, except, that wasn’t expensive enough for you.   You needed a Toyota Camry that cost eighty thousand dollars.  Because you liked the color.  Metallic teal.  And probably because you thought the raghead salesman was handsome.  You fucking whore.

You bought it because you liked the fucking metallic teal, and the voice of the onboard computer.  It was easy for you to plug in your god damn earpiece that’s glued to your head like fucking Robocop and make calls where you talk about nothing to your muppet-faced USC friends.  What did you even have to talk about, before you had that fucking car?  Grey’s Anatomy?  God forbid you should pick up a fucking book.  I should have killed you when I had the chance. Continue reading

Gertrude Part Six

24 Nov

I fucking treasure this sadness.  I treasure that I wake up hugging my pillow and in my half dreams I thought it was you.  But your hair was just the cat’s tail.  I have seriously wept unconscious tears into my cat’s tail– that is a Shakespearean level of sadness in today’s world.  If I had something that smelled like you I would smell it.  But I don’t.  Not even my sheets.  The night I realized you were gone I made a pork roast and farted like Vesuvius for hours and hours in my sleep.  I tried to sniff the spot where you slept and… it was a mistake.

I fucking treasure this.  Remembering your hair.  Your kiss.  God damn, you were a great kisser.  Gentle.  Every little motherfucking thing, things too corny to type.  I relish missing them.  This pain.  The way a leper relishes burning his hand on a candle.  I can still feel something.  This particular thing, desiring somebody, wanting them to be around, and them wanting to be around.  Even if relationships like this, between stunted people, people who fuck strangers in toilet stalls– relationships for us are like milk left on the counter on a hot day.  But it’s nice to know that it can exist. Continue reading

OKCupid: Let’s See If This Works

24 Nov

Continue reading

OKCupid: I Am Never, Ever Going to Reference Steely Dan

21 Nov

What is this girl, texting me– she is nineteen years old and works as a go go dancer at an S & M themed nightclub.  She says on her profile that she is looking for an older man.  She does not appear to be a prostitute.  She has literary pretensions.

What do you even do with this information.  When you can’t stay up past ten thirty and don’t even want to.  My ball hairs are white.  My scrotum looks like a disgusting wizard.  It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with this nineteen year old go go dancer, it’s that– I can’t even conceive of the logistical hassles to get there.  She stays up until four in the morning.  It’s like a sparrow wanting to fuck a bat– they just aren’t around at the same time of day.  What do I do now, invite her over for the pork roast I’m about to make?  A nice hearty meal with some roasted root vegetables while the cold winds blow.  Nice glass of red wine and a video.  The flavors of rural France.  I enjoy the things that old people enjoy, except for the part where I need to impregnate a girl whose professional attire is electrical tape over her nipples.
Continue reading

OKCupid: Better Than Expected

18 Nov

We were in a booth.  At the bar there was a guy, with a girl, and he was fingering the top of her ass and her panties.  He was wearing a baggy gray sweatshirt, cream colored shorts, and those sneakers that Teva makes that have a huge tread for your cross country needs.  How could someone dressed so poorly be in a position to stick his fingers under a girl’s panties in a bar.  She must look like a sea creature. She would turn around and it would be like the last stab of a Twilight Zone episode.  I had to know.

Make a noise, I said, and with no hesitation my date swept her martini glass onto the floor.  It shattered loudly.  Women can still surprise you.

The whole room turned to look.  The girl was not bad looking.  Who knew.

Gertrude Part Five

18 Nov

She did not text you back.  She is never coming over again.  She found another guy.  With a bigger dick.  She is with him right now.  Showing him the movies that she took back from your apartment.  As long as the DVD’s she checked out from her college library were on your TV table, you knew she would never leave you.  One day, they were gone.

She was with me because she is deeply insecure and lonely.  She stayed with me because she needed a place to go at night, and to be around another person.  She seemed grateful that I even wanted her around.  The attractive 22 year old college student who is exceptionally skilled with her mouth, vagina, and asshole and cleans your house when you leave.  Who brings you food and booze when you had a bad day.  Who brings movies. God, what a nightmare.  What man would want such a person in his life.

She expected nothing of me.  She laughed at my worst jokes.  She didn’t have to be entertained.  You didn’t have to take her out, spend money, drive all over motherfucking creation to go to her friend’s stupid play or some shit.  She just wanted to talk about books and maybe eat something and have a brandy and cuddle on the couch.  Then fuck.  Make you cum too fast with her tight tiny pussy.  God damn.  I feel like I conceived her in the computer from Weird Science. Continue reading

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Getting Tough Out There

15 Nov

Passions: Interlude– Just Another Day at the Office

15 Nov

Previously on Passions:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Interlude 1

William Z. “Billy” Krojcek of Sherman Oaks needed you to laugh at his small cock while he peed in a diaper.  On his back with garbage bags spread over the bed.  He would greet you at the door in his adult baby getup.  Go to the bedroom, open the diaper, he pees, and you laugh at his tiny little willie.  Maybe blow on it soothingly.  While he’s pissing he gets hard; hopefully the piss all comes out before this happens but more often, not.  The fundamental flaw in piss fetishes is, it’s hard to piss with a boner.  Piss would go all over the place, then he’d jerk himself off while you cooed at him and pop in two seconds.  The rest of the hour they’d talk.  Billy was a teacher; he gave good advice regarding her son’s education.  Don’t let them push him out of the honors math class.  Have him retake the test in the school library without other students and distractions, say it’s his right as a student with a learning disability.  Sometimes he would feel it coming on again at the end, put down fresh bags, don a fresh diaper, start anew.  Her cooing and giggling and saying “it’s SO SMALL!!!!  No woman is even gonna be able to feel that when you grow up!  I’m gonna tickle those tiny little pink balls!”  Not in a mean way.  In a motherly way.  He would cum again, sometimes so fast his boner was half strangled and cocked to the side, barely hard before puking up thick gouts of smelly jizz.  Thank you so much, you’re really wonderful.  I’ll call you again next week.

Raymond R. “Ray” Jimenez Jr. of Los Angeles needed her to pantomime shrinking him with a shrink ray.  Then she would talk like he was six inches tall and crawling all over her body, into various crevices.  Talk like she couldn’t see where he was and might step on him, squash him.  Then he got a blowjob.  She didn’t understand how this didn’t crush his suspension of disbelief, but, she was just the help.  He would be so hard from the oh no I’m gonna squish you talk that he too would cum in seconds.  Her blowjobs were also, as you would expect, excellent.  Imagine if they hadn’t been.  A life wasted.  The aptly named Ray was less talkative.  Or maybe the roleplay was so talky that he was just talked out.  Why, she wondered, didn’t he buy a toy gun to stand in as the shrink ray.  Sucking dick isn’t a big deal but standing there with a straight face holding an invisible gun and saying “ohmigod you’re getting SOOO SMMMALLLL–” she earned her check.  I’ll call you next week. Continue reading

Passions: Interlude– Filbert and the Lady of the Night

14 Nov

Previously on Passions:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The thing about whores is they don’t feel like fucking.  Whores feel like the best and most expensive sex toy ever devised. Like you just paid a hundred bucks to jerk off.  There is nothing in the pleasure of a whore you can take with you.  No memory.  It exists only in the moment.

She was kneeling over his back, ticking him with her hair.  She looked exactly like a girl from his high school. Cathy Chao.  Cathy Chao was tall, like a model.  She had a face like a model too.  Everybody wanted to fuck her.  The first time you saw her you would choke as little like you’d swallowed a bug.  But hard to jerk off to.  One of these women where you can’t beat off to her because she is too beautiful.  You can’t conjure up a scenario where she might fuck you plausibly.  You end up beating off more to the chubby girls than the beautiful ones.  She ended up marrying some Persian MBA and then leaving him for his boss.

This hooker looked just like her.  She looked just like her in high school, not whatever used up version of her existed now.  He choked when she walked in the room like he had swallowed a bug.  He suddenly felt self conscious lying there nude with a coarse bleached towel over his nuts.  She was all smiles.  She had no idea.  Maybe she thought he was new at this.  She gestured for him to flip over. Continue reading

Passions: A Love Story, Part Three

13 Nov

Previously on Passions:

Part 1

Part 2

October 26, 2012

from: Filbert B. Kim (fkim@goldbergkimllc.com)
to: astrid666@gmail.com

Astrid:

Enough.  This has to stop.  You wanted to hurt me.  You did.  It’s over.  You won.  Please, have some compassion.

Respectfully,

Filbert

The phone was vibrating.  It was his mother again.  13 missed calls.   Astrid had done something.  He couldn’t call his mother back until he had figured out what it was, and could get ahead of it.  Maybe not even then.  Maybe he would just let the relationship with his mother go.

His gun was in his lap.  A Smith & Wesson 40 caliber.  Of course it was a  Smith & Wesson®.  Of course it was A BMW® M™ series, of course he was lounging in the house in Nike® swimming sandals, Calvin Klein® Men’s Boxer Briefs, medium, black.  He bought it because it was the same gun the LAPD used, and because he liked the two tone.  Guys with guns are the biggest bunch of little girls in the world.  The ammo box had a bald eagle rampant with flaming talons raised, ready to tear out the heart of your home invader.

He had spent the night fucking Astrid with the gun in her mouth.  It cost him three hundred dollars.  He made that before 10AM.  She really needed the money.  Everyone really needed the money, except him.  He told her there wasn’t a bullet in the chamber but there was.  He needed it to cum.  Twenty years ago it barely took a stiff breeze.

Why the fuck did he have to say something.  Why couldn’t he just let it go.  You love somebody, they leave you, you pay them money to fuck you while eating your god damn handgun, you have won. There is no need to rub it in with a poorly thought out text message from a stoplight.  If he  had sent that text before ejaculating he would have forgiven himself, but if your balls are empty you have no excuse for anything. Continue reading

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