At the beach. A woman with big titties walks into the cold water. Other things are happening too– the thunder of the rolling waves. A flock of shorebirds at the waterline. Ibises I think. Skittering at the edge of the sand, digging for clams. Scattering back. They keep a tight formation. Ancient instincts going back to the dinosaurs. Huge brown pelicans glide overhead like pterodactyls; their brightly colored beaks. The majesty of nature and all that other jerkoff shit. She has big titties. Big titties.
I need to have sex soon or I will die. Specifically, I need to have unprotected sex with a woman between fifteen and twenty seven years of age. A new one. No one I have fucked before. The phone is an elephant’s graveyard of girl numbers. Many of them are cute. Some are even funny. But, you fuck a chick three times, she’s expired. I could write more thoughts on the matter but this woman has big titties. Big titties.
How do you talk to her. She has a navel piercing. How do you talk to a person with a navel piercing. I have rediscovered myself in sobriety. It’s been sixty days now. Shit you pushed down when you were drunk grows back fast. The way Chernobyl is forest again. Memories come back. Knowledge. Emotions. I am a healthy and functioning human being. Honest in all affairs. Guided by a loving God to be of service to others. But Jesus, who gives a fuck– the one thing I can’t do is get pussy. Without pussy, why are you alive.
She has big titties, and she’s getting farther into the water, giggling as the cold waves lap up and up; one makes it to her waist and recedes and she shrieks and her bikini bottoms are damp and her cunt starts to suck them up into its fat little crack and I need to throw her down in the water and get on top of her, throw my forearm in her throat, pull the wet nylon out of that fat cunt crack and yank it to the side and just pump my evil seed into her furiously before the lifeguard can run over and pull me off. Women, you understand nothing. Have a kid and maybe you’ll know. Watch your baby get run over by a dump truck. The way you want to throw yourself under the wheels to save it is about the way I want to forcibly rabbit fuck this sorority girl on vacation. All men, always, are just walking around with this. You can’t jerk it out of you. It’s just raging constantly, bubbling agony in your guts now and forever. You need pussy like breathing. And the world just waterboards you.
Women. The fact that you are not brutally raped– not just every day, but several fucking times per day by gangs of engorged male baboons– the fact that your mailman just hands you the Crate and Barrel catalog and smiles instead of strangling you with his government issue fanny pack and throat fucking you, relishing your tears, spraying his triumphant mailman nut on the geraniums… we are doing you a huge fucking favor at all times. We are watching our baby get run over by a dump truck, and just hearing him scream and watching him die. Holding back every billion year old white hot urge so you can feel comfortable walking around. I’m not asking you to like it. But take some pity on us, you merciless shrews.
I asked my sponsor: how do you get women when you’re sober. I’m a nebbish now. I rediscovered myself. Who I really am is a cringing unmanned dork with a hunched spine and raisin nuts. Girls used to smile at me on the street. Now I’m a slug that came out in the rain. I mean, fine– I hate women anyway. Smug peabrained cunts, talking about nothing.
But that baboon urge shrieks at you like a car alarm going off– get laid get laid get laid. So how do you do it. Go do ten approaches, he told me. Neil Strauss game tips circa 2004. Motherfucker, do you know who I am? I fucked attack pussy on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
Tears in the rain. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Heaven is deaf and hell screams and screams.