They were at Brite Spot. His first date since he knew for sure the thing with the girl was over. Everything was fine and then the speakers played John Waite’s “Missing You.” 80’s night. After that, Elton John’s “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues.” He’d been told to pray when it hurt. Dear Lord, why not just have the clouds spell my name and form a middle finger. His date had the kale salad. Yeah, I went to a couple Sex Addicts meetings once, she said. Dear Lord, forget I complained.
He fingerfucked her against a tree by Echo Park Lake. They went to her house. Her pussy felt the same as the girl’s and he thought he was cured. Continue reading
image stolen from kobebundle.blogspot.com
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. Continue reading
image stolen from conanevolved.wordpress.com
They were laying in bed. He had her ipad on his lap to watch Conan the Barbarian. Golden Age Schwarzenegger had fled across frozen wastes. He came upon a hut. A woman with 1982 plastic surgery stood in the door. Do you not wish to warm yourself by my fire?
I’ve been unfair to you, she said. He paused the movie.
I shouldn’t even tell you this but I forgot my texts come to that fucking thing.
Well I didn’t look. But now you better tell me.
It might hurt you.
… Continue reading
There was thumping coming from the bathroom. Slow at first, then gradually faster, and then a big sound like a bundle of logs being dropped.
Where’s the soap? She called through the door.
I don’t know. Where is it usually?
The door creaked open and her head appeared, face slightly red. If it were where it is usually, she said, would I have asked you where it is?
Well it’s in there somewhere.
Are you sure sweetie?
Yeah, it has to be.
He stood up from the couch, walked over and stuck his head in the bathroom door. She was back looking in the cabinet under the sink now. Moving items around: toilet paper, baby powder, tampons. There was no available physical space large enough to be occupied by the 8-Pak of Lever 2000® Pure Rain™ bath bars she had instructed him to buy. But she kept looking anyway. Continue reading
The fucksleeve came in the mail on a Tuesday. Just like a real woman it took forever to come, he thought. There’s a joke you’ll never be able to tell in public.
As promised it was in discreet packaging. A surprisingly small box. Within this was a plastic egg that contained the fucksleeve. While small, it could be stretched, per the pamphlet, “to accommodate any size penis.” There were also hints on how to maximize sensation on the glans and frenulum; some artist had been paid to draw a hand in various positions stretching this piece of silicon over a healthy-sized member. It’s a living. Inside the thing’s orifice was a single use packet of lube, but he opted for Curel Intensive Care instead. Save the special stuff for a rainy day.
He’d been up since eight but had done nothing. He had masturbated, to a midget. That was it. Two hours of culling through this midget’s oeuvre to find the optimum clip to masturbate to. Little person, rather. If he ever encountered a midget, he would have to take pains to correct himself. They consider “midget” a slur. Their vaginas and assholes are as deep as a normal sized woman’s, he had learned.
He’d been laid off six weeks ago and had accomplished nothing in that time, but that was fine. He’d accomplished nothing at work either and at least now he wasn’t being brutalized by assholes. He wasn’t stealing from anybody, or killing people. His old job had been in insurance and he’d spent the day fucking people over. Getting to zero was a net gain for the world.
Work was gone but there was still the same sense of urgency, just about bullshit now. The gas bill was due, the phone bill was due. Or rather, so far past due that Verizon sent texts with important new information about urgent changes to your account. Give us money. The DMV had important information about his auto registration, which was that it had been suspended because Progressive hadn’t sent along the required confirmation of insurance. To re-register, give us money. Progressive hadn’t sent the papers to the DMV because his bill was precisely one minute past due. Their text said sorry that you left us. Sorry that you left us, give us money. Fuck you, pay me, was all every letter and text and phone call ever said. If they actually used those words maybe he’d pay on time. It would certainly make the mail more interesting. Continue reading
He was awake. Hands on a steering wheel. Trees rushing by. Most cars were self-driving these days but he enjoyed it the old fashioned way. Everything was coming back to him. He was on his way home. Emily was making a chicken pot pie. His favorite.
The day was over and he remembered nothing. The new stuff was perfect. Used to be you’d get an image peeking through once in a while, an emotion of some kind. The phone would ring and you’d get a little stab of fear. You’d still have no idea what it was about, but you’d flinch. Now, nothing. Waking up, nice hot coffee, kissing Emily goodbye. The drive to work; starlings swirling over the river. Pull up to his parking space– it was in god damn Siberia, but, who cared; he would forget the walk. Twist the dial in the crook of his elbow left, right, left again. Then he was awake and driving and the sun had moved. Ten hour shift gone by like it never happened. Continue reading