You meet a girl. She makes you horny. So you like her. But you know she’ll bug the fuck out of you. Sooner or later.
How do you not push that moment. When you are “good with women” you force yourself to make it happen too fast. You look for flaws in her to gird yourself. Make it so she can’t get to you. Love is a fight and you stay on top by loving the other person less. You get to where it’s like this right away. From the first date. First minute. You get girls so you can feel something. But you can only get girls if you feel nothing.
This girl, though. It felt like nature meant for us to breed. Her armpits smelled like our kids would be immune to some ancient parasite. I want to rut with her and fill her soft belly full of babies. I like her accent. Her eyes. But she will bug the fuck out of me sooner or later. The “game” part of you pushes for that moment. Too fast.
Don’t push it. And don’t pull it back. Just feel what you feel. But you tell yourself: snap out of it. This is fleeting bullshit, your mind says. You know it will end so end it now. There’s no free lunch and you can’t break even. Love is a made up story. If you like them they don’t like you.
What can you do. God is evil. She will bug the fuck out of me.
Sooner rather than later.
image stolen from nytimes.com
Right before the plane took off she sent me an email. Said she was going to kill herself. Cut-and-pasted the research she was doing on method. Pills, carbon monoxide, helium. I knew all of these. Used to hear about them in texts from Astrid. Before that, other women.
They’re great communicators. They know to show not tell that they’re serious. A mere ”I am going to kill myself” means nothing from a woman. Even Anne Sexton and Sylvia fucking Plath wrote volumes of warnings first. Dragged it out over years. If you hear it from me once, I’m already dead. Went out with a bullet hoping WordPress’ “schedule future post” feature worked. Continue reading
image stolen from tvtropes.org
Went down the block to get a Patra Burger. The Echo Park Christmas parade was going on. Teen cheerleaders shimmying down Sunset. Mexican Christmas carols play out of Mustangs. Short skirts. Yoga pants. Fifteen years old, tops. Like all straight men, I am powerfully sexually attracted to underage girls. Far more than to women of legal age. If you aren’t, say so in the comments. I’ll know everything else you say is also a lie.
It’s natural, but I feel like a miscreant. Three blocks to Patra Burger. Looking, trying not to look like I’m looking. Young girls shaking their asses in tiny skirts and little black underwear. Lifting one another up to give us all a panty shot. I strain to get an image I can remember. High school freshman’s sweaty taint up in the air with another girl’s hot palm jammed in it. Heaven. Clear skin, long shiny hair. Little budding tits. Firm little apple asses. The nineteen year olds taking veiny cock in porn look like crones in comparison. Any woman of legal age is already past her peak. Continue reading
I met a girl at a party and took her to my car to make out. Choke me, she said. I was parked on a well lit public street. Even better. Get her topless and clamp her neck between my arms; she is excited that a cop might drive by. Nowadays every girl under 25 is a cenobite. They want to be choked, hit, fake raped. They want to lacerate you with sharp nails, scratch at your nipples, bite your bottom lip and draw blood. They all squirt. Ten years ago nobody squirted. It just didn’t exist. Now everybody squirts. Everybody deep throats. Everybody’s into BDSM. She’s a sub telling you on the first date that she needs a forearm in the throat to cum. Or she’s a “pro domme.” No such thing as an amateur domme. Dommes all get paid. Continue reading
Woman in the next building opened her blinds this morning. T shirt and underwear. I was out smoking. She looked out at the morning sun kissing the trees. Surveyed the world for a moment. I was in the parking lot shooting lasers into her crotch. Scanning the slit of her skinny cunt like the Terminator, for later use. She looked down and saw my Kubrick stare. Neglected cigarette dangling. Recoiled in horror. Continue reading
image stolen from marcusstevenson.com
I got it from a cheating ex, they say. In the 50′s girls would say they broke their hymen horseback riding. They fell on their cunt jumping over a fence. I got it from a cheating ex. Look, I know you got it from a third rate bass player in a bar toilet. I don’t give a shit. You think if I had a pussy I wouldn’t be fucking everything on two legs? Good for you. But that’s the one lie. Otherwise they’re real up front. Listen, I have herpes. I get outbreaks about once a year. When I get sick. Sometimes it kicks up when I shave. Yes, it hurts. Anyway, would you ever sleep with me?
Sorry. Fuck no. Continue reading
Out at the duck pond. Watching girls walk by. Many pretty young women with big breasts. Slutty teenage Mexican skater broads, like Hernandez brothers cartoons. Nice hot day; they strip down.
Girl kneeling in the grass, her ass sticking out. Tight olive drab shorts. A robust ass for an Asian woman. She looks like Gertrude. Maybe it’s her. She has a Skrillex haircut now, huh. I want to eat her out. Work my tongue all over her nice sweaty snatch. Now she’s leaving. She can detect my thoughts. Continue reading
image stolen from davidwygant.com
This chick, this OKCupid chick, this smarmy feminist comedian chick, is she going to confirm our non-alcoholic day date and why do I give fuck except I’m curious. Why is it always like this. Days before the date I’m secretly hoping they’ll flake, secretly thinking I’ll just go out to some swimming pool and take my shirt off and get younger, better looking pussy. And then once I send a text to confirm I’m biting my nails thinking omigod she’ll never actually go out with me she’s way too cool for me she hangs out with a bunch of professional comedians and famous people and needs a guy with a job the same or better as hers omigod I’ll die alone; the cat will eat my tender eyeballs first. Continue reading
image stolen from occupyobservations.blogspot.com
I’m trying to masturbate to the redhead with the big titties from the Standard but the problem is, Julianne Moore has a movie coming out. So they interviewed her on NPR and I heard it and got her face stuck in my head. I get about three seconds of the redhead from the party before it becomes Julianne Moore’s pointy fucking Count Chocula face. Now you are cursed too. Go try to jerk off to a redhead and try not to think of Julianne Moore.
The redhead with the big titties wasn’t opening the door in room 413 and the party was winding down, so I admitted defeat and walked over to skid row to buy black tar heroin. The first guy I talked to just took my money and disappeared. He had handed me a garbage bag full of L.A. Kings T shirts as collateral, which I now own. Email me if you are extra large. Continue reading