She texted me back. Didn’t want to go to work this morning. Wanted to spend those hours telling her: come back. I’ll quit. We’ll travel the world with the money left after bespoke surgery to graft your golden asshole to my mouth. Cut off my nuts for your coin purse. My cock for your toe ring. Come back to me come back to me. The phone dings and I jump for it like pushing my baby out from in front of a bus and it’s someone else. Continue reading
Let someone like you. Let yourself like someone. Let yourself like waking up next to her with your morning wood in her ass crack and the smell of the back of her neck and the mockingbirds going. The cool June gloom in the morning. Her hair’s messed up and she wraps around your arm like a baby. She doesn’t quite wake up but shifts a little. Takes a big breath. That’s what we’re here for. You don’t have to impress her. She doesn’t have to impress you. You don’t have to be with her forever. We’re all gonna die. Just be with her now. While whatever’s there is still there. Let yourself be happy. When it stops– if it’s tomorrow, if it’s death– you had it.
This post is fictional.
**
Jeni
I like your profile, said Jeni. And I (he looked at it) like yours, he wrote.
It said, three times:
!!!NO FLAKES!!!
Would you like to meet at Sunset Beer, he said. She said see you there
He put on his best clothes. Walked to the bar. Opened a tab.
She never came. Continue reading
Image: Aesthetic Dentistry of Charlottesville
He got in a long distance relationship with a rich girl who lived in Canada. They would Skype and she’d push her middle finger in her asshole while her other hand held her phone. Talking calmly to her mom. Telling her the ways she was cleaning up her act. Please send money. She needed this to get off. For him, her asshole was enough.
Her father was a speaking in tongues cultist. He had a sugar cane and pig farm in Kentucky. The cane keeps the pigs in. Continue reading
I miss you. I miss the smell of your hair. I miss your robust deltoids. I miss your dangling purple giblets. You have the hugest most developed cuntflaps I have ever seen. I miss them, I miss your moans, I miss your squinting eyes when you cum on top of me. I miss the dog licking my cum off the sheets, I miss the smell of the back of your head; I miss your tan, you always had a great tan. I miss you but what are you gonna do. If I got back together with you it’d be the same as before. Already I’m sending you dumb texts and I know they’re bombing. And it crushes me. So I can’t be near you. Can’t talk to you. But I miss you on me. I miss cumming in you. Waking up next to you. I miss your girl who has her shit together expensive white duvet. When you showed me pictures of your sister’s wedding I wanted it to be our wedding. I only want to get famous so you regret kicking me to the curb.
I’ll work. I’ll use Microsoft Office to do what a rich guy tells me to do. Leave late. I’ll go to the Vons and see what’s on sale. Maybe a pork chop. Maybe some Brussels sprouts. I need milk. I’ll go home instead of the gym because I’m out of dress shirts. Need to do laundry. On the drive talk to my AA sponsee. Tell him what my AA sponsor said to say which is about the definition of insanity. Get home cook the pork chop put the clothes in the wash do deadlifts with the barbell I bought. Take the shirts out of the washer and hang them to drip dry. Put the underwear and socks and towels in the dryer. Go to an AA meeting. Get my clothes out of the dryer. I will not fold them. She will not text me. I will not open the door and it’s her.
Are you surprised I’m here, said Belinda. Mexican girls don’t date white boys. Au contraire, he said, I’ve had every one in town but you. Not the real ones, she said. I bet their parents spoke English.
She’d fucked her tattoo artist for three years. He was 44, married, someone snitched to the wife who then called Belinda’s mother. I want you to know your daughter’s a whore, she said. I’m going to tell your whole family. I’m going to go around your neighborhood, tell everybody. She did.
The tattoo artist came in her every time. She thought she couldn’t get pregnant. He said he’d meet her when she got the abortion. He posted on Instagram from a bar instead. He had eight other women he was sleeping with. The wife still doesn’t know.
When she finished the story he went to move her hair to kiss her. And she said: not on the first date.
She’ll never talk to me again. She drank too much. She broke my shit. She fucked the bartender from Ostrich Farm her second night staying with me. She made men pay for everything– rent food plane fare. I would have had to pay for her ticket to come visit me again. She needed it to feel pretty. But she was perfect. Continue reading
Can’t look at my Sedona pics without that bad acid feeling. Haunted house feeling. People are right. There’s energy there. It’s evil. There was a massacre, something. I hiked to one of the attractions, a giant sinkhole. Hundred ton rocks had plummeted into the bowels of the Earth. I felt like an antenna picking up a TV station broadcast by Pennywise. Feel it again now talking about it. Last night before I slept. I carried it with me.
Continue reading
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