by Chad Kultgen
Todd comes out from under her tits, looks at me, and says, “Dude, what about Casey?”
I stop staring at this stripper’s asshole long enough to look at Todd and say, “What about Casey?”
“How’re you gonna take that record store girl on a date without Casey finding out?”
My stripper flips around and mashes her little hard tits in my face. I say, “Casey’s leaving town for a few days.”
The Asian bitch rolls her head around in Todd’s crotch. He says, “Lucky.”
The pock-faced bitch breathes on my cock through my pants. I say, “Yeah, I know. But I don’t even know this girl’s phone number or anything.”
The Asian bitch takes Todd’s hands and puts them on her slightly dimpled ass. He says, “Dude, you know where she works.”
The pock-faced bitch starts semi–jerking me off through my pants. I say, “But I don’t know when she works. I can’t just hang out in the store all day.”
The Asian bitch does this crab-type maneuver that has her crotch gyrating right under Todd’s nose. He says, “Dude, just ask somebody who works there when she works.”
The pock-faced bitch matches her partner. I try to sniff her cunt, but it’s masked by the stripper smell. I say, “Good idea.”
The Asian bitch puts her hands under Todd’s shirt and presses her face into his cock. He says, “No shit.”
Our conversation ends and our drinks come. The strippers get off us for a few seconds so we can dig our money out of the pockets they’ve been rubbing their asses all over. I feel a little ripped off by the convenient hiatus created by the waitress’s arrival. The waitress leaves and the bitches get back to work.
Some Tool song and a Linkin Park song finish out my three-for-the-price-of-one session. The highlight is when the pock-faced stripper accidentally slips off the side of the chair, hits the ground, and says, “Fuck, I hate these fucking shoes,” with no trace of the Scandinavian accent.
chapter ten
Stevie
I’m at the Gap in Westwood with Casey watching her look at clothes.
She says, “Do you think I should get a Gap credit card?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, I think you get ten percent off and you can use it like a normal credit card. Should I get one?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if I should though. Should I?”
“Do it.”
“I’ll think about it. I need to look around some more. If I find something that I like, I might get the card, too. I’m going to try some things on.”
I wait until she takes an armload of clothes into the dressing room and then walk across the street to the record store where Alyna works.
She’s not in the store, but a kind of overweight middle-aged guy with glasses and a crew cut is. His name tag reads STEVIE—MANAGER.
I say, “Excuse me.”
“How can I help you?”
“Do you know Alyna?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you know when she works next?”
“Yes, I do.” He points at his name badge. “I am the manager.” He laughs.
“Right. So when is she supposed to work next?”
“Are you a family member?”
“No, I’m—a friend.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
He points to his name badge again. “Like I said, I am the manager, and as the manager I have a duty to my employees. I can’t just go around giving out their personal information to every stranger who asks for it, now can I?” He laughs again.
“It’s not personal information.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Well, can I leave a message for her?”
He thinks about it. “I suppose that would be all right.”
“Do you have a piece of paper?”
He gives me a promotional flyer for Justin Timberlake’s new record.
“And a pen?”
He gives me one.
I write down something short, and put my phone number next to it. I fold it up, write Alyna’s name on the outside, and hand it back to Stevie.
He unfolds it and starts reading it out loud. “Alyna, I bought the Tori Amos record from you a few days ago. We kind of had a conversation about it. I was wondering if you might want to get dinner sometime. Call me.”
Stevie looks at me, then rips the paper in half and tosses it in the trash.
“What’re you doing?”
“You said you were her friend, which is clearly not the case. I try to create a safe and comfortable work environment here and I will not have my employees harassed during the course of their workday.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Sir, if you do not wish to make a purchase, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave my store.”
“It’s not your store, Stevie.”
I leave without incident, pissed.
I slip back into the Gap just in time to wait for another thirty minutes before Casey comes out of the dressing room and buys a sweater with her new Gap card.
As we walk out of the Gap, Casey says, “Hey, let’s go in that music store. My No Doubt CD got stuck in Jen’s CD player and she scratched it trying to get it out. I need a new one.”
“You go ahead. I’ll be next door looking at video games.”
I browse the used section while I’m positive Stevie is next door drooling over my girlfriend’s tits and taking way too long to help her find her No Doubt CD.
That night as Casey and I are in the sixty-nine and I’m staring into her asshole, I wonder if Alyna will be working at the record store tomorrow. I wonder if my ripped-up note will still be in the trash can by the front desk. I wonder if she might see her name on it and pull it out. I wonder if she’d even remember who I was anyway.
some chapter
Scarface Part 1
I’m sitting in a bar called Goldfinger after getting a phone call from Todd promising me that at least three hot bitches he knows from college who are all horny and drunk will be there. After my third beer and Todd’s sixth assurance that they must be on their way, I’m pretty sure there might never have been any hot bitches, and I’m positive if they do exist they’re not showing up here tonight.
I get up to go get another drink, and when I come back Todd has somehow managed to fill our booth with not the promised three hot bitches, but four average-looking bitches. I conclude that these are not the girls he was originally talking about, but I don’t really care. I sit down and learn the following:
The taller bitch with reddish hair is named Leslie Leonard and she’s visiting from Virginia. Two of the brunettes’ names make no impression on me and I don’t remember them even as they tell me, but I do latch on to the fact that they’re sisters and Leslie is their cousin. The third brunette is Asian and semi-hot from what I can see, until the candle flicker at our table bounces off a nasty fucking hairlip. I think she gives her name as Amy, but I immediately give her the name Scarface in my head.
After they’re done telling us whatever their stories are, Scarface says with a lisp that isn’t altogether unattractive, “Do you guys have girlfriends?”
It’s a weird question. Todd says, “No.” I don’t say anything. Scarface says, “Cool.”
I’m strangely attracted to her weird lip. I wonder if she’s had to develop some super cocksucking technique to compensate for her deformity. I wonder if she can even suck cock at all. Maybe she can’t suck cock so she’s had to expand her sexual repertoire to keep men interested. I picture myself fucking her in the ass and her genuinely enjoying it because she has to, because she knows that her openness to things other women aren’t is the most and only attractive quality she has.
Leslie Leonard says, “So have you guys seen any good movies lately?”
Todd says, “Movies are pretty gay right now. I saw the last UFC though.”
One of the sisters says, “What’s UFC?”
Todd says, “Ultimate Fighting Championship.”
The conversation is dead until Scarface says, “Is that like boxing?”
I wish the beer I’m drinking was Scotch.
Scarface keeps on talking, “Boxing is pretty cool. I don’t mind watching that.”
Scarface keeps going on about how much she can tolerate boxing, even more than watching football, and I keep watching her mouth move and wondering if there’s any way I could actually get her to suck my cock tonight. She seems kind of stupid but that doesn’t give me enough of a read to devise a game plan. I decide to wait it out, let her talk, let her get comfortable with me, and see where it goes.
Two hours later I’m more drunk than I wanted to be and Scarface’s lip doesn’t look abnormal to me at all. I don’t know if it’s because I’m drunk or because I’ve stared at it for so long that it just seems normal. They shut down the bar and our whole group goes outside.
I look over and see Todd kissing Leslie Leonard, which makes me realize there must have been an entire part of the night that I somehow missed while I was staring at Scarface’s lip, which I’m still doing when it moves and she says, “So are you gonna give me your number or what?”
The alcohol and the hypnotic spell her lip has cast on me slow my mind to the point of not being able to produce a fake number. I give her my real one, not remembering even as I say it to find the strength to change a single digit.
Scarface gives me a hug and for the first time all night I notice her body, which is nice. Hard little tits and a flat stomach. I wonder if she works out at home or if she braves a public gym with her lip. I wonder if she gets a Jamba Juice after she works out like I do sometimes and I also wonder if she uses a straw or if she even has the ability to use a straw.
She hops in a car driven by one of the two sisters, as does Leslie Leonard, leaving Todd and me standing on the sidewalk. Todd says, “Dude, that bitch gave me her number. She’s only in town for another four days and she gave me her number. It’s fucking on.”
I didn’t know at the time I decided to recognize her as Scarface if Todd did the same, but when he says, “So what happened with you and Scarface?” I realize he did. This also makes me realize that most guys’ default nickname for a bitch with any facial deformity is probably Scarface.
I say, “I think I gave her my number.”
“Holy shit. Your real number?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dude, her face is fucked up.”
“I know.”
“You think she’ll call you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know.”
chapter eleven
I’m Starting to Believe in Destiny
I’m in the Beverly Center pet store with my gay buddy, Carlos. We just finished our weekly lunch and he’s thinking about buying a dog. There are two thirty-something flaming fags next to us also thinking about buying a dog. One of them is holding a baby pug.
Fag 1 says, “I just don’t know if I should get him. I mean, I’m leaving town for two months. What would I do?”
Fag 2 says, “I’ll watch him for you.”
Fag 1 says, “You would?”
Fag 2 says, “Of course. But he’s so expensive, are you sure you want to get him?”
Fag 1 looks at the price on his cage. He says, “Thirteen hundred. That’s not too expensive for me.”
Fag 2 says, “Ooh, you’re so naughty.”
Then Fag 1 slaps Fag 2 on the ass and says, “You know it.”
Carlos nudges me and says, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
As we leave the pet store and head to EB Games, Carlos says, “I fucking hate fags who’re like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know, all flaunting their money and their asses in public. I mean, please, who wants to hear that you can waste thirteen hundred dollars on a fucking dog? And who doesn’t know that all homos have money because we have no women or children to suck us dry? And once you get out of college, who still slaps another guy on the ass? I need a fucking straight man who’s willing to just let me suck his dick and who’ll fuck me in the ass every once in a while without all the bullshit.”
He bats his eyelashes at me.
“As much as I like blow jobs, I only like ’em when they come with tits.”
“I’m not against implants.”
He laughs at his own joke as we walk into EB Games.
I walk to the back of the store and look through their rummage bin, which is usually filled with old Sega Genesis and Super Nintendo games.
I’ve been looking for a game called Super Populous since the eighth grade. In the game you play a god who controls a population of people. The computer plays a rival god controlling its own population. The object of each level is to raise your population to such a large number that it completely destroys the opposing god’s population. Each level takes roughly forty-five minutes to an hour to beat. There are 999 levels. After its release in 1990, it was rated the worst game of the year by several gaming magazines. One even rated it the worst game ever made. As a result, no store carried it for more than a month after it was released. So I had resigned myself to renting it from the only video store in town that carried it in the hopes of one day beating it.
Over the course of several rentals, I had progressed to the eighty-seventh level. One weekend while trying to rent it again, I was notified that it had not been returned and was thought to be stolen.
Since that day I’ve looked in any and every used game section I’ve come across. I’ve looked on eBay, I’ve looked at garage sales, I’ve even flipped through the classified ads every once in a while in the hopes of finding a video game collection for sale. Now, in the upper left part of the bin, right on top of the pile in this particular EB Games, is Super Populous for $2.99.
I’m almost catatonic with disbelief. A quest that has consumed multiple years of my life has finally and unexpectedly ended.
“How’s that Tori Amos CD?”
Alyna Janson is standing in front of me holding a DS Lite.
“I actually haven’t listened to it yet.”
“I thought you were a big Tori fan.”
“Not that big.”
She looks at Super Populous in my hand. She says, “What’s that?”
“Super Populous.”
She doesn’t know what it is or that my holding it means the end of a fifteen-year search.
I say, “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?”
“Sure.”
She takes a pen and paper out of her purse, writes down her number, and hands it to me. She says, “Here’s my number, give me a call and we can hash out the details.”
I take her number, put it in my back pocket, and say, “Okay.”
She walks up to the counter to buy the DS Lite. I assume she’s buying it for a brother or friend. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans that make her ass look slightly better than I remembered it. I pretend to look through the used game bin some more so I don’t have to make eye contact with her again and possibly start up a clumsy and unnecessary conversation after just having successfully asked her on a date.
Carlos comes over to me and says, “Did you just ask that girl on a date?”
“Yeah.”
“You little fucker. Are you and Casey still together?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t really know.”
“You just saw some girl you wanted to fuck and asked her out or what?”
“No. I’ve seen her before. I saw her on a plane, and then I saw her in a record store. She sold me a CD. I constantly think about her.”
“I guess I’m not the one to be giving you a lecture on fidelity. God knows I’ve fucked around on half of West Hollywood. But you better be fucking careful. Shit like this always blows up in your face.”
I pay for Super Populous and we leave the Beverly Center.
When I get home I jerk off thinking about the possibility of fucking Alyna on our first date. I wonder if she’s ever fingered herself while thinking about me.
some chapter
Scarface Part 2
I’ve been playing Halo 2 campaign mode for the past four hours on Legendary difficulty. I’m having trouble with the part where you have to pilot a Ghost around while a giant Covenant walker robot is decimating the city. The Covenant Ghosts do too much damage and there are too many of them. The phone rings. I answer it without stopping my game and hear a vaguely familiar lisp. It’s fucking Scarface, who begins the following conversation:
“I had a really good time meeting you and your friend Todd when we were all out the other night.”
“Uh-huh…”
“Did you?”
“Uh…sure.”
“Cool. So what are you up to right now?”
“Uh…I’m playing Halo.”
“Cool. What’s that?”
“A video game.”
“Cool. I love video games. I’m awesome at Tetris. You ever play Tetris?”
“Not really.”
I have a bead on an enemy Ghost and my plasma cannon is fully charged. Before I pull the trigger I pretend Scarface is piloting the Covenant ship. As I blow him out of the air, I see his body falling down to the ground below.
Scarface keeps talking, “Hey, what kind of music are you into?”
“Uh…all kinds, I guess.”
“Cool. Me too. I listen to pretty much everything.”
What must be forty-five seconds pass and all I hear on the other end of the phone is air blowing in and out through Scarface’s deformed lip. I try to ignore it as I mop up some more Covenant ships.
Then she says, “So do you date much?”
“Not too much.”
“Yeah, same here. But when you do go on dates, what kind of stuff do you like to do?”
“Eat, I guess.”
“Yeah, that’s a really good thing to do on a date. Where do you like to eat?”
