WEAK Part One: A Thornhill Road Romance

by Drew Sinclair

  "Why is everything with you always about sex ?" Jean said, pushing a filled Champagne flute in front of me. "Here baby, drink this. Good Champagne heals all wounds of the soul." She nodded to Clarissa. "At least this bitch in heat is good for something, right? A toast to our call girl roommate."

  She held up her glass.

  "And to all who sail in her." I added.

  "And to jealous bitches." Clarissa raised her glass with a smile. "Come on you two passion fugitives, let's toast to something god damn life affirming before this Grand Cru goes flat.

  "Here's to happiness." Jean said.

  "Here's to life not sucking." I added.

  "And above all, here's to great sex with hot, horny, rich young guys." Clarissa said.

  Jean and I exchanged a glance.

  "Come on virgins." Clarissa said. "I want to hear you say it. This is my Champagne you're about to guzzle down your undeserving throats."

  "Whatever." I grumbled. "If it makes you happy, here's to great sex and all the rest of it. Whatever you said."

  Jean added in her own sex toast and at last we could finally move on.

  I took a sip of the Dom Perignon and then a long, slow draft. I hadn't expected it to taste so good, but then again, I had never tasted such an expensive drink before.

  "You know, this sex-Champagne of yours is actually pretty good." I said.

  Jean sniggered. Even the smell of alcohol made her tipsy. She was worse than me.

  "Sex-Champagne." Clarissa half-closed her eyes. "I like the sound of that."

  Unrelenting. Unstoppable. No wonder Jean and I loved her so much.

  We all took another long sip on the good stuff and then Jean brought the conversation back to my bad day.

  "So did this guy take responsibility for his screw up and offer to pay for damages?"

  "I said I was involved in a rear end collision, I didn’t say he rear ended me. I was the one behind."

  "Fucking asshole." Clarissa said immediately. "Obviously he braked too sharply and you had no option but to rear end him. Typical fucking man, always finishing things up too quickly just when a girl is beginning to get started."

  I had to laugh. We all did. Clarissa's mild insanity was actually beginning to cheer me up.

  "I don’t think my insurance company's going to see it that way. We can’t blame the guys this time."

  "You can always blame the guys honey. And you always should. It's your duty to womankind." Clarissa was quite firm on that point.

  "Of course he had a beautiful car. Just my luck."

  "It could happen to anyone Victoria." Jean said and her kind voice made me begin to think that maybe things weren't so bad after all.

  "I know they can, but why does that 'anyone' always seem to be me?"

  "Was the guy hot?" Clarissa asked.

  I hadn’t thought about that. Quite honestly.

  "He might have been, but he was such a jerk it didn't make a difference. He jumped out and started yelling about what an expensive car he had and blah, blah, blah. It made me want to tell him to go fuck himself but obviously I couldn’t. He said it would be in the thousands to get the paintwork alone fixed, it being a custom car and all this crap."

  I began to feel myself go. The thought of all that money I didn’t have. The unfairness of it all. One stupid mistake and it had to be with some rich asshole New Yorker. I could buy a whole other car like the one I had, maybe even two with the money I would have give to him to fix his Bugatti or Porsche or whatever it was. If my insurance paid for it then my stupid premium would be through the roof. I was screwed either way.

  "Did you offer to blow him?" Clarissa said, again with the deadpan face. "I'm serious honey, this could save you a fortune on your annual premium."

  "Forget insurance. I'd rather just pay him. I'll get the money somehow."

  "No way." Jean said. "He's not going to take you for a ride. Let the insurance companies sort this out. That way you'll be sure he's not overcharging you."

  "He won't. He's obviously rich and doesn't need the money, he's only worried about his precious paint job."

  "Think blow job." Clarissa said. "Not paint job."

  "I'm not going to blow him."

  "Never say never honey. Now answer me, was he at least hot?"

  "What difference does that make?"

  "I need it to visualize the story more accurately. Especially if I'm going to help you."

  "Okay then, he was good looking but he was kind of young for me."

  "Young is good. They need breaking in but once you've done that part then they can go for hours. Under twenty-four years is optimal."

  "I'm not breaking anyone in. He gave me his number and told me to call him about settling up, he didn’t have time to stick around."

  "Did he take your number?" Jean asked.

  I shook my head.

  "He didn’t take your number?" She was incredulous.

  "No. No he didn't."

  "That's weird. There's something definitely weird about that."

  "You're off the hook Vic." Clarissa drained her glass. "This is officially a non-story. He was obviously too dazzled by your obvious assets." She said, referencing my breasts. She never let up about what a 'waste' they were with me burying my head in books and computers all the time.

  "I'm pretty sure that had nothing to do with it." I said.

  "I wouldn’t be so sure honey. They've done scientific studies that show boobs and hips have the same effect on a guy's mind as drugs and alcohol. Especially if they're young and horny. Not that we needed scientists to tell us that. What kind of car was it that cost so much to get a scratch of paint fixed?"

  "A Bugatti."

  "A fucking Bugatti?" Clarissa said, always impressed by the trappings of wealth. "What kind of Bugatti?"

  "I think it was a Veyron. 16.4 or something like that." Numbers usually stick in my head for some reason. Always have done. Same as my dad.

  "This guy definitely has something to hide. Maybe he was carrying a dead body in the trunk." Jean said.

  These two friends of mine. Far too much imagination.

  "He was just busy, preoccupied. It wasn't sexual 'bedazzlement' or a grisly crime."

  "Okay, so maybe not a body in the trunk but maybe it wasn't his car." Jean said. "Maybe it was daddy's car. You said he looked young, didn't you?"

  "I'm sorry girls, but it was definitely the tits. I'm telling you, if I had tits like yours honey, there'd be world peace. I'd go to the UN, point those bad ass boys at all those dirty old men and order them to make love, not war. Why God gave those things to you and not to me I will never know." Clarissa said.

  "Three simple words Clarissa." Jean said. "Surgery. Augmentation. Breast. Not necessarily in that order." The two of them could go on like this for hours. Sometimes it was funny, sometimes it wore a little thin.

  "Can we stay on topic here girls?" I said. "I think Jean has a point. I don’t think it was his car. He took off out of there so fast. I should call that number he gave me and see who answers."

  "Totally. You should totally do that." Clarissa was very enthusiastic. "Let me go pick out some clothes for you first though."

  "Clothes? It's a phone call, not a video conference."

  "You need to get in the mood with something sexy Vic. This is a rich young guy were talking about here. Don’t tell me that's co-incidence. It's the Champagne genie working his magic." She reached over and rubbed the bottle like a magic lamp. "Obviously I'll lend you something because nothing you own is capable of getting a man aroused without medical intervention of some kind." She paused. "Except for those eye-popping tits of yours."

  They really aren't that big.

  Clarissa disappeared. She was actually serious. By the time she returned Jean and I had progressed on from the topic and I really didn’t feel like talking about my stupid fender bender anymore. If the guy had something to hide then I could probably forget all about it unless my conscience began to eat at me and I decided to contact h
im. Knowing me, that was a strong possibility. Sometimes I think you need to kill any vestige of moral fiber in your soul in order to survive in this city.

  Clarissa reluctantly moved on from what she called my 'hot guy' story and after we had finished off most of a bottle of white wine we were all a little the worse for wear. Chinese food arrived and Clarissa found another bottle of wine to keep the party going.

  I was actually beginning to have a good time. If it wasn't for my roommates, kooky as they might be, I might never, give myself permission to let go, unwind, blow off a little steam.

  Before too long however, Clarissa had steered the conversation back around to sex talk.

  "So you'd sell your soiled undies for cash Vicky. That was what I heard earlier, wasn't it?"

  "What you heard earlier was a joke Clarissa. It's not the kind of thing I would do at all."

  "But what if you really needed the money badly?"

  "Things would have to be bad. Unbearably bad and there are plenty of other things I can think of that I would do before engaging with anonymous internet panty-perverts."

  "I'd do it." Jean chirped beside us, like a girl scout volunteering to sell cookies and lemonade.

  "I know you could." Clarissa said. "In fact I'm pretty sure that's how you paid the rent last month you slut." She was the lease holder. Jean and I sublet our rooms from her.

  "That is not true." Jean replied, her words beginning to slur.

  "Whatever. I have an idea ladies." Clarissa was in her element. "We're among trusted friends here, a sorority if you will, so why don't we all confess what it would take for us to do something like that?"

  "No way I would do it." I said immediately. "Not under any circumstances. It's too creepy. I don’t want to have anything to do with anyone who wants my dirty laundry. And I don’t want them owning it either."

  "I don’t know," Jean said, "it would save on laundry bills at least. You know, if you had a guy who wasn't exactly fussy about your personal hygiene and was willing to pay for that…."

  "If he's not fussy about your laundry then how's he going to be about his own? No way. I'm not into greasy guys. Not even a short interaction to make a quick buck."

  "The condition of sale would of course be that the buyer is totally hot." Clarissa added. She was having fun.

  "And successful." Jean added. "No losers."

  "So under those circumstances Vicky, what would it take for you to sell them then? Come on, don’t be shy, you're the one who suggested it after all - tell us what it would take for you to part with a pair of your greasy shorts. This is easy money girl."

  "'This is easy money girl?' What does that mean?" I stared at her in disbelief. "Are you offering to broker a deal between us and one of your sleaze-ball boyfriends?"

  "If you're in the market honey, then yes, I'm pretty sure I can find someone." Her eyes were steady as a cobra's.

  "Yeah, I bet her current boyfriend would like a pair, whatever his name is." Jean slurred.

  Clarissa ignored her, staying relentlessly on message.

  "If I can help out a friend, then why not? Come on Vicky, you're always short on dough. Name your price and let me help get you out of the hole."

  "Three thousand dollars." I blurted out. I don't know where it came from but I presume it must have been the alcohol. "At least it would pay for the paint work on that asshole's Bugatti."

  "Now we're getting somewhere." She smiled broadly. "How about you Jean. What's your price?"

  "I'll do it for two."

  "You mean you'd undercut me you sneaky bitch?" I said with faux indignation.

  "Okay, let's put this to the test then." Clarissa fixed me in her crosshairs. "You’re willing to sell for three thousand bucks." She looked at Jean with mock disgust. "And you, you cheap whore, you'll do it for two." Jean sniggered drunkenly, bizarrely tickled by the idea of being called a cheap whore. The human mind is an infinite mystery.

  Clarissa locked on to us both with her steely glare.

  "I wouldn't go less than ten thousand on something as dirty as that." She said with total seriousness.

  "What? You?" I laughed hard. I laughed from deep down in the belly until Clarissa showed obvious signs of irritation. "I thought a pair of used panties was included as part of the standard package in all of your dates Clarissa. What suddenly makes you so expensive?"

  She recovered herself, tapped her nose and winked.

  "The trick girls, is not to price yourself too low. I know my worth and I know exactly what a pair of my stinky drawers are worth in this world too. You girls need to watch and learn."

  Jean and I exchanged a look of bewilderment. Neither of us could figure out half the time if our colorful roommate meant half of what she said or said half of what she actually did.

  "Give me your cell phones." She ordered us.

  We both hesitated.

  "What for?" I asked.

  "To make you girls some money of course, what else?"

  "I don't think so." I looked at Jean who was staring…no, she was gaping at Clarissa. Maybe this was one of her drunken fantasies coming true.

  Don't ever try to make your fantasies a reality. Isn’t that what they say? The reality of something is always more complicated and unexpected than anything you can think up in your head.

  In Jean's case this sounded like very good advice.

  "Two thousand bucks?" She said, all wide-eyed. "Are you serious?"

  "Easy money. Tip of the iceberg Jean. All you have to do is give me your phone and leave the rest to me. If it backfires and you don't make all the money you deserve then you both can live here rent free for the next two months. My word of honor."

  My mouth fell open two. I guess I must have looked as dumb as Jean did judging by the expression on Clarissa's face, but in my then circumstances two whole months without the pressure of scraping rent together was a very attractive proposition. Jean on the other hand, didn’t actually need money, but that didn't stop her fumbling wildly for her phone and handing it over to over to our wicked sister.

  Clarissa palmed it and then turned her full attention to me, barely restraining that anaconda smile of hers.

  "This doesn’t involve sex Mother Superior." She said. "You won't have to break your stupid vow of chastity."

  "It's not a vow of chastity, it's a… it's a..."

  "Waste of a perfectly good pussy if you ask me." She said.

  "Here, go on. Take the damn thing. Do whatever you're going to do and let's get this over with quickly."

  I handed over my phone.

  Great idea Vicky. Just great.

  I should have told her I wasn't interested and gone straight to bed.

  Clarissa got to work straight away, obviously worried that we might get cold feet and back out before she could carry out her plan.

  She held up my phone first.

  "Okay, I need a photo of that ass first." I covered my face and tried to shrink into the couch but there was nowhere to go. This was getting bad. I was still in my shorts and t-shirt and from feeling very relaxed suddenly it my girls night in clothes felt far too revealing and not particularly flattering.

  "Don’t hide!" She barked at me. "These panties won’t sell themselves. This guy needs to see the merchandise and by merchandise I mean your ass and those big irresistible boobs of yours."

  She started to click away taking photos which Jean found drunkenly hilarious.

  "I don’t like this idea. Come on Clarissa, seriously. Cut it out. And where are those clothes you were going to lend me anyway."

  "You look better the way you are now. Oiled, slutty, like some co-ed gone wild."

  Co-ed.

  I have always hated that word. I glared at Clarissa. She smiled back and snapped my picture.

  "Money shot." She said very seriously. "Okay angry-pants, I'll stop now."

  "Finally." I said and ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back out of my face.

  "Wow." She said. "You look so hot and bothered. So sexy
." She held up the phone again and took another snap of my reddened face.

  "You are seriously, and I mean very seriously, beginning to annoy me now Clarissa." I said. Not that my being annoyed ever made any difference to her.

  "You'll thank when the money is in your account. Stay calm and think about the three grand."

  Three thousand dollars. I was tipsy enough to almost believe it could happen. If I was bold and never called that rich kid about his car that kind of money would keep me going for another month at least. Even more if cut out what little extra spending there was in my budget for 'luxuries' like food and water.

  "How about me? Can we do me now?"

  What had gotten into Jean, the straight-laced corporate accountant, I could not fathom.

  "Sorry Jean, but we aren’t finished with the Mother Superior here yet. We still need the 'item' in question." She gave me her I'm-dead-serious face. Clarissa would make an excellent comedy actress. In fact I'm pretty sure she would be excellent at anything she turned her hand to and it was no wonder that she could wrap any man around her finger - gay or straight they all wound up adoring her in the end.

  If anyone could raise three grand out of old underwear it was her.

  "Okay." I said. "I'll go get some."

  I watched their jaws drop but Clarissa recovered her composure in a heartbeat.

  "Not just any." She said. "We need the ones you're wearing now."

  Typical. Give the woman an inch…

  "What difference does that make?" I said.

  "All the difference in the world honey. If I'm going to personally vouch for these panties I need to know they're the real deal so that I can communicate that as compellingly as I can to my buyer. I need him to know that you were hot for this idea while you were in the underwear that will subsequently become his property. Believe me, it will make a difference. All the difference. Do you think these guys will pay thousands of dollars for a pair of drawers they can get in the department store for a few dollars? A guy who can afford this kind of turn on is no dope. He'll know if you were hot in these or not."