by Jason Jauron
Or they could have whispered and snickered about how Linda Lovelace forever changed good ole’ fashioned “clean” mainstream porn for audiences and actresses when she made anal sex a required scene.
But, alas.
“Patty was my girlfriend,” he said very slowly, deliberately, hoping the fair-skinned Rebecca could read between the fucking lines.
Rebecca lit her first Red.
She exhaled.
As expected, Jed found the smell nauseating. Here he was, in the lounge of his hotel, trying to relax, collect his thoughts, and make peace – find peace – about a number of issues, people, and events in his life.
Fucking smoke is going to…
“What happened, you two broke up?” chirped Rebecca, now seated comfortably. Despite her academic experiences at college, she still tests poorly in “reading between the lines.”
Jed leaned back.
“I suppose you could say that.”
There’s your hint dumb Dora. The bank is closed.
“Well, what happened? Why’d you break up?”
Jesus, there is no subtlety to this bitch. I mean, if you’re gonna stick your finger up my ass, and that is what this conversation is gonna feel like to me, at least sweet talk me a little first. Whisper some sweet nothings. Run your fingers through my hair.
“I’d rather just sit, enjoy the beer,” replied Jed.
Rebecca squirmed.
“Don’t want to talk about it huh.” She crossed her legs. “You must have truly cared for her then.”
“That’s an understatement,” blurted Jed.
He slammed his beer, set the bottle on the table hard. He was pissed. She was getting to him.
The display of aggression did not deter Rebecca. She jumped up, smiled.
“I’ll get us a bucket.”
Leave me the fuck alone.
He got up, found the bathroom.
This should be her hint that I’m not interested in discussing the best thing that ever happened to me with a stranger. The only fucking love I’ve ever known.
He kicked the wall near his urinal.
Piss shot everywhere.
He kicked it a second time.
More piss graffiti.
I miss our morning walks.
I miss the pats on the butt.
I miss the little notes in my book bag.
I miss how your body made me feel.
I miss you Patty.
He shook his head.
Stop being so Pattyocentric!
Stop whirling around her image in an arc of sadness!
Don’t start getting all mushy Jed.
Remember what she did!
Leave me alone Mister. It’s none of your business.
He washed, dried his hands.
He stopped, looked at himself in the mirror.
I look tired.
He studied his cheeks – where the cysts had been.
I feel tired, old.
I’m lost without you Patty.
He cleaned some goop out of his eyes.
Pop the zit Jed.
Pop the zit!
He leaned closer.
Studied his chin.
There was nothing there.
He balled both fists.
Squeezed for a few seconds.
Then relaxed his hands.
Pick at your face Jed!
There was a time not long ago when Jed he would have obeyed Mister like a faithful hunting dog.
But Jed is not that person anymore.
To think I spent two hours every day in front of a mirror mutilating myself.
He tucked his shirt, straightened his belt.
It’s hard to believe I didn’t lose my mind when all that shit was happening.
He gave himself one last look over.
Leave me the fuck alone Mister. You aren’t my companion anymore. I didn’t even fucking pack you for this trip.
Satisfied, he walked out of the bathroom.
28.
Un-the-fuck-believable.
Rebecca was there all right. And so was the bucket of bottles.
Jed scanned the room.
Empty.
He hung his head.
As he slumped into his chair, he asked, “Is there anything else we could talk about?”
The young bartender shook her head.
She was being daring, a little outside of the box. She was clearly not afraid of Jed, nor was she picking up any bad vibes from him. Her short stint behind the bar had given her a bit of clairvoyance. That, along with the mace and bat behind the counter, gave her the courage to continue to serve spirits in a material world.
“Have you ever been in love?” asked Jed, coyly.
Take the bait little missy.
“Once,” she shot back. “But I’m still in college, so I don’t imagine I’ll find my true love walking around on campus.”
“Don’t be so sure,” snapped Jed.
“Is that where you met Patty?”
Jed twisted in his seat, nodded.
“So tell me about her,” prodded Rebecca.
He took a slow breath. Now he was the one taking the bait.
“We were as different as chalk and cheese.”
She flashed Jed her what.the.fuck look.
He smiled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell me about her,” she said. “And speak the King’s English.”
He cleared his throat.
“When the book of my life is written, she will haunt many, many chapters.”
Rebecca shot him her dumb-shit-what-do-you-mean-I’m-just-a-superficial-lazy-procrastinating-ass-college-student look.
“When I picture her face, the stars in the night sky seem to lose their place.”
She handed him a beer and gave him the first long look of the evening.
“I miss the taste of cappuccino when we kissed in the morning,” he said calmly. “I miss feeling her body rise when I kissed her.”
Rebecca set her beer down, lit another cigarette. She reflected on the last two comments.
“Wow, she must be something special.”
He smiled politely at the understatement.
“Without her love, my heart is hollow.”
“Without her love, there are no reasons.”
“Without her love, there are no seasons.”
“Without her love, time has no meaning.”
Rebecca tilted her head, stared.
I so want to fuck this guy right now.
As if on cue, she sat up, pointing her perky tits at Jed.
He took no notice.
She leaned forward.
“Sounds like you really miss her.”
He nodded.
It was at this point that he decided to take a chance. Maybe it would be easier talking about it with a complete stranger. He didn’t know. But his grief over Patty and their relationship was consuming him. He couldn’t allow sadness to become his companion. And he had not yet recovered, moved forward with his life.
The end of their engagement was a lesson on how quick the sun can drop away. Every day of his life since lay in broken pieces.
Patty’s sudden death was just more emotional weight that he carried around; his sorrow a cross he no longer wanted to bear. And at this exact moment, he felt like his life was at a crossroads. He could keep carrying the cross, as a tribute to Patty, or he could pay his respects, set the cross down, and walk away.
My tears won’t be the tears of regret. My tears will be cleansing. They will let me start over.
“Earth to Jed,” teased Rebecca. “I still don’t know anything about her. What did she look like?”
“She was flawless,” he said, suddenly grinning. “Her beauty was intimidating.”
A drag and a puff later.
“So what did she see in you?” joked Rebecca, who was now on her third beer.
“That’s a good question. One I’ve thought a lot about.” He put his hands behind his head. “I think
she saw a lot of little things in me.”
Rebecca shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What I mean is Patty saw in me someone who was kind, someone she could trust. I was someone who would not take advantage of her, hurt her, or leave her. I think she knew I was someone who would take care of her.”
He grabbed his beer.
Took a long drink.
“I think she also knew that I was someone that she could incubate, manipulate, and subjugate.”
The change in his inflection went unnoticed by the young bartender. Also, she had no clue what most of the words in his comment meant anyway.
He inhaled slowly.
And humiliate.
“I thought you said she felt like you would not leave her,” interrupted an impatient Rebecca. “But you did.”
He chuckled, took a long drink.
I left her.
“It’s such a long story.“
He leaned back, put his hands behind his head.
“And all the ink has run dry.”
Rebecca smacked the table.
“I want to know what happened!”
The bartender is drunk after three bottles.
Classic.
“Our story is not an Aesop’s fable. So there are no talking animals. Our story is not a Disney fairy tale. So there is no beautiful, hard-working, smart princess trying to escape ugly, mean stepsisters or a Neanderthal suitor.
Our story is about love. Love is the only constant, consistent element of the human experience. Love is the archetype. But make no mistake; there is no pain in life like love.”
He was becoming more animated.
“There is no horoscope to guide the pair who have run out of hope. There is no monopoly on tears cried, for the poor couple that bled their hearts as their love died.”
She hit the table again.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He took another long drink.
“I’m saying that I need to let go and move on.”
She nodded.
“Okay. Why is that so hard?”
It was the same question Jed had been obsessing over since the day he walked away from their life together. And no gypsy, Tarot cards, face reading, palm reading, kau cim, pendulum, stars, or markings in the sand ever gave him solace.
“I met Patty at a time when I was deeply depressed. She rescued me in a way. I will never truly be able to repay her. I tried. I failed.”
He twisted the top off another Heineken.
“She got me away from a life of isolation and self-destruction. She became my reason for a lot of things – positive things. But I still didn’t feel good about myself, or like myself, for a long time. And it was that state of mind that left me vulnerable, impressionable, and controllable. I became addicted, obsessed with her.”
“Give me details damn you,” blurted Rebecca.
Jed motioned to her with his hands.
“Calm down. I don’t know you. But let’s just say that sexually Patty was all id, all the time. And her id kicked my Catholic superego’s ass big-time, every time. So I became her boy toy of sorts. Never said no to any request – anywhere, anytime.”
He finished his beer. She gave him the last bottle of the bucket.
“She was blond by the way. And she was an insatiable, sexual Tyrannosaurus.”
Rebecca straightened up, pointed a finger at him.
“It’s always sex with you guys. I mean, shit, does anything else matter?” She was genuinely frustrated; Jed was in no mood to feel pity.
There is sorrow in every life sweetie. Your sorrow will be your peanut butter and jelly intimate life. No oral sex. No foreplay. No 69. Every time will be missionary, and every time means three times a month. He will roll on top of you, seven or eight French kisses later, you will insert his manhood into you, but not without some difficulty. You will have to live with a total of 30 minutes of sexual relations a month as a married woman.
He grinned at his summation.
Decided to tease the young upstart.
“I feel being able to make someone happy in the bedroom is important.”
She stood up, walked back to the bar.
She returned with another bucket.
** Five more beers each, and 30 minutes later **
“She wanted you to do what?” screamed Rebecca, more tipsy than she had been in a long time.
“Patty sometimes insisted that I pull out and put my penis in her mouth right as I came.”
“That is so kinky,” squealed Rebecca.
“As wonderful as it was, and holy shit it was awesome, these submissive acts of wild sex did allow her to gain quite a measure of control over me.”
“You mean there were other things she did.”
This chick is one repressed motherfucker.
“Yes, lots of them.”
She tapped her bottle on the table.
He shook his head.
“Come on, tell me!” she barked.
He surveyed the room.
Jed could not believe no one else had shown up.
He lowered his voice.
“She loved to 69; she loved to go down on me when I was standing up – sucking my balls, sticking her finger up my ass; she liked being tittie-fucked until you came on her face; she always waxed her pussy until the skin was so smooth – I never once saw a pubic hair.”
He was getting hard just talking about it.
“I would’ve done anything for her. Fucking anything. And she knew that. “
It took all of 20 seconds for Rebecca to ask the obvious.
“What did you do for her?”
“I helped her cheat in some classes. I stole money from members of my fraternity. I lied. I paid her rent. I cooked, washed her clothes, and fixed her car.”
She glared at him.
He nodded.
“Only after months of being apart, was I able to reflect objectively and see what was really going on. While we were living together, it was so easy to never see the truth.”
She raised both hands.
“She was using you, plain and simple.”
He shook his head.
“Patty’s behavior was not her design. She had been conditioned as a young girl.”
A large group entered the lounge. They were loud, rowdy.
Jed exhaled.
About fucking time.
“I’ve got to go help them. I’ll be right back Jed.”
As she turned, walked away, Jed walked out.
29.
“I do believe that girl has Jed wrapped around her finger.”
Jed’s father, 1985
He went to the lobby, paused.
He looked back at the entrance to the bar, chuckled.
At college – especially after he transferred and joined a fraternity, Jed had logged his fair share of minutes at local drinking establishments. But prior to the night he met Patty, Jed spent most of his time drinking with buddies – at least until they ditched him for the ladies.
He never felt all that comfortable at the bars - like a stranger in a foreign land. He didn’t speak the language, he didn’t understand the culture, and he had no clue how to blend in.
His complexion always produced predictable responses – stares and stops.
Everyone stared at him a little longer than Emily Post would recommend. But Jed was good at emotionally sweeping this behavior aside. Hell, he knew his fellow students were just using him as extra credit for their Social Psychology class – he was a kickass example of downward social comparison.
It was the stops – complete, utter, physical stoppage of all movement from people to stare at his complexion – that stung Jed. To him, each of these painful, 30-second vignettes felt like backing into a wait-a-bit bush in long underwear.
So it was always the first few steps into a bar that made him particularly jittery. He always felt the same – singled out - as if someone had lit a signal flare and handed it to him - as he wal
ked in.
Over time, his ruddy complexion made him identify with Rudolph.
Cause Jed’s face had more than just a red nose.
Cause most of the “bar-hoppers” would point him out to their friends and say nasty things under their breath.
Cause Jed never got to join in any of the fun coed bar games. He never got to play “cop a feel near the bar,” or “corner table tongue wrestling” or “dance floor bump-n-grind,” or the popular “hands down the pants while waiting in line for the bathroom.”
It was impossible for him to meet women – even casually; there were just too many other choices - acne-free choices - available.
So if the ladies wanted to flirt, show some skirt, or end up a frat boy’s dessert, they never gave Jed a second look of any kind.
Not even a cursory.
Not even a perfunctory.
Not even a compulsory.
Not even a mandatory.
Not even a obligatory.
Not one “hottie” ever picked Jed to hammer her like chopped steak.
Not one “hottie” ever picked Jed to stuff her like a bell pepper.
Not one “hottie” ever picked Jed to sink her like a three-foot putt.
Not one “hottie” ever picked Jed to flip her like a cheese omelet.
Not one “hottie” ever picked Jed to roll her out like wholesale carpet.
Not one “hottie” ever picked Jed to smoke her like a Butterball turkey.
Those invitations were handed out to only the “prettiest” of boys.
Women did not even want to be near him.
He was ugly as sin.
Choosing to sleep with Jed was like drinking the last sip of beer from a stranger’s bottle.
Nobody drinks backwash.
And that was exactly how women viewed Jed.
Nobody fucks human backwash.
He never got “picked up” at bars; he never made some chick’s short list of potential “fuck buddies.”
But still he went.
Time and again.
And he drank until he was as full as a tick.
And then he would stumble home – sometimes enjoy a long sleep, sometimes puke in his sleep.
But not before he would fuck with his face. And being as drunk as a skunk, these pick-at-my-face-with-Mister sessions resembled self-harm more than self-help.
