by Tony D
“Sebastian, I’m not going to put my condom on.”
“Good, good man. Now go.”
If I judged every woman that hooked up with me quickly, they’d all be sluts. Even if she is a good girl, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. Some bleeding heart might read this and think I’m talking about rape or something. It’s not like that. Women want men that know what they want, but don’t need what they want. Don’t make judgments about the character of others. Character changes like the tide, a fluid. People aren’t statues. Neither are you, human.
I went to the bank to deposit my five hundred dollars.
Chapter 34
Frosted Flakes (All growed up)
I’d completed a quest. I was a woman conquering dragon-warrior of legend. The question was, if I’d come so far and accomplished so much, why couldn’t I find one lousy girl to hang out with me twice? Who would I blame? Capitalism? Feminism? I had only myself.
Since the Crab Palace had shut down my budget for bar romping was diminished. All of the girls I’d been seeing either weren’t good enough, or decided I wasn’t good enough. There was Angela, the Mexican sweetheart who I met through friends at the Crab Palace. She loved me when I put my hand to her face, shoved lightly and ordered, “Go away, to your village…and don’t return unless you bring me a goat!” She recruited overseas talent for corporations. Her Mexican man friends thought I was a scoundrel, and couldn’t understand why she was so attracted to a guy that publicly disrespected her.
“We don’t treat our women like that,” one of them told me.
Angela had her tongue in my ear. I stroked her hair and looked at them through my whiskey-cola. “What are you talking about? She loves it!”
She was perfect girlfriend material. Affectionate, beautiful, twenty-six, exotic, fit, smart, funny.
Her visa expired a week later and she flew back to Mexico.
Then there was Rhonda, the Brazilian Lesbian. I met her on a dance floor at a dive bar. She was wearing her winter jacket. “That’s ridiculous girl,” I said above the Michael Jackson remix. “Take it off or get out.” She unwrapped and her brown, Amazonian body emerged. We fucked like hamsters for a week until she left me for a lesbian she met on Facebook.
“We have amazing sex!” she said, meaning us. “But a man can never touch me the way a woman can. You will never be able to, because you are a man.”
I couldn’t deny that logic.
I was dating another white girl, and we watched one of my favorite movies, Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. She kept repeating, “This is weird.” I tried to explain it was a film chronicling a young boy’s destructive descent and ascent in a dystopian society.
“Ya…it’s kinda weird.”
It lasted one month, until the novelty of her body wore off.
Then there were the flakes; dozens and dozens and dozens. I met them at parties, bookstores, coffee shops. I’d introduce myself, make a great first impression and get their contact. But they would rarely meet me for a coffee, or even return my messages. Was my hair too fucked up?
I got a haircut.
Was it my teeth?
I got them whitened.
Maybe I needed a better job?
I doubled my advertising tactics.
Maybe I should wear a t-shirt that listed my social accomplishments? I’d written over two hundred poems that year, and they were good. I used to be in a band. I approached a shit ton of women? I’m, errr, special? But I never spent more than a day feeling sorry for myself. Whenever I felt bad I would look in the mirror and remember what if felt like to have boobs. I remembered that I used to want to kill myself. I remembered all the beautiful women I’d been with and I was thankful. The memories, they always lifted my spirits. They still do.
I found something else that fulfilled me more than women: Art. I wrote and wrote, at least a thousand words a day. I felt that it would pay off —developing this skill. I would have a record of my time on this planet to show all the poor bastards that inherit it—our Vortex. I don’t know if they’ll still read books by then, but whatever. They can upload it into their digiheads. At least I made something real.
So bitter, so bitter.
Chapter 35
New Year, New Woman (Luv?)
“Five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Years!!” we all screamed.
Streamers flew, balloons bounced, champagne popped. I grabbed at the nearest pretty girl, but she turned away so I grabbed for another. A little plump for my tastes, but good enough for a kiss. “Happy 2010 baby!” I said and put a wet smacker on her lips. I went back to my spot on the couch to work on my beer and fish for girls. The chubby one was staring at me. I shouldn’t have kissed her, I thought.
The kid sitting beside me said, “Hey bro. I’ve heard you teach pickup, is that true?”
Why yes, yes it is. He knows us. Don’t disappoint him.
“I used to. I haven’t done that in a while,” I said, pretending aloofness but enjoying the attention. But it was true. I hadn’t found a client in four months. I hadn’t tried. I was no pickup artist. I was brutally destroyed by ancient ghosts of rejection past.
“That’s awesome! Can I ask, how did you get into it?”
A girl threw up in the corner. More streamers.
“Well…I guess I was really lonely, and horny.”
“Now you aren’t?”
Two boys were making out. People were pretending not to care.
“Always, it’s a sickness.”
“So why don’t you coach anymore? That sounds like a pretty awesome job. I wish I had that job.”
“You could have it.”
“Nah man, I suck with girls.”
“Takes practice.”
I was scared. Scared of failure, scared of success, scared of what people would think of me. Years spent trying to mask these fears, and they were still there, buried. Maybe we never overcome our emotions; we just learn to ignore them.
“You see,” I continued, “being a dating coach is like being a rock star, except instead of hot groupies you get awkward men. And you might want to settle down right? But you’re always on the road, and you’re always meeting new people, and what girl wants to be with that guy? Plus, most of contemporary society thinks you’re a creepy a douche-bag who is obsessed with one night stands and multiple sex partners. You’re like a walking std.”
The kid looked down at his hands, then back at me. “I dunno man, it sounds pretty cool to me. I wish I had that job. I work at Walmart.”
“That’s not so bad,” I lied.
"It sucks hard.”
“Ok.”
“Have you been with a lot of girls?”
A cat jumped onto my lap and sharpened its claws on my crotch.
“I’ve been with enough that if I’m never with another I would be ok with that.”
“So… what do you do for work now?” he asked.
The cat laid down for a nap, purring softly.
“I’m unemployed since last month. But I usually work in restaurants.”
“You’re a server?”
“No, a bus boy.”
“Yeah right,” he chuckled.
“No, for real,” I said.
The girl was snoring in her vomit. Some guy was drawing on her back with a magic marker.
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” he said.
“No worries. Whatever.”
“You should coach again.”
“Ehhh, I don’t know.”
He had a right to laugh. Preferring to bus tables over coaching was absurd, but I was done with pickup. I was tired of hitting on girls that didn’t care; going out night after night to these lame fucking clubs surrounded by douche-bags and teenage pill junkies. I was sick of the flakes and the emotional destruction of my addiction to validation. I’m awesome, I have game, I’m handsome and smart. Why is it so freaking hard to find a hot, intelligent girlfriend? And after three years of work? This was supposed to be fun. Suppos
ed to be easy. It was a mystery.
Yeah, you suck.
And then I saw her, at ten minutes past midnight, like a long legged angel of ancient song, dancing amongst the streamers and celebratory tinsel. “My god, those legs!” I muttered. I’d seen her earlier in the evening. She’d already been kissing another guy, already broken my heart, but he wasn’t around right now. Fuck him.
“So, how do you approach a girl? What do you say?” he asked.
“Well, lately I just say, “Hey, come here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Watch,” I said.
Victoria said she hadn’t seen me until I yelled, “Hey, come here!” at her. But when I did, she looked at me, smiled suspiciously, and walked over. She had straight, shoulder length brown hair, a wide mouth and full lips. She wasn’t tall, but lithe, and very beautiful. Those legs were really something. She was exactly what I wanted. I reached up, took her hand and pulled her gently onto the couch. She sat submissively.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Victoria. What yours?”
“I’m Sebastian. Hey, get your phone out. I want to recite my new year’s resolutions to you.”
“Ok,” she said, pulling out her phone and filming me.
“I vow, this year, I won’t be a capitalist pig, and I’ll always be positive, always. And I’ll make fifty thousand dollars.”
“Those are good resolutions!”
“Thank you. I’m a genius. Touch the genius, c’mon, touch me.”
“Oh, you’re soooo smart. Oh my god, I’m touching you.”
“Yeah…”
I dragged Victoria around the house and tried to make out with her, but she would just laugh and push me off. She’d already kissed one boy that night, and didn’t want to be slutty. A good girl—or at least she pretended to be. I took her to a bedroom under the guise of showing her something, “really important,” and tried again. She wouldn’t have it. I pulled her to a dry-erase board and we drew stupid pictures of Unicorns. Her friends waited patiently on a couch for her. “They hooked up with some guys in the back of a truck,” she whispered. “They want to go home, but they’re going to stay for ten more minutes.”
Excellent. She’s yours master Jedi.
I took her outside to find a taxi, but they were all full and the phone lines were busy. Victoria just stood there, amused. Time was running out. I thought about pulling her onto someone’s front lawn, until a group of laughing partiers stumbled out of the house, distracting us.
“How old are you?” she asked.
Here we go again.
“I’m thirty-one. You?”
“Thirty one?” She paused to consider this. “Wow. You’re old. I’m nineteen.”
“Story of my life.”
She blinked a few times.
“What? What does that mean?”
“You’re a little girl.”
“I am not! But you’re too old for me, I think.”
The crickets were in full song. Some were winning, some losing. But no matter what, they still had their song.
“I’m fine with that,” I said. “Your loss lady.”
I was upset, but I masked it. Most women didn’t want me unless I did a magical pickup tap-dance. I had to be at my best, always. And if I didn’t fuck them the night we met, the odds of meeting up again were one in a thousand. So I’d formed a barrier between my emotions and actions. I pretended not to care. I was willing to walk away, and if she wanted to see me, she could chase.
“Anyway, “I said. “I gotta go. Happy New Years. Drive safe.”
“Oh. Umm, well, ok. Bye.”
She seemed disappointed…good.
Shut up you.
And then I walked.
It’s always the next girl. If one gives you too much shit, move on. There’s always another beautiful, smart, charming, intelligent girl that wants a guy like me. I just needed to find her, somewhere in the multiverse of hysteria. So I ditched Victoria, left her standing there, and walked around the block looking for a taxi. I found none so I returned to the house. Maybe there would be another girl for me. I had an aching boner. I’d need to spank it tonight.
I found the party host trying to block a drunk kid from getting inside. “But maaannn!” The drunk complained. “I need a place to sleeeeeep!”
“You can’t come in, we don’t know you,” the host said.
“But I live in the West End!”
“No man, I’m sorry.”
The kid was pushing the host, and the host didn’t seem able to handle himself. I knew this guy, the host. He was into pickup but never went out, never approached girls, and never got laid. So of course he couldn’t handle this situation.
I stepped in. “Hey!” I said. “He said you can’t come in. Go home.”
“But I need to stay here!” he whined, and tried to push past me.
“No.”
He tried to push past me again, so I grabbed him by the front of his jacket and drove him backwards across the lawn, about thirty steps, put my leg behind his ankles, and pushed his chest. The kid fell to the ground. He looked up at me sadly.
“Hey, I don’t want any trouble man,” he said.
“Me neither. Go before I give you some.”
I wanted to give him trouble. I wanted to take out my frustrations on this little dude. I took a step forward and then stopped and sighed heavily.
“Go home bro. You’ll be fine,” I said.
The kid stumbled drunkenly away.
I turned back to the host.
“Wow, that was awesome. Thanks Sebastian.”
I frowned. “You can’t reason with people when they’re like that. Even if you aren’t a tough guy, they don’t know that. Just step up and dominate them. They’ll back off.”
“Yeah, I know, he was just, you know. Well, thanks.”
“No worries,” I said.
Becoming a more dominant man had paid off. Even though I wasn’t able to fight, I could pretend. I was a far cry from the kid with boobies that got picked on in elementary school. I went inside the house. It was empty. I went to the bedroom where I left my jacket and opened the door. The guy that had been kissing Victoria was standing in the middle of the room in his underwear, with two giggling girls on his bed.
“Dude! Shut the door.”
“I need my jacket.”
“Fuck, here, take it, go, go.”
“Man, you’re spoiled, I’m coming in!” I said. But he pushed me out and slammed the door. I considered kicking it in and pulling out my dick. Instead I walked outside into the morning air and started my long trek home. It was a nice night and I enjoyed the walk. I thought about Victoria and how I might have got her if I didn’t give up so easily, and then I let it go. It was a new year. There would be more.
There always are.
Chapter 36
Victoria (Cherry-poppin)
A few days later I checked my Facebook; there was a friend request from Victoria.
Fuck yeah, rock star.
We exchanged a few lines of banter and I invited her over to my apartment. I analyzed her pictures. She wasn’t just cute, she was a drop dead knockout, and smart too. I smoked a joint and whacked it to my favorite one. Hey, it’s what guys do.
She must have asked around about me. A woman will only contact you if she’s interested, and most women will never contact you unless their friends give a thumbs up. I supposed she heard all about my antics and womanizing ways, which probably helped.
I did a mach five speed clean over my apartment. Scrubbed the dishes, washed the laundry, dusted the tv—then I rushed to the liquor store and bought two bottles of wine and some beer. Booze is critical. I wanted to keep her a little drunk so she wouldn’t wise up and change her mind. She arrived at seven p.m. in a tight black skirt that highlighted her fantastic nineteen year old legs. I told her she reminded me of a baby cow, all covered in goo, because they were so long. We sat and drank a little and laughed a lot. I put my arm aro
und her and she cuddled up to me. She got all my stupid jokes and had a few of her own. We played some Little Big Planet on my PlayStation and she screamed every time she died. I leaned in to kiss her and this time she gave in, easily. Sweet bliss. She was perfect for me. Not only young and beautiful, but mature, classy, funny and very, very fond of me.
She stayed over that night, but when I went for her pussy, she brushed my hand away. “Ummm,” she said. Her cheeks were red.
“What is it?”
“I’m sort of a virgin.”
A dog barked outside.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Uhuh.”
The dog stopped barking. Then it gave one tiny woof and was silent.
“That’s ok. Are you ready?” I asked.
“Not today, but soon. I want to.”
“With me?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm. Ok. Deal. You know, it’s gonna hurt.”
She laughed. “No shit.”
I’ve never been a virgin hunter. That shit doesn’t turn me on, but I’ll admit it’s a great trip for the ego to know that you were her first. I spent so many years hunting sluts so I could end up in monogamy with a virgin. How ironic. She may forget the others, but my imprint will remain eternal, the first.
I was done with hunting. I was sick of bars and clubs and constant emotional apocalypses. I never told her how badly I wanted her to be my girl. She was really into hip hop and gangsterism fascinated her…so I played aloof and gangster, which worked great. On our fifth date, with sex imminent, she stood up in front of me, straightened herself, took a deep breath and said, “Are you seeing other girls? Because if you are, I’ll leave. I’ll walk out, right now. I don’t want that sort of relationship.”
I looked at her tiny figure, her bright eyes and admired her courage. I laughed a little and said, “I’m not seeing anyone else.” I don’t think she believed me, but it was enough.
“Really?” she asked shyly.
“No. Nobody else.”
“I thought you might be seeing other girls.”
