Interstate 10 and Other Modes of Transportation

@realftucker
/ Interstate 10/ 1 Frank Tucker 845 Pine St. Apt 33 San Francisco, CA 94108 5103348921 Cyberft@gmail.com Twitter: @realftucker
Interstate10
andOtherModesofTransportation
FRANK TUCKER
Frank Tucker Interstate 10 and Other Modes of Transportation, 2012
@realftucker / Interstate 10/ 2
Everyday life is undeniably boring. That isn't necessarily a negative. It is what it is, which is a phrase I don't like but also love, because it simultaneously explains everything and nothing. Most days are so similar to the previous and the next, this phenomenon is what statisticians call autocorrelation and what I refer to as the tedium of glorious existence. We do the same things, go to the same job, drive the same roads, eat the same foods, go to sleep in the same bed, have sex with the same partner. Life can get rather bland when things get too similar. That is why I was taught variety is the spice of life. I acquire this spice by doing what I want to do when I want to do it, whatever maximizes my happiness for the foreseeable future. Today I want to be on the beach with women. It is the middle of the summer, which for Los Angeles means mideighties weather and blue skies, although downtown, where I live rests below a barely visible light gray haze of Los Angeles smog. I am to drive west, chasing the sun to meet Genevieve and her best friend Izabel, two retired models I met recently in Las Vegas. Santa Monica Pier is the location I have given for our rendezvous. I drive from my downtown apartment in the basic Toyota Corolla I am keeping for my former domestic partner. She is in Vegas for the weekend with her hot sister and some friends. I take the 110 south to the 10. As I drive west, the sky becomes less smoggy. I take the 10 freeway all the way to its end and therefor the end of the glorious interstate system in the continental United States. When I exit the freeway, I take the surface streets to the beach, where I turn into the $20 lot at Santa Monica Pier. There are less expensive options in the area, but I park here, not because I enjoy paying excessive rates to expose my car to dings
and scratches, but because I am running late. I find a spot between two oversized SUVs. As I get out of the car, I remind myself that I am a champion and this girl will be at my apartment soon, in my bed, getting fucked. The majority of my vast intellect, passion, and focus are dedicated to such pursuits. Put in other words, getting laid is my lifes work, my occupation. It is what I wanted to do when I grew up and what I will do for the foreseeable future, my ruling passion. I call Genevieve. She doesnt answer. This bothers me. Is this girl flaking on me? Why are girls so flaky? Is she standing me up because I went home with that other girl instead of her that night in Vegas? Is this payback? If it is payback, I find it foolish. I think anyone would find it foolish to hold a grudge born from what strangers have done to you in Sin City; people go to that place to let their worst self run wild and free. My iphone is buzzing in one of my cargo short pockets. The top of the screen says Genevieve, the background picture shows her kissing me on the cheek, a digital memento from the night of our first meeting. A soothing mixture of calm and excitement wash over me. I slide my index finger across the screen to answer. Hello dearest. I answer. Hello Francis, where are you? Genevieve asks. Standing by this fish stand on the pier, where are you? I ask. Right behind you. She replies. I turn around. Genevieve and Izabel are standing together, looking nervous. Seeing her again makes me hopeful. The women walk towards me and me towards them. We meet in the middle. I hug Genevieve. Energy passes between us. I feel like I
am reconnecting with an old friend or former lover. I then hug her friend; it feels awkward and wrong, like a hug between distant relatives who have never met before but still feel obligated to hug in lieu of shaking hands. I briefly converse with the women and tell them we are headed to the beach. As we walk, we discuss the plans for the day. The only thing on their schedule is a much later dinner. I lead the ladies down the stairs and to my car, a necessary detour to retrieve my beach backpack. My beach backpack contains all the ingredients required for a glorious day on the beach: a handle of Jose Cuervo, a sweatshirt, and a red beach towel purchased for me by my former cohabitant. They watch as I open the trunk and grab the backpack. What is in there? Izabel asks in an accent bred in the Eastern Bloc. Which country, I dont know. Everything we need for a glorious time. I reply. We walk to the edge of the parking lot where I remove my sneakers and place them into the backpack. We have to walk quite a distance to have a spot of our own, because near the pier there is always a large congregation of Mexican families enjoying the beach, in too close proximity to each other for my taste. Despite not wanting to relax around them, I am still able to appreciate and respect the communal nature of their culture. I tell the girls a story about the time my friends and I were shrooming in that area and a little Mexican girl of about 3 years of age removed her bathing suit, and
peed right in front of us, causing my roommate and childhood friend Dave to throw up. We settle on a more secluded spot and lay out the red beach towel there. I cant believe Im here with you right now. Genevieve says smiling at me. I notice she always speaks in a calm, deliberate manner but allows her facial expressions to convey her true emotion. Right now her face shows she is full of enthusiasm. Life is crazy like that isnt it? I reply. We wouldnt even be here if you didnt notice us talking about how hot you were in Vegas. Izabel says in her accent. I believe we were always going to meet, exactly how we did meet. Thats how time works at least, what happened did happen and was always going to happen. I pause for effect before continuing. Yea I like that better. Lets drink! I say. I remove the handle of Jose from the backpack and quickly wrap it in the sweatshirt, which has become my own version of the brown paper bag. This stroke of improvisation allows the authorities to turn a blind eye to our open container violation. Where are your cups? Izabel asks. I stare at her blankly. I have no answer. I have forgotten cups. They didnt make the list of necessary items. I prove their irrelevance by taking a swig directly from the sweatshirt wrapped bottle. My two gorgeous companions follow my lead.
Izabel is snapping pictures of us having a glorious time and Genevieve is flashing her beautiful smile. Genevieve reaches into her purse and extracts some lip gloss. This is my favorite flavor. She states as she seductively presses the container against her beautiful lips. I look deeply into her eyes and ask to try some. Of my lip gloss? She asks with a confused look on her face You are making claims that it taste good, I need proof. I say. She tries to hand the tube to me. I stop her, flash a slight smirk, pull her close, and start kissing her. The kiss: long and passionate. Time seems to stop; all my senses outside of my sense of touch stop functioning. Gone are the noise of all sounds and the sight of all people. I feel as though Genevieve, the beach towel, the beach, and myself are transported to a different galaxy made especially for us. I slowly pull away. Once our lips are no longer touching I am snapped back to reality. When I open my eyes the light seems brighter and the sounds resume. I notice Izabel clicking away with her expensive camera at the glorious scene that has just unfolded. I feel the aftereffects still flowing through my body; the look of amazement on Genevieves face shows that she feels them too. The world could have ended just then, and I would have called it a wonderful life. Its moments like these that I live for, that the world needs, that everyone needs. These are the moments that make human beings and our relationships with each other so beautiful. The moments that cause us to forget about our problems, forget about the hate and destruction going on in the world, forget about the two wars our
country is engaged in, forget about the great recession, forget about the bipartisan bickering that is going on in Washington, DC. Nothing seems to matter when you are in the perfect moment. Izabel tells us that she is going to go take pictures along the beach. No, you should stay, we can all hangout. I tell her to no avail. She walks off along the beach with her camera in tow as Genevieve and I reflect on our perfect moment. That was amazing. Genevieve says. Indeed, I havent had one like that in awhile. I say as I pull her on top of me. We talk for what seems like hours about everything: from what it was like for each of us to grow up in broken homes, relationships, what constitutes a successful life (happiness), and the responsibilities of being an adult amongst many other topics. I feel so comfortable; I even share with Genevieve the feeling of absolute helplessness I felt when the doctor called to tell me my mother was dying. I certainly wasnt expecting to like this girl so much. This is a pleasant surprise. Still on top of me, Genevieve stares at my shirtless body. You are so sexy. She tells me. Thank you. I say before we share another passionate kiss. I turn to my left and see another couple doing the same thingkind of. Look over there, are they fucking? I turn my head in the direction of the couple. Ummm. Wait yeaI think so. Genevieve says. I look at Genevieve and raise my eyebrows, conveying I like where this couples heads are. She looks at me closely, and without a hint of wavering asks,
Should we? At that moment a little Mexican kid and his brother come running by. Diverting my eyes away from hers and towards the brothers I say:
Not unless you are okay with becoming a registered sex offender. I then suggest that we go to my apartment. But what about Izabel? Genevieve asks. I have a very good looking roommate named Dave, hell keep her company. I reply. We gather up our things and find Izabel. She is knee deep in the Pacific, taking pictures of children frolicking in the water. I appreciate the youthful joy and innocence that she was trying to capture with her lens. The three of us head back to the Corolla. I give the ladies a ride to their car, which they have parked for free on Colorado St. I give them general directions to my apartment, but suggest they follow me. They get into an SUV and follow me to the 10. We enter the freeway. I realize I need to speed up to match the flow of traffic. This speed is typically about 85 miles per hour during the rare occasions when there is no traffic in LA. This is one of those rare occurrences. I get a call from Genevieve telling me that Izabel isnt accustomed to driving these speeds. I ask if it is because she saw communism fall in her lifetime. Im not sure Genevieve grasps the reference. I slow down and move over to the slower lanes. We take the 110 north, pass LA Live, and exit on 3rd street. I drive up 3rd until I reach my apartment building. I show the former models where to park. They place their SUV in a spot and we go into my apartment building. We enter the lobby; pass Kirk the doorman, around some fountains and to my door.
This is where you live? Genevieve asks, clearly impressed. I nod my head. When we enter I take them directly to the balcony so they can see the downtown Los Angeles skyline. How much do you spend to live here? Izabel asks in her accent. I find this question rude, but because she is foreign, I give Izabel a pass and answer anyways. Izabel tells me she is going to raid my kitchen. I let her know that is fine. That girl can eat so much and never gains any weight, when we were in Tokyo I could only eat 1000 calories a day, but that girl, closer to 3,000. Genevieve informs me. Izabel returns from the kitchen with an apple, some cheese, crackers, and a beer. When does your roommate get here? Izabel asks between swallows. As she asks I get a text from Dave: Im 5 minutes away, but what does this girl look like so I know what Im getting into? I respond: She is tall and really skinny, a weird but interesting look. Like a fucking model. hurry up! Dave takes longer than 5 minutes; he always takes longer than he says he will. I do my best to keep Izabel engaged but I can tell she isnt having the best of times being the third wheel. I think to take them both down, but just as Izabel is getting restless Dave comes into the apartment. Didnt I tell you he was good looking. I say.
The girls giggle as my Italian American roommate stands there with a confused look on his face. I think he does this so people underestimate his intelligence. Something Im sure he learned in sales school. He explains the reason for his delay. The story is; a 45yearold client of his went full cougar on him. She pinned him up against the wall and tried to make out with him, he shamefully admits to going with it for 10 seconds. The girls think hes funny. Next Dave and I tell our go to story about how we met each other. So weve known each other since 3rd grade because we used to play CYO basketball against each other and the first time we played my team beat his. Dave starts. Yeah, but that was the last time they ever beat us. I chime in. But still, I put on one of the most clutch performances of all time. Dave says. The girls look highly interested; their eyes are wideopen, brows raised. This is true. So heres what happened. My team was dominant, we won the championship three times in five years; only losing once in the Championship in a sudden death triple overtime, and another time in the first round of the playoffs I tell the group. Wait, how many championships did your team win? I ask Dave. None. He says quietly. But they did beat usonce. We were winning the whole game. My team is up by 1 with the time winding down. Dave is dribbling the ball up court as the last seconds tick off the clock. He can only make it to half court and throws up a shot from there at the buzzer. Remember, we are in 3rd grade, no third graders have the strength to make it from half court. I continue.
I certainly didnt. Dave contributes. But for some reason, this fool on my team fouls Dave at the buzzer, which gives him two free throws, down by one, with no time on the clock, and no one on the court except for him. I say. So Im under all this pressure, but dont realize it because I am a kid. My dad is the coach, so I go ask him what I should do. He tells me Make them. So I go to the line, shoot the first free throw. Dave Says. Swish. I adlib. Make it. Take my time and shoot the second. Dave continues. Swish. I adlib. Make the second. Game over. We win by one. Clutch. Dave stands there with his hand in the air holding his follow thru. Yeah, clutch. Well they never beat us again after that. In fact, we never beat them by less than fifteen points after that. I say before giving a bro handshake and hug to Dave. Genevieve and Izabel are sitting there with puppy dog eyes staring at us. Wow you guys are true friends. Izabel says. I grab Genevieve and lead her into my bedroom slamming the door behind us. We begin passionately making out and quickly undressing. The magic from earlier is still present. I take notice of her naked body. Her whole situation is impressive, but what I am most amazed with are the perfect D cup breasts levitating from her chest.
I take my time caressing her body. I kiss her softly all over, starting with her mouth, pausing at her neck, breast, and belly button, before kissing her inner thigh. My hands slowly follow, making their way down to her ass. I kiss the outside of her vagina softly. Genevieve shivers. I gently lay Genevieves naked body on the bed; her breasts flow gracefully at impact. I retrieve a gold wrapped condom from under my pillow. As I slide into Genevieves body, I look into her green eyes and tell her she is beautiful, before gently kissing her. She lets out a moan, announcing my full entry into her body. My breath is nearly taken away. Eclipsing our contact on the beach, instead of being transported to a different galaxy we are transported to a different universe. Our bodies move in perfect harmony. It feels like we have been experiencing this first time for the 1,000th time. Like our bodies are perfectly familiar with one another, like my penis was created for her vagina. She climaxes before me, digging her nails into my back. The pain transforms to pleasure for me as she screams: Francis! A few glorious minutes later, Genevieve climaxes again and as her vagina clinches me, I too reach an orgasm. My orgasm seemingly last an eternity. When it is over I feel like my bedroom is a foreign place, like I wasnt here, but somewhere else moments ago. The only constant is Genevieve. I remove myself from her body. Genevieve is breathing really heavily. Are you okay? I ask.
Yea, Im amazing, that was amazing, you are amazing! Genevieve says as she lays her head on my chest, catching an ear full of my racing heart. I notice her rubbing her vagina in a nonsexual way. Did I hurt you? I ask. A genuine look of concern sits on my face. Youre pretty big. She states. Its not that big I respond bashfully. Ive only been with the same Japanese guy the past few years, and for some reason those guys dont like to have sex. I mean, I asked all of my friends about it, and their boyfriends rarely liked to have sex either. If you try to have sex with them, most of the time they will just push you off. So I guess Im a bit tighter than I remember, its fine though. She says. (Like me, Im sure you thought she was going to say something about Asians having small dicks.) Good I respond, as we lie there together in rest. Not more than five minutes pass before Genevieve tells me how hot I am. This is something I never get tired of hearing. She slides down and puts me into her mouth. The head is amazing. I cant tell whether her skill is innate or acquired. I dont care. Looking down, and seeing this interesting, beautiful, and thoughtful girl moving gracefully up and down makes me feel like a god. I get another condom and take it out of the wrapper and put it on deck, I raise Genevieves head and have her lie on her stomach. I put the condom on and enter her from the back. We decide to make a point of making the sex a lot more vigorous and animalistic than before. This way Dave and Izabel will hear us and get the idea that
they should be having as glorious a time as us. We have fun with it and make a ton of noise, both verbal and mechanical, before we both cum again. As we lie there naked, she cuddles up under my arm, resting her head on my chest. She rises up and kisses me on the cheek before returning to her spot under my arm. I have a feeling I havent felt in sometime. This feeling emanates from the top of my head. My brain is releasing a crazy amount of chemicals. Butterflies float around in my stomach, an energy is passing between us. I cant think of anything, my mind cant process anything else except this moment. I know this feeling. Is this? No, it cant be, but I know it when I feel it. It is. Yes it is. I really, really like this girl. I want to be around this girl, I could have something special with this girl. I could love this girl. As we lie there, naked, sweaty, in cuddled up glory, Genevieve starts talking
to me about her family in Tucson. She speaks with a genuine passion and love. This girl seems real. She appears to share a special relationship with her family. I really like this about her. You know what would be really great? She asks calmly, her face showing her true excitement. What? I ask. If you came to Tucson to visit me. She replies. Oh yeah, you would like that? I ask. Of course I would like that, I think it would be the greatest thing in the world. You could spend at least a couple of days with me. It would be amazing! She says.
You know, I might be down for something like that. I say. Internally, I dont know how truthful this statement is. Why would I ever go to Tucson? For a girl? Well...for a girl I like. A girl I really like. Maybe I will go to Tucson, but probably not. We make out one last time before getting dressed and checking on our friends. When we exit the room, Dave and Izabel are nowhere to be found. I look across the common area to see the door to Daves room wide open. They might be at the pool. I tell Genevieve. Her and I exit the apartment. I take her past the waterfall and up some stairs to the pool. There is nothing going on up there, except an Asian couple sitting in the hot tub together, and some USC girls tanning in silence. I call Dave and he tells me they are on their way back to our apartment. Before I get the chance to ask where they went I get a call from my former cohabiter. I ignore it. As I resume my talk with Dave I see her calling again. I tell Dave I will see him when he gets back before I click over to speak with Claudia. Yello? I answer. Francis? a familiar voice on the other line asks. Yeah, who is this? I ask. Emma, Claudias sister, she is in the hospital! She got alcohol poisoning. Now she keeps asking for you, so when we get back can you pick her up? Emma asks. Sure I reply. When will you guys be back? I ask. Were not sure, Ill keep you posted. Emma says. Okay. I respond before hanging up and angrily putting the phone in my pocket. Genevieve notices the look on my face and asks what it is wrong.
Oh nothing. I fib. Izabel and Dave arrive back to our place. They walk in holding hands. Izabel has a glow that she lacked earlier. She excitedly recounts to Genevieve and I the tour of Hollywood Dave just took her on. They toured the walk of fame, Mans Chinese Theater, The Kodak Theater, and he took her by the Playboy Mansion and the Hollywood sign. I look at my clock and realize Dave and I have dinner plans in less than 90 minutes. I need to do something to shake our current guests without offending them. I remember them saying something about going to dinner with some friends later. Hey Genevieve, dont you two have a dinner you need to get to? I ask. Oh my God, yes, what time is it? Genevieve asks. I tell her the time. Yea, we need to go. Genevieve says to all of us. We walk the girls back to their car holding their hands the whole way. When we arrive at their vehicle, I open the door for Genevieve and kiss her good bye. Dave does the same for Izabel. Before I close the door we have some parting words. I had a really glorious time with you today Genevieve, hopefully we can do it again. I say like we are long lost soul mates at the airport. Me too Francis. She says. I give her one final kiss, a light one on the lips, before closing her door. As they drive off I see her staring at me in her side mirror. Once they round the corner I change from hopeless romantic to bro.
Did you smash? I ask Dave. What!?! Are you fucking kidding!?! He angrily questions me. Sorry for doubting you dude, how was it? I ask. I didnt fuck her, you didnt give me enough time, like what the fuck, you just bring some girl over and expect me to smash! He responds while getting increasingly angry. Ummm, you know what, youre right man. Im sorry for bringing an Eastern European model over for you to have sex with, I should have been more considerate. I say sarcastically. Fuck you man, like what was I supposed to do just take her into my room? He questions. I look at him puzzled, pausing for effect Yes Well she wanted to see the Hollywood sign so my plan was to go do that, and then take her to casa and get her drunk, maybe wait for the sun to go down He says prior to me cutting off this stupidity. What are you a vampire? She was 10 feet from your bed and DTF non glorious Dave, non glorious.
Next Chapter.
As we walk back inside, I fill him in on the Claudia situation before realizing that I need to rush to Whole Foods to gather items for dinner. We part ways in the parking garage. I take Claudias car and drive to the nearest Whole Foods, which isnt very near at all. I go west on Third Street until I reach the location across the street from The Grove.
Because I am a man, I know what I am looking for, so I am able to get in and out of the store without too much time wasting. I enter the store and grab a basket. I go to the butcher and ask for a whole chicken. I go to the produce section and pick up a bag of baby spinach, some peaches, a bell pepper, garlic, avocado, grape tomatoes, red potatoes, celery, an onion and some lemons. Lastly I go to the dairy section and buy a half pint of heavy cream. I make my way to the checkout counter. Place my stuff on the conveyor belt, get rung up, pay, and leave. I spent less than 10 minutes in the store. I should create an instructional video to post on YouTube. I get in the car and go right down Third Street back to my apartment. When I enter the apartment Dave and Lisa, a 29yearold Latina he met at one of our favorite bars on 6th street, are sitting on the couch watching 60 minutes. Hello I greet them. They say hi back. What are you making? Lisa asks. You ready to have your mind blown? I ask enthusiastically. Always! She replies. I tell her the menu, which consists of an oven roasted lemon seasoned whole chicken stuffed with bell pepper, celery, garlic, and onions. Homemade mashed potatoes made with heavy cream, and a baby spinach salad with sliced peaches, walnuts, grape tomatoes, and avocado, lightly tossed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Yeah, that just blew my mind. Lisa says. I nod because I already knew.
Now in the kitchen I begin cooking our glorious feast. I lay out all of my ingredients and go to work. I season and stuff my chicken and put it in the oven. I clean, peel, and slice the potatoes and boil them. While that is going on I clean and slice the peaches, which are at the perfect level of ripeness. I wash and spin the salad, then add the rest of the ingredients except for the dressing. There is a knock on the door. I peer threw the peephole and see that it is Jasmine with her Kardashianesque figure. Jasmine and I just started dating in the past two weeks but she has quickly ascended up my rotation, when I open the door I am reminded why. The girl doesnt leave the house without looking her very best, which is good enough to turn heads in every room she enters. Her dark brunette hair is always meticulously styled; tonight it is in a ponytail but the front is bumped up. Her makeup has her face looking glowingly flawless, but I still dont know what she looks like underneath it all. The perfect amount of gloss covers her pouty lips. Her nails are well manicured, finished in a faint pink polish. Her designer clothes, handbag, and shoes prove that money can indeed make you look better. She gives me a kiss with her glossy lips; it leaves a stickiness I am not fond of. Hello Francis, happy to see me? She asks in her low seductive voice with a big smile on her face. Of course, come on in. Before I forget, you know Dave, and this is his friend Lisa. I say as we walk towards the couch. The two girls shake hands and immediately hit it off by showering each other with complements. I offer Jasmine something to drink from our myriad of options.
She chooses coconut water. I pause from my cooking to deliver it to her in a glass. She thanks me. I return to the kitchen to drain the water from my potatoes. I add cream, butter, and a dash of salt to the pot before I mash them with a masher. I leave the potatoes on the lowest setting as I wait for the chicken to be finished. Dave comes to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine from the wine cooler gifted to him by his parents. He picks a random selection, because he acknowledges no one really knows or would be able to remember every wine from every vineyard from every year that ended up being a particularly delicious one. I think people that claim to know are just pretending or just have a few gotos. A secret I learned from Dave is just to know what type of wine pairs well with what foods. For this meal he selects what appears to be a Chardonnay. Him and I chat in the kitchen while the girls do the same in the living room. I already took Lisa into my room while you were gone and smashed that out. Dave informs. That doesnt make up for not fucking that pussy I handed to you earlier. I say. Whatever dude. He responds. Dude, either way, this is the life right here. I say. I know, were 23, ballin in downtown Los Angeles, but this is only the start.
Dave states. Damn right this is only the start, the goal is to be doing this same thing except with a private chef, and in a baller house in the Hollywood hills. I say.
Fuck the hills, the beach is where we want to be. He replies. We go back and forth like this for a while. Hills vs. Beach is a classic Los Angeles argument, on the same level minus the violence, and millenniums old history of the argument on who should occupy the Gaza strip. The girls cant agree which is better either. We all just come to a truce, brokered by the sound of the oven timer, and agree that they both have their benefits and drawbacks. The girls set the table while I remove the chicken from the oven and Dave pours the dressing on the salad. We take our seats at the dinner table; this glorious feast laid out in front of us. The four of us start a blessing by making the sign of the cross. Not that any of us are deeply religious, but we say grace more out of habit, since all four of us so happened to be raised Roman Catholic. After the blessing we begin eating. The food turned out phenomenal. The chicken is juicy and flavorful; the mashed potatoes are perfectly salted, the salad has just the right balance of sweetness and tartness, Daves wine selection tying it all together, by somehow hitting every flavor. The label of the wine bottle has me in a trance. I stare deeply at the drawing. It is one big triangle made up of three smaller triangles, where the gaps between each of the three triangles also make a single triangle, and each of the three triangles is made up of three even smaller triangles and so onIt is such a simple image, it is a clearly defined triangle, and I know it ends as a triangle and begins as a triangle and is made up of triangles, but also a complex image, where does this series of ever decreasing triangles that become one large triangle begin? Jasmine notices me staring at the bottle and asks what Im looking at.
Im just looking at this label, this thing is bothering me. I cant figure it out. I say. Jasmine studies the label herself. Its just a triangle. She says. Yea but its made up of smaller triangles, where does it start? I ask. Lisa and Dave ask to see what we are looking at. I pass them the wine bottle. It starts here. Dave says, pointing to a random triangle in the picture. How can it start there if you just pointed to a random triangle that is still made up of other triangles? I harshly question in a tone that can only be used with old friends or family. That thing is called a Sierpinski Triangle, I remember learning about it in this math class I took. Lisa informs us. What can you tell us about it? I ask. I honestly dont remember. Im surprised I can even remember what it is called. Lisa says. We converse about life in our youth. About enjoying the moments, the moments like this one, friends, old and new breaking bread together. Dave and I go into our story about playing basketball against each other. These girls eat it up as much as the ones from earlier. Once were all done with the meal, the girls clean the table. Dave and I rinse the dishes as they come and stuff them into the dishwasher. The process moves quickly. The girls do the finishing work of cleaning the counter tops and stove. The kitchen is left cleaner than I can ever remember. We all sit on the couch drinking wine and watching Sunday night HBO. Entourage is on right now. I feel like I can get laid on Vincent Chases level if I just
keep working at it. This is something to aspire to. When the show is over I grab Jasmines hand and take her to my bedroom. I close the bedroom door behind us. I start making out with her. She jumps up into my arms, straddling me. She bites my lip really hard as were kissing, drawing blood. I throw her down on my bed and start undressing her. I take great care not to damage her expensive blouse. She takes off her own pants while I do the same for myself. She stares at me the whole time, never blinking her big brown eyes. I am standing there in my boxers when I realize I havent washed my dick yet. Hold on, I have to go pee. I say. I go into my bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I immediately go to the sink and turn the water on lightly enough so she cant hear it. I get a washcloth out of my linen closet and lather it with anti bacterial soap. I drop my boxers to the ground. I wash my dick and balls thoroughly before drying my package with a towel. I get some cologne and spray it on my pubes for good measure. I go back to the toilet, flushing it for effect, before returning to the sink and turning the water on fully. I wash and dry my hands before returning to my imminent victory. I decide to come out of the bathroom naked. When I open the door, Jasmine is on the bed lying on her back facing the bathroom door wearing only her jewelry and high heels. Her legs are spread wide as she plays with herself. She stares at me seductively with her mouth slightly open, periodically licking her lips to add to the pornographic effect. I slowly walk over to her, along the way I become fully erect. When I get to the bed she sits up and takes me into her mouth. She keeps pleasuring herself while
she sucks me. I place my right hand on the back of her head, and my left on one of her breast. It feels amazing, firm but not too hard. Its so big. She says as she licks up and down my shaft. Its just average. I moan out. I reach for my condom stash under the pillows. She starts stroking my cock while I open the wrapper. She has the unusual technique of only using her thumb and index finger to jerk me off, despite having hands the size of a second grader. This annoys me, but I dont mention it. I strap up and enter her. I wrap her legs around me and lift her off of the bed. I fuck her like this for a while. She bites my ear as its happening. I can hear her breath quickening. Im going to cum. She shrieks right into my ear. I grimace in pain from the sound nearly shattering my ear drum. She digs her nails into my back as she orgasms. I lay her back on the bed and hit it missionary for a while. She cums again. The sex is good, and her vagina feels amazing, but I am nowhere close to cumming. I remember this is my third time having sex in as many hours. My body hasnt replenished my fluids yet. This is going to set up unrealistic expectations of my stamina. Let me finish in your mouth. I whisper to Jasmine. I slide out of her and rip off the condom. I roll over and lay on my back. I think she is about to start blowing me, but instead she climbs on top. Before I can tell her I dont have a condom on, she puts my unprotected dick inside of her. My panic instantly turns to pleasure. It is like a whole different level of sex. I am reminded why I hate condoms. It may not even be sex if youre using condoms. It
should definitely be called something else. She rides me like a porn star. She can sense I am close to cumming. Dont cum inside me. She begs. Give me your mouth then. I command. When? She asks. Now. I scream as I assist her. She gets her mouth onto my penis just as I explode. She makes sure to collect every drop before transporting it in her mouth to the bathroom. There is mouthwash under the sink. I call out. She returns from the bathroom with minty fresh breath. She gets in bed and cuddles up with me briefly. Shes silent for a second before talking about all of the work she has to do this week. I dont want to hear anything about her problems, but she continues talking about them and I continue to pretend to listen. She claims to have to go home since she has to be at work before 6am tomorrow morning. I take this as a blessing since I will have to go pick up Claudia at some point tonight. Jasmine gets dressed and leaves shortly afterwards. When we exit my bedroom into the common area we can hear Dave and Lisa doing some hard fucking in his bedroom. I walk Jasmine to her car, holding her hand the whole way. I open her door for her and kiss her goodbye. I go back inside. Dave and Lisa are sitting in the living room when I arrive. Both of them are wearing different sets of his workout clothes. So Dave was telling me that was your second one today. Lisa says to me, smiling.
Yeah. I say to Lisa like its no big deal. Why the hell are you telling her that? I scold Dave while I shake my head at him. So did you even have time to change the sheets? Lisa asks. Change the sheets? I look at her puzzled. I didnt even have enough time to shower. I answer. My phone chimes; a text from Claudia saying to pick her up in half an hour from an address in Burbank. Now if youd excuse me, I have to go pick up my girlfriend.
Next Chapter.
I exit the parking garage and make a left down 3rd street. I get on the 110 going north. I take the 110 to the 5 north. I take the exit for Alameda Ave. The address that was texted to me isnt too far off the freeway. I text Claudia to ask her location and eta. She replies saying they are still fifteen minutes away. I park the car in front of the address and wait patiently. Many will think I am a bad person for cheating on my girlfriend, but things are always more complicated than that. It is just easier for the human mind to assign a simple narrative to a situation than to connect together the jumbled, seemingly infinite complex web that is reality. The truth is I have never cheated on someone I wanted to be with. Claudia and I were madly in love at one point. I moved to Los Angeles to be with her. We lived together; I thought I was going to marry her. Things dont always go how we think they are going to. The variance of estimates is always lower than the variance of values. Not to make excuses for my behavior but I can trace the cause of my infidelities. I lived in monogamy with Claudia for five months. But love is almost a
virus. It breeds complacency in people. Charles Bukowski wrote that human beings just need to feel some sort of success in life, and love could be that success. Claudia and I found that attainment, and it caused other aspects of our lives to suffer. She became stagnant in her career, and I was happy grinding out a living from gambling instead of working harder to take my bank account to the sixfigure level. She stopped dolling herself up. Stopped buying nice clothes. Stopped styling her hair. My waistline increased, I put on 20lbs the wrong way, a consequence of eating too much fresh goat cheese and a lackluster consistency with gym attendance. We also had problems in the sexual realm. Not that I have some Lex Steele sized monster waiting in my pants, but my penis was too big for her tiny vagina. I wanted to fuck two times everyday, but at most she could handle 3 times a week; anymore than that and she would get a urinary tract infection. Simply put, her and I were not made for each other. But the death kneel was her telling me that I wasnt good at something I had spent most of my life becoming great at. What she said to me was the equivalent of Giselle telling Tom Brady he isnt good at quarterback, Steven Spielbergs wife telling him he makes shit movies. She told me I wasnt as good with girls as I thought I was, she told me I have no game, this despite having bedded her on our first date. She was so adamant that I sucked with girls that when I mentioned this fact and said that either I am good with girls or she is a slut she chose the latter. This was the stupidest shit she could have said. This ignited a fire in me. Nothing motivates me more than when someone tells me Im not good at something.
The next night, while she was in bed sleeping I cheated on her for the first time in a car across the street from the apartment that we shared. The floodgates had been opened. I stopped coming home at night. I started going to the club again. I got my ass back in the gym and made plans to move out of our place and in with Dave. Over the course of the next two months I had sex with half a dozen new women on top of some repeat beats from my single life before my relationship; even traveling to go see some of them. I was hoping my infidelity would give her a reason to break up with me but Im not a sloppy enough player to get caught; I cover my tracks too well. Ive been waiting for her to break up with me for sometime now. I thought she would get the point when I told her I was moving in with Dave. But she was blinded by her love for me and even said: I think you moving out can be good for our relationship. When I heard that I knew it would be me that has to end things. She is the best girlfriend a guy can ask for. She cooks, she cleans, she gives great bjs and she rarely complains. She deserves better than me and I know it. But before she can get that guy she deserves I have to rip her heart out and that is something I never like to do. In this matter I am guilty of cunctation. Claudia and her friends pull up in front of me. They all hop out of the car. I exit the Corolla and greet them. I grab Claudias bag out of the trunk. Claudia looks fine. The only visible evidence of her experience with alcohol poisoning is a hospital bracelet. Thanks Francis. Emma calls out as I open the car door for Claudia. I then put Claudias bag in the backseat.
Good night ladies. I say before I get into the car myself. I drive us back to the 5, and head south this time. The volume of the radio is turned down low. Claudia isnt saying anything. So what happened? I ask. I dont even know. We were at the pool party at Rehab and the last thing I remember is some guy was buying me shots, then I woke up in the hospital. She answers. I believe she said this to anger me. Youre 25, you dont know how much alcohol you can handle? I shake my head after asking. I dont think it was the alcohol, I think it was the heat. Claudia says. You know what I think? I ask. What? she snarls. I think this is a desperate cry for attention, thats what I think. I scold. Fuck you, not everything is about you! She snaps before turning up the radio. I just shake my head. I take the exit for Silver Lake Blvd. I take Silver Lake until it becomes Beverly. I take Beverley to Western. I turn left onto Western and take that down until I hit 6th. I make a right on 6th and a left on St. Andrews. I pull into the parking lot for her building and park her car. I grab her bag from the backseat before I open the door for her. We go through the back entrance to her apartment building. Her and I walk straight down the hallway to her first floor apartment that we once shared. We enter the dark 800 square foot one bedroom dwelling. She immediately goes to the bathroom and gets in the shower. I grab a coconut water from the fridge and pour it
in a glass for her. I go into the bedroom and place it on the nightstand on her side of the bed. I go into the bathroom, steamy from her shower, to brush my teeth and wash my face. Once complete with that task I strip down to my boxers and get into the bed. Claudia comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her long curly blonde hair is soaking wet. She stands there looking at me while she dries herself. I study her. Her body is still tight but I am no longer attracted to her. I put a coconut water on your night stand, you should drink it before you go to sleep. I say. She just stares at me blankly. She goes to her side of the bed and climbs in. Claudia grabs the coconut water and downs it. She places the empty glass back down on the nightstand. She turns off the light and cuddles up with me. With her head on my chest she whispers: I love you Francis.
Next Chapter.
I wake up the next morning surprised to see Claudia still next to me. Typically she is up and at work well before I open my eyes. I shake her awake. Are you going to work today? I ask. I took a sick day, I never take sick days, but I had to. She answers. I get out of bed and let her sleep. I go to the kitchen and start breakfast. I make her favorite, pancakes, scrambled cheese eggs, and chicken apple sausage. Once I complete the meal I put it on a tray and serve her breakfast in bed.
Wow, you made my favorite, thanks Bunny. She says. Bunny is her pet name for me. No worries. I reply. I take a shower. During this time I think about having to break up with her. How much it is going to suck. How I hope she finds someone that loves her how she deserves to be loved, someone not cursed with wondering eyes. I towel off and come out of the bathroom. I go through the closet and see I left nothing over here when I moved out. Luckily I had a few pairs of clean underwear in the drawers of my former nightstand. I put them on and put on my clothes from the night before. How are you feeling? I ask. After that breakfast, I feel pretty much 100 percent. She says. Well how about a bj? I ask. She doesnt hesitate. Claudia places a pillow down on the floor and gets on her knees in front of me. She grabs my dick and immediately goes to work. Weve been going out long enough that she has amassed countless hours with me in her mouth so she doesnt need any instruction. The next guy should thank me for the training. She also knows exactly what tricks to use to get me to cum quickly. I am ready now. I am holding back though because this may be the last blowjob I ever receive from this girl, and I want to enjoy it. She grabs my shaft with both hands and starts moving her head back and forth like a machine. She lightly twists her hands while she sucks me. I cant hold back anymore. Where do you want me to cum? I yell.
She talks with her mouth full so I cant understand her. I push her head back and blast all over her face; since again this is the last time I may have this opportunity, I think to take a picture but she gets up to clean her face before I can get my phone. Claudia joins me on the couch to watch the morning news on the LCD television I purchased for us. Can you give me a massage? She asks. Of course. I reply. She sits down in front of me, between my legs. I work her shoulders and back. I give her a solid 20 minutes, only stopping when I hear my phone ring. I get up to get it from the bedroom. Dave is calling. What up bro? I answer. Hey, How did that Claudia thing play out? He asks. We can talk about that later. I reply. Oh, is she there now? He asks. Yep, whats up dude? I ask. Oh, do you want to go to the gym around noon? Dave asks. Umm, yeah, we can do that. You have to pick me up from Claudias place though. I say. I hang up the phone and return to watching television with Claudia. We watch a couple of shows we have saved on the DVR. I think she watches too much television. Television fulfills her boring life. I realize I dont want to be around her anymore today. It sucks to feel this way. Im going for a walk, you need anything? I ask.
Yea, some pepto. She replies. I give her a thumbs up before I leave the apartment. She tells me she loves me before I close the door. I pretend to not hear her.
Next Chapter.
Dave and I have concluded our grueling workout. Today was legs. 3 sets of squats, 3 sets of deadlifts, 3 sets of lunges, and 3 sets of calf raises. We are both exhausted and covered in sweat. I flirt with the woman working the front desk on the way out. She deflects my advances. I cant win them all, but Im so cocky right now I feel like she must not be allowed to sleep with the members. Dave and I take the escalator to the exit of the building out onto Flower St. We are waiting at the southwest corner of 5th and Flower for the light to change. We wait because LA must be the only major city in America that strictly enforces jaywalking laws. I notice a hot blonde, I mean really blonde girl, her hair is super shiny, across the street wearing big black sunglasses, and a black sundress that only falls to mid thigh. She possesses a tan that only Scandinavian people are able to achieve. Her body is super sexy. She has nice breast, but her ass is her best attribute. It is just so round and bubble like. She also has sexy toned legs. I point her out to Dave. That may be the hottest girl I have ever seen. Dave says. Im going to get her. I declare. What? Dave asks. Yep, shes for me. I clap my hands together and run across Flower Street before my best friend and roommate even knows what has happened.
Hey! You in the black dress! I call out as I run across the street. She turns to me but isnt sure I mean her. Yea, you... I point to my target. Let me meet you. I command. She waits with her far less attractive friend at the curb. I hustle over to them. Hey, Im Francis, I saw you from over there, I point across the street. and I just had to come and meet you, whats your name? I ask while extending my hand. Im Alexandra. She says with an accent as she shakes my hand. I dont let her hand go right away as I continue talking. Dave finally falls in behind me. So where are you headed, where are you from, what do you do for fun, what is your friends name? I ask in quick succession. Were headed to the Standard to meet some friends for drinks. Walk with us? She asks. Sure. I reply. Dave and I walk with them for half a block. We all make proper introductions. During this time I find out Alexandra is from Sweden and is in Los Angeles on a student visa. Her friend, whose name is Liseth, is just visiting. I am also able to get Alexandras phone number. Dave and I hug both of them before him and I go in the opposite direction down Flower Street. Dave and I walk half a block in absolute silence; as you dont talk shop near women. Dude, how the fuck did you do that? Dave asks in disbelief. Im just heating up, I feel good! I can teach this shit! I yell. Dave and I walk back to our apartment. He showers up. Meanwhile, I make a protein shake and boot up my laptop to work on some betting systems. I check the
odds of todays events and compare them to what my excel models are showing. I have edges in several baseball games tonight. I log into my online sports book account and place my wagers. I take the As at +270, and the Angels at 400. It is out of my hands now. Dave comes out of the shower and into the common area just wearing his towel. Youre so gay. I say to him as he looks around the fridge. While the rest of his torso is deep inside the refrigerator, he gives me the finger. He emerges from the fridge with a yogurt, which he begins eating without a spoon. Dude, when are you going to break up with Claudia? He asks. I want to do it before I leave for my trip on Wednesday. I reply. He finishes his yogurt before speaking. Where are you going again? New York, then DC, then driving across the country; I have to get the last of my shit, including my car out of my college house. I say. Dave has moved to the dining room table and is writing on a blank piece of paper. Here, sign this. He orders. What is it exactly that you want me to sign? I ask. Its a contract that says you will break up with Claudia by Wednesday or pay me $500. He says. By Wednesday, I dont know if I can. I say. Why not? Youve been talking about breaking up with her for months now, time to just do it, trust me if you sign this you will do it. I learned about this in sales school. Your subconscious wont allow you to not do it after you sign this. He says.
Fine, give me the damn paper. I say begrudgingly. I sign Daves contract. I tell him Im going to the sauna and invite him to join. He declines the offer because he has to get back to work. Before I go to the sauna, I send Alexandra a text message: You miss me yet, dearest? She replies back almost immediately: Of course stnos I copy and paste this word into google to get a translation. It best translates to sweetheart. I spend the next hour or so in the sauna; sweating out all of the toxins in my body and melting away all of the stresses of being a playboy. I try to plan what I am going to say to Claudia when I break up with her. Everything that comes to mind doesnt sound right. I decide that whatever comes to mind when Im doing it is what I will say. My brain works better in the moment. Im a red light performer. I go back to my apartment. Before getting in the shower I take a peak at my phone. I have text messages from Jasmine, Claudia, and Alexandra. All three of them ask me what I am doing later. I think its best to ignore Jasmine and Claudia and respond to Alexandra; telling her I have no plans. One of the ways in which men and women are different is that men value the unknown more than the known. Women value the known if it is satisfactory more than the unknown. Said in other words; men value new sexual partners more than old sexual partners, and women value old sexual partners of satisfactory quality more than new sexual partners. These types of things tend to have an evolutionary basis.
Alexandra quickly responds asking if I want to get drinks later. I text back: Maybeif you ask nicely She responds back less than a minute later: What time do you want to meet stnos? I wait five minutes before texting back: 8pm at Library Bar Downtown, dearest. She responds back confirming the engagement. It is now 7oclock. I begin getting ready for my date with Alexandra. Still smelling fresh from my earlier shower I skip that step and get straight to shaving. I set up my tools on the counter. My vibrating razor, shaving gel, pre shave oil, witch hazel, facial moisturizer, and a washcloth. I turn on the hot water. I wait for it to warm to my desired temperature. When it reaches that point I run the washcloth underneath the water. I take the now steaming washcloth and apply it to my face. I gently massage my face with it before I let the washcloth rest for a few moments. I wring out the washcloth and place it back onto the counter. I apply my preshave oil followed by the shave gel. I turn the water on to cold. I grab my razor and turn it on. It vibrates gently in my hand. I run it under the cold water. I shave my entire face with the grain in long deliberate strokes, rinsing the razor clean between each stroke. Once Im done shaving I rinse my face with cold water. I then rinse my face with a palm full of witch hazel. I dry my face and finally apply moisturizer. I brush my teeth with my electric toothbrush. I floss once I am done. I rinse my mouth with mouthwash after Im done flossing. I check out my face and teeth in the mirror, and like what I see. I go to my room to pick an outfit. My style is on point because I stay
up to date with the latest trends by reading GQ, and Details. Small advantages add up to big ones. My phone rings. Hello. I answer. Hello Francis? Its Alexandra, what are you doing? Alexandra asks. Just getting ready for our date what about you? I inquire. Im home, in my pajamas, Im kind of tired and dont really feel like going out. She says. Oh, okay, well we can just go out some other time. I hate flakes but I manage to hide my frustration. Well what are you going to do instead? She asks. I dont know, I may still go out or I may just stay home and watch a movie. I reply. Well, why dont I come over and watch a movie with you. She suggests. Translation: Why dont I come over and have sex with you. Yea, I guess that works. Ill text you my address and Ill see you soon. I say. I get off the phone and celebrate. This is the bestcase scenario. I dont have to journey anywhere, spend any money, or convince this girl she wants to get in my bed. I have to tell someone about this. Dave is in the kitchen preparing a dinner of hamburger helper for himself. His culinary skills are way behind mine. Dude, that girl from earlier is coming over here to watch a movie. I brag. What, this is unreal, you are on like the greatest tear of all time. Dave congratulates.
Well let me not get too cocky yet. Its never good to celebrate unrealized capital gains. I caution. A bit later Alexandra arrives at my building. I meet her in the lobby. I greet her with a hug. The doorman gives me a thumbs up. I walk with Alexandra to my apartment, passing a series of fountains before getting to my door. When we enter Dave is sitting on the couch eating dinner and watching television. They reintroduce themselves to each other. You guys really live here? She asks. Yea, you like it? I ask back. She nods her head. I take her into my room. We lay on the bed and turn on the television and my Xbox. We scroll through the selection of movies available for streaming on Netflix; deciding on my all time favorite, American Psycho. Alexandra hasnt seen it before. We barely make it past the opening credits before she is on top of me making out. Her long blonde hair keeps getting between our lips. I notice a hair tie on the floor next to my bed. I reach for it. Use this. I command. She puts her hair up in a tight ponytail without hesitation. She doesnt question the hair ties origin. This girl is one of those women who is more attractive with her hair down than she is with it up. I regret giving her the hair tie. I reach under her dress as she straddles me; rubbing my hands up her thighs. I work my hands from the outside to the inner area. I can feel the heat emanating from her genitalia. As I move my hands closer to glory I am presently surprised to
find she has neglected to wear panties. I gently rub the outside of her labia. I use my right thumb to being clitoral stimulation. She moans as I touch it. I can feel her soaking through my jeans. I pause for a moment, and then lift her dress up over her head exposing her naked body. Damn youre sexy. I complement before resuming the swapping of saliva. I grip her entire firm body. Alexandra unbuckles my pants. She unbuttons them, but is briefly confused by the fly. Its a button fly. I inform. She figures it out and removes my pants. She asks me if I have a condom. I reach my hand under my pillow and produce one. You must do this all the time. She says. Not All the time. I joke. I put the condom on. She places two fingers in my mouth, gathering some saliva and rubs it on her vagina before she grabs me and inserts my body into her own. The moment of entering a woman for the first time is my 2nd favorite feeling in the Universe. The feeling is exhilarating, breathtaking, and satisfying all at the same time. She rides me slowly at first, only allowing me to get a very shallow depth. But each movement she allows me a bit deeper inside of her. She works this way, up and down, and up and down, moaning with each movement, until I am fully inserted. I pull her body down, causing her breast to rest on my chest. I take this opportunity to take the hair tie out of her hair. She begins sucking on my neck. Bite my neck harder. I whisper above her heavy breathing.
She is working hard like she can see the finish line where first prize awaits. An orgasm. Right there. She calls out in her Swedish accent. This statement proves to be more than my mind can handle. I hold back my orgasm face as I release so I dont ruin her race. She continues riding not knowing that I am done. She achieves her prize just before my penis completely deflates. We detach from each other so I can remove my condom, which I throw on the floor for now. Alexandra and I lay in the bed naked and watch the remainder of the film. After the movie is over Alexandra claims she has to go because she has to be up early for class on the Westside. I walk her to her car. When we arrive I open the door for her and hug and kiss her goodbye. I had a lot of fun tonight, lets do it again soon. I say. Sounds good, when are you free next? Alexandra asks. Well Im going on a trip tomorrow, so Ill be gone for almost 2 weeks, so its going to be after that. I say. She looks sad, but I assure her we will hangout when I return which cheers her up. I close the door to her car and return to my apartment. I recap the events with Dave before going to sleep.
Next Chapter.
Claudia and I are the first to arrive at a Mexican themed restaurant in Silver Lake. I call this place Mexican themed because there isnt a single Mexican working in here that I can see, and the food is hardly Mexican out side of having some kind of meat wrapped in a starch with some tomatoes on top. It is Taco Tuesday so the place is packed.
Claudias lesbian sister Emma chose this place to celebrate her birthday. Emma is turning 23 today. I dont like hanging out with her and not because she isnt cool, but because she is hotter than Claudia. Her attractiveness makes me feel like I am dating the first runnerup instead of the beauty queen. Claudia and I are already seated when Emma arrives with her latest girlfriend, Rachel. They spot us and join us in our booth. I get up and greet them both with a hug. Happy Birthday, Em. I say Thank you Francis. Emma says. They take their seats. We all review the menu. We discuss which direction to go in before our waiter appears and takes our order. We load up on the Taco Tuesday deal, 4 tacos for $2. We ask for 5 orders, 11 tacos for me and 3 each for the girls. We also order $5 margaritas. After some small talk our meal is served, but there is one problem. The waiter delivers the wrong food, but doesnt want to admit it was his fault. After a mini argument he reluctantly returns to the kitchen, quickly returning back to the table with the proper order. The thing about eating out is if you piss off the restaurant staff they are liable do anything to your food. I hope he didnt spit in it. We're getting pretty drunk off $5 margaritas. The group is downing $1 tacos and talking shit about our waiter whose anger we speculate stems from having not been discovered yet. This is par for the course out here in LA. I decide this guy is a fucking asshole, and perhaps one of the worst waiters of all time, he treats us like its an honor for someone of his stature to be serving us. His tip will be to change his attitude.
I am already drunk by the time the rest of the party guests start to flow in. The first to arrive is one of Rachel's best friends, a sexy redhead named Ingrid. She squeezes into the booth and sits across the table from Claudia and I. I make small talk with her. Turns out she is from Toronto. Do you know Drake? I jokingly ask. "Yeah actually, I was on Degrassi She replies with a faint Canadian accent. Are you serious? I love Degrassi. I question. Yea it was really funny, we used to make fun of him because he would always be fucking rapping when we werent filming. It was kind of annoying actually. Ingrid replies. After laughing about that for a while Ingrid starts a monologue about how awesome the Canadian rap star is because he is Jewish. I realize that I am the only nonchosen person at the table. Three more lesbians show up and join our group. An attractive couple, Ivey and Erika, whose gender roles I determine by their choice of clothing. Along with those two smoking hot women is their third wheel, Rocky, who is pretty but is sporting a bleach blonde pompadour. Ivey, the dominant in the relationship squeezes in next to me and I get that "I hate men" vibe from her. Why do I feel this way? She isn't laughing at my jokes; either I'm not funny, or she hates men. In my mind Im fucking hilarious. Her girlfriend squeezes in next to Ingrid while Rocky pulls up a chair. They all order food from our crappy waiter. I cant get over how hot Ivey and Erika are together. Their sex must look amazing. I wish I were here without Claudia. Now in days I always wish I were without her. I need to break up with her.
We as a group are being super loud and awesome, making a complete scene in this place. Rachel decides it's time to show us all what she dubs her "Straight walk." She gets up and walks back and forth through the restaurant in a deliberate manner with her head up like she is walking down a runway. This causes some hateful looks from a group of models sitting across from us, which contrast perfectly with eye fucking from a group of guys sitting diagonally from us. Of course badwaiterdouche fucks up another food order, but we are having such an awesome time we forgive him. I get up and go to the bar. I order and pay for a round of Don Julio shots to be delivered to the booth. The shots arrive and we take them in honor of Emmas birthday. We sing a spirited rendition of the birthday song to Emma. She loves it. Her sister doesnt seem to be having the best time. Once everyone calms down I ask my lesbian girls Where to? "To the Abbey." Rachel replies. Glorious. I declare. The girls whisper to each other. Hey, no secrets. I say loudly. Okaywe have to warn you before we go to the Abbey. Rachel says. Warn me about what? I question. WellThe AbbeyThe Abbey is super gay. Rachel says. The rest of the women start laughing. Claudia doesnt partake. How bad could it be? I ask. Youre going to get eye raped by all the men there because you are really pretty. Ivey says.
Take that back, Im not pretty. I protest. No youre pretty. Rachel chimes in. We pay our bill and sing happy birthday one more good, really loud time for Emma. As we exit the booth I raise my fist and yell "To the Abbey!" When we arrive at the Abbey I see what the women meant. This is one of the gayest places in the world. It's located in West Hollywood, which is already super gay, and the Abbey is the center of the rainbow universe. Even the dcor is gay. The dcor of the Abbey is very woody. Wood pillars, wood ceiling beams, wood tables. With this much wood Im sure the interior designer intended a pun. I have to go pee really bad from all that earlier drinking. I excuse myself from the group and walk to the bathroom. On the way my phone buzzes. As I enter the bathroom, I glance at my phone and read a text from Genevieve: Good Evening! I made it back to AZ alive, what a long boring drive it was. So Izabel was wondering what you roommates full name was? And whats your last? Just thought we could keep in touch via facebook I reply back: It is glorious to hear you made it. Hes David Russo. My last name is Clark.
She replies to my reply: Awesome, well hopefully I will be back soon, I love LA Keep in touch. Xo I pick a urinal and pee like a racehorse. It takes some time to purge my
bladder completely but I get it done, wash my hands and go back to where I left my lesbian friends. When I arrive at the spot, they are nowhere to be found. The women apparently thought it would be funny to disappear on me. I am not amused. I
actually get a little nervous, so I go to the wood bar to order a beer. The bar tender is clearly on steroids so when he asks me what I want with a lisp, I am surprised. Where do gay men get that lisp? Five minutes go by and all these gay guys are staring at me. Like Ivey warned me I am getting eye raped and it feels pretty weird. I feel like a piece of meat. This must be how hot women feel everyday, no wonder they are so mean. If I think too deeply about my circumstance I may have a panic attack, so I decide to embrace it. No, I don't go make out with some guys, or receive any gay bj's, but I do go over to the closest guys I see and introduce myself. Hey, Im Francis. I say to two tanned Latino gentlemen. Recardo, and Rico are their names. I dont know how much more clich this could get. We manage to have a conversation despite Rico being unable to speak a word of English, but Recardo does, and says he will translate. As it turns out Rico is one of the best hair stylist in LA (plenty more clich.) and he thinks I'm cute. "Thank You" I reply. Before we can continue talking, the women come to the table to meet my new friends. I introduce everyone. I can see Recardo is frustrated. "You aren't gay, are you?" he asks me in his homosexual Puerto Rican accent. No I am not. I reply. Well what are you doing in a gay bar?" He asks in a bitchy tone. I explain to Recardo that I am out with these awesome lesbians and my girlfriend to celebrate Emmas Birthday. I ask him how he knew. He explains to me that being gay you have to be sure about who you hit on because some assholes get violent like you are going to steal their heterosexuality or something. Like any other
skill, it builds the more you practice. This is the foundation of gaydar. Recardo and Rico eventually get up and go, wishing us an awesome night. I look around for Claudia, who I spot at the bar with Ingrid. Emma pulls up a seat next to mine. Whats going on with you and my sister? Emma interrogates. What do you mean? I ask. Lets be real Francis, things arent right with you two. If youre going to break up with her just do it. She says. What makes you think Im going to break up with her? I ask. Girls always know. Emma replies. Alright, I hear your advice and will take it into account if thats where things are going. I say. Whatever dude, just dont waste anymore of my sisters time please. Now take me to the bar and buy me some shots. She says. I go with Emma to the bar and buy her a shot. I tell her not to say anything to her sister, and she promises not to. I go back to the table where the rest of our group has set up camp. I am holding court with these glorious lesbians. They show a strong interest in talking about various conquests of mine. I share that I had sex with a girl that was 4 feet 9 inches tall and a girl that was 6 feet 2 inches tall in the same season: When I went out on dates with this short girl Im sure it looked like I was going out with my daughter. Im lucky no one called the cops when they saw us making out. When I would go out with this tall chic, everyone would stare at her,
probably questioning whether or not she was a man even though she was really pretty. I explain. I go into a monologue about the inherent violence of heterosexual sex that they are eating up: "Look at the language we use. Smash, slay, screw, nail, hit, crush, poke, bone, destroy, bang, cut. I mean I have a shaft, and you have a hole, that is violent." We also discuss various things like how some of them knew they were lesbian and how different people reacted to that. Rachel shares her college experience: I was weird in college, I did theater and I was in a sorority. You would think the theater girls would be more tolerant, but instead they got weird around me. My sorority sisters got really excited though, so much so I hooked up with like half of them. She says. I give her a man pound. We also discuss the beauty of two women being together, gender roles in homosexual relationships, and how it appears to me as though Ivey hates men: I dont hate men, I love men actually, just non sexually. You probably arent used to that. Ivey says. Finally I get Erika, the best looking of all of them, to share how and why she became a lesbian: I was actually engaged for 3 years to a man, but I had an inkling something was missing. So he allowed me to go find out. I started dating women and I realize that it was for me. Im still friends with that guy now. Erika shares. This all is going so well that they make me an honorary lesbian for the night. Glorious. We take it to the dance floor and are ripping it up to the music and doing
some more birthday shots. I see Claudia standing at the bar not really having that great of a time. I try to ignore it. To take my mind off of things, I dance with these lesbians. Ingrid is getting particularly close to me. She ends up backing it up on me, grinding her ass into my crotch. My dick gets hard. I try to push her away, but she grinds harder into me. I am confused because I thought she liked pussy. Come with me to go smoke a cigarette. Ingrid says. Oh I dont smoke, and you shouldnt either I say. Come convince me to stop smoking cigarettes. She fires back. What is this? I ask. Hahaha, I think youre cute, I want to talk to you. She says. I thought you liked girls. I say. I like guys too. She whispers seductively before walking off the dance floor and to the patio. I look around to see if any members of the group notice what is going on. It doesnt appear as though they do, so I follow Ingrid to the patio. She is smoking a cigarette when I get to her location. She turns to face me, and strokes my chest with her nonsmoking hand. I slap her hand away. Whats wrong? She asks. Im here with my girlfriend. I reply in a hushed tone. Yea, its clear to everyone how into her you are. She says. I may be an asshole, but Im not a fucking asshole. I snap. Just take my number, and do with it what you want. Ingrid says. I wish I could, but this is just too wrong. I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I dont want to ruin my karma. I respond.
She starts talking about her not being hot enough for me, which causes me to tell her exactly how hot she is. (Really hot.) But I stick to my guns and decide to go hangout with Claudia who looks like she wants to go home anyways. I dance with Claudia and her sister for a couple of songs before going to the bathroom one final time. When I return, I ask Claudia if she is ready to leave. She tells me she is, but that she has agreed to give Ingrid a ride back to her car, which is at the Mexican restaurant. I look at Ingrid when I find out this news. She has an evil smirk. I give my farewell hugs to my new friends and promise to show them all a great time downtown at some point in the future. I finally say goodnight to Emma, and tell her happy birthday while giving her a hug. Claudia, Ingrid and myself exit the super gay venue and drive off in the Corolla. We arrive at the spot where Ingrid left her car. She is about to get out when she pauses for a moment. I dont think I have my phone. Francis will you call it for me? Ingrid requests. I put up initial resistance before begrudgingly dialing the number she provides me. I can hear her phone ring immediately. Oh, its in my cleavage, sorry about that. Have a good night you two. Ingrid says. She winks at me before getting out of the car. Shes good at this game. I tell Claudia to take me back to my own apartment. We ride in silence. Both of us know what is coming at the end of this journey. Claudia takes the long way to my apartment, employing surface streets instead of the Hollywood Freeway. We dont even bother looking at each other as she drives down 3rd street. As we get closer to my apartment I feel something strange in my whole body. The feeling
reminds me of waiting to hear the results of a job interview or for the doctor to deliver some test results. I think to just start talking before we arrive at my place, but there is no way to know how Claudia is going to react to this break up. She could respond with sadness, violence, or indifference. With a one in three chance I end up like Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky, I keep my mouth shut. Claudia pulls her Corolla up to the front entrance of my building. We sit there in silence for a second until I begin the conversation. So, Im breaking up with you. I say coldly, because I dont know how else to say it. She nods her head, acknowledging that she was expecting this. We sit in silence again for sixty seconds until I resume talking. This isnt your fault, you did nothing wrong. You are an excellent girlfriend, the best a guy could ask for. But me, Im no good. I suck really. I neglect you, I dont love you like you deserve to be loved, I dont make you my priority. Again, that isnt your fault it is me, my own insecurities. I just have this need, this need to always be meeting new women, and to sleep with them or else I just cant be happy, I just cant feel like myself. I say. Thats really sad Francis. Claudia says. I know, but it is just who I am, I think it is in my DNA or something. We had a glorious time together, and that cant be taken away from us, but again I have to let you go so you can find your prince, the guy who is going to love you and cherish you with all of his heart, the guy who would fight for you, kill for you, and youll find that guy. I know this sucks now but this is for the best. Know that I am doing this because
I love you but I realize I cant give you what you deserve and will never be able to. I say. Youre right, I do deserve better. Claudia says. We again sit in silence. She breaks it this time. Can I ask you one question? She asks. Shoot. I say. Did you ever cheat on me? Claudia asks. She studies my face as I think long and hard about my answer. I remember some advice given to me from my father that I use to determine my answer. No. I lie. I knew you didnt, I just needed to hear it from you for some reason. She says. We sit there in silence for five minutes until I decide it is time for me to go. I give her a hug. This causes her to break down. Her tears flow like a faucet. This is what I was dreading. I hate making women cry. Part of the enjoyment of doing what I do is making women happy; this here is the opposite, the dark side of my lifestyle, and the part of me that I hate, but a necessary part because you cant have the sweet without the bitter, the hot without the cold, the smiles without the cries. I hold her close and stroke her hair while she shakes and lets out her tears. I feel my own tears coming but I hold them back. One of us has to be strong in this situation. I hold on as long as I can before kissing her on the forehead and getting out the car. As I walk into the building I cant look back, it would be too agonizing to see her in that much pain. It is even worse knowing that I am the cause. I try to stay
single to avoid moments like this, moments when I recognize how big of a piece of shit I actually am. I dont particularly like myself right now. I walk slowly to my apartment; I look down at my shirt, it is soaked with Claudias tears. This makes me extremely sad. I have a strong feeling of loss. Breaking up creates a weird disassociating feeling, almost like I was watching the scene play out from above, like I wasnt a participant. The scene replays in my mind as I near my apartment. I find it strange that moments like this, moments when a person is most sad, are the moments that also make us feel the most alive. Everyday life is typically boring, but times like this arent boring, it is good to feel emotions this strong, even negative ones. It reminds me that I am human, that I do have a heart. I can care deeply about another person. I take strange comfort in this. My fathers advice on this situation by the way: Where is the profit in telling them you cheated. I was raised this way.
Next Chapter.
I enter my apartment. Dave is sitting on the couch watching television. He turns to me as I enter. So did you do it? He asks like I had a murder to commit. Yes, I did it. I say, stark sadness in my tone. I told you that thing would work curbing his excitement, he pauses for a second. Are you okay dude? He asks. Yea, kind of sad, but Ill get over it, you know how it goes. I reply You want to talk about it? Dave asks. I shake my head and go into my bedroom. I go straight to my bathroom. First
I pee, the flow is still heavy. I then flush the toilet and go to the sink. I wash my hands. I stare at myself in the mirror as I dry them. I am looking for something; an emotion perhaps, there is nothing. I take my phone out of my pocket. A text message from an unsaved number appears on the screen: Call me when you want to go out and get girls together ;) Ingrid. I shake my head. My first reaction is disbelief, but that quickly turns into admiration. This girl knows what she wants, and is willing to get it. I like that. I take my clothes off and get ready for bed. Once I finish my preparations I get under the sheets. The scene of my break up replays in my mind. This makes me more depressed. I try to forget about it as I try to go to sleep, but I cant. I need a distraction. I text Ingrid: Come over. She replies: Im already in bed, some other time hun I go to plan B, texting Jasmine: Come over. Five minutes or so pass before she replies: Ok. This is better, since breaking up with Claudia also cancelled my ride to the airport tomorrow. Jasmine will be my new ride. She takes 20 minutes to arrive from her Brentwood apartment to mine. She sends a text announcing her arrival. I greet her on the street giving her a long hug. Whats wrong? Jasmine asks.
What makes you think somethings wrong? I ask. I dont know, just had a feeling. She replies. Girls always know. We go back to my apartment. I take her to the bedroom and we get straight to business. I slide right in not even bothering to put a condom on since weve already crossed that bridge. I have never had an STD, although with my number of partners, the statistics that the government publishes suggest I should be full of them. I am beginning to think the government is lying. When a government lies it the people become skeptical of anything that government says. The sex is good, but my heart just isnt in it. The whole time I cant help but think about poor Claudia alone, crying in the bed we once shared. I fake an orgasm, pretending to shoot my cum into the palm of my hand, before running to the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I go to the sink and turn on the water for effect. I stare at myself in the mirror, searching for something. I find nothing. I return to the bed and lay with Jasmine. We decide it would be best to stay the night at her place since she lives closer to LAX. I pack a bag for my trip and we leave my apartment, driving in her Mercedes to her place. We take the 110 to the 10, and the 10 to the 405, exiting at Sunset.
Next Chapter.
I wake up in the morning completely over last nights break up. Jasmine and I get ready for the day. We exit her apartment and get in her car taking the 405 to the 105. Jasmine pulls her car into LAX. The airport is fairly busy for such a strange hour. Jasmine stops her luxury sedan at my airline. I kiss her good bye; next I open my door and get out of the car. I open the back door and grab my bags out of the
back seat. I tell her thank you and goodbye and blow her a kiss before closing the door. LAX to JFK is one of the best routes to fly. Not because of the comforts of a modern commercial jet liner, of which there are none, outside of perhaps T.V. and the Internet. Not because of the recycled air, too small toilets, lack of overhead bin space, disgruntled flight attendants, or sixhour flight time. LAX to JFK is so glorious because of any route available in the continental United States this one has the most attractive women. The talent level is off the charts. And while I've never had the opportunity to sit next to the hot girl on any flight, the odds are most in my favor on this route. I enter the airport; quickly locate a kiosk, and aggressively beeline towards it. I grab a credit card out of my wallet and swipe it. I follow the on screen instructions, punch in some info, press the button for no bags to check, and finally press the "print boarding pass" button. The machine spits out my travel document. I follow the signs to the security checkpoint for my gate. While waiting in line I get my headphones out of my pocket and listen to some music to pass the time. Two songs play through before I arrive at the TSA employee who matches faces with identification and identification with boarding passes. "How is your morning?" I ask. "Good and yours?" The TSA employee asks in reply. "No complaints over here" I respond with a smile. I patiently wait behind an attractive blonde in a black business dress. The line moves forward and I grab two bins. I place them down side by side on the table
that leads to the rollers, that leads to the conveyor belt, which leads to the Xray machine. I remove my laptop from my bag and place it in the first bin. A gentleman in his mid fifties waiting in line behind me begins placing his items in my second bin. "You're just going to steal my bin?" I ask. He looks confused and then responds "Excuse me...oh... Sorry" "No worries" I say as I reach over his stuff and grab another bin, which I fill with my cardigan, iPhone, Wallet, belt and shoes. I push my stuff forward until they all reach the conveyor belt and enter the machine. When I reach the Xray machine the TSA employee alerts me that my watch is still on. "Its ceramic." I inform him. I pass through the metal detector without incident. As I collect my just irradiated items, I notice a welldressed Persian man being taken away for random screening. I put my shoes on first, followed by my belt. I put my laptop back in my bag and grab my wallet and phone to stuff into my pockets. Lastly I grab my cardigan. I then walk slowly to my gate. Upon arrival to my gate area, I observe the large mass of people sitting around. Some stare into space, some converse with each other, some converse on cell phones, some read books, some read Kindles. A woman is aggressively scolding her preteen daughter; it looks like bad parenting to me. An elderly couple sitting together in matching wheel chairs are holding hands. When they look at each other and kiss. It's clear there love is stronger today than it was on their wedding day, and will probably grow stronger until the day one of them dies perhaps even growing beyond that tragic day. It brings a smile to my face. This is a love anyone could appreciate.
The blonde who was in front of me at the security checkpoint is speaking with an airline employee who is standing behind the counter. This blonde is the hottest girl in the room, which isn't an easy feat any where in Los Angeles. She's a dime in anyone's book. Just once can I sit next to the hot girl? I take out my iPad. I plug my headphones in and select an album to listen to, I go with Omni by Minus the Bear. Next I open iBooks. I scroll through my digital collection of books and white papers. A diverse library is at my fingertips. We are lucky to be living in the age of information. I can't choose between a technical book or something designed to entertain. Stephan Hawking or Carl Sagan? Larry Harris or Charles Bukowski? Richard Dawkins or David Foster Wallace? So many options, I settle on The Black Swan by Nassim Nicholas Taleb. As I read through the book I realize Taleb is one of the greatest thinkers of our time. Like all great thinkers his ideas didnt appear out of thin air, but are built on the foundation laid by glorious thinkers before him. Taleb mentions a branch of mathematics called Fractals that was part of the life's work of French American mathematician Benit Mandelbrot. I exit Taleb's book and google Fractals. This takes me to the Wikipedia page. I quickly devour the content of the article gaining a basic knowledge of the subject. Wikipedia kindly provides some visual examples, one of which is a Sierpinski Triangle, the image from the wine lable that tied my dinner together. Lastly I check the sources, which lead me to Mandelbrot's textbook on Fractals. Fractals are a naturally occurring phenomenon. Think of the apparently chaotic order of the branches of a tree, or the jagged appearance of a lightening bolt. Mandelbrot was able to tie together centuries of math, mainly set theory, and the
calculating powers of the microprocessor to make sense of the chaos of nature. Fractal geometry is a way to measure that chaos. That chaos is actually a simple mathematical formula that spits out values, which are then entered into the same formula, which spits out additional values that are again plugged into the original formula and so on and so forth in a process known as iteration. Think about a blob of clay that enters a machine at one end and comes out as a masterpiece at the other, then put that masterpiece back in the machine and it comes out a more complex masterpiece, keep repeating that and now you understand the math of fractals and how the universe evolves through time. Fractals contain selfsimilarity, a concept that has been pondered for centuries. Selfsimilarity simply put means something appears the same from near, as it does from far. For instance, take a straight line, split that straight line into thirds, and zoom in on one of the thirds. If you do that you will find each 1/3 is non differentiable from each other, meaning they would all look the exact same or approximately the same, and would look the exact same or approximately the same as the original line. Regardless of scale the degree of similarity or approximate similarity would be the same so taking that same line and splitting it up into sixths, or ninths, or eighteenths, or thirtysixths, all the way to the smallest fraction and zooming into the proper level of magnification, it would still look the same. You could extend this to more complex geometric shapes and sets, like the Sierpinski Triangle, the Mandelbrot Set or even something that doesnt seem geometric at all like the image that comes from two parallel mirrors. A light goes on in my head. I take this concept a step further by removing the complex equations to free my mind. (Knowing how to do the difficult math that you need a computer or
decades worth of time to perform is never a prerequisite to understand the concept behind that difficult math.) I now see that similarity exists all around us, not just in the physical universe, the shapes and tangible things that we can measure using math, but also in the metaphysical, in our behaviors, our beliefs, our interactions, and all other aspects of reality. All that is needed to find this similarity is a unit of measurement. For the physical universe we have math, but for the metaphysical we have words, and the concepts and meanings that define those words. Think of the word moment, and something as simple as the definition of the length of a moment. Does 5 minutes, or maybe 25 seconds, or any other length of time in between or beyond define a moment? It depends on who you ask, yet, despite not having a universally agreed upon definition of what a moment is, everyone you talk with understands the concept of a moment. We understand all different kinds of concepts, like the concept of a relationship, or of friendship, or of an occupation. All of those words encompass a variety of different things but they allow us to put vast, complex things in a specific silo so our brains can understand them. From there we can compare things, one moment to the next for instance, and we can break them down further. We can always look deeper, deeper into this relationship or that relationship, or this moment or that moment, but the math behind fractals tells us the deeper we look, no matter how far we drill down, we will still see that things are approximately the same. It is the nature of the universe. My thought process is interrupted by the final boarding call announcement for my flight. I notice the number of people around me has significantly diminished. I stuff my iPad back into my bag, zip it shut and pop up. I walk briskly to the gate.
There are only three other people waiting to enter the jet way. An overweight black couple, whose Yankee fitted caps and Brooklyn accents betray they are returning home, and the Persian man from the security checkpoint who looks as though his traveling experience has already been ruined. I greet the flight attendant who is scanning tickets, hand her mine, and enter the jet way. These things always have a weird scent, a confluence of odors like the dentist office mixed with expensive perfumes, Victoria's Secret body spray (which smells like teenage girls), strippers, and body odor. I wait behind a large mass of people. We all move along in a herd. As I enter the plane I greet the flight attendant. I look at my ticket. Seat 12E, a middle seat. I dislike the middle seat. Who doesn't? I wait behind some people who I think are taking a bit too long to put their bag in the overhead. They seem to not understand the luggage with wheels on it goes straight in, not sideways! After these dolts are instructed by a helpful passenger on the intricacies of storing a bag in the overhead I finally get to my seat. I can't believe my luck. It's none other than the hot blonde from the security line who is in the window seat next to my middle. She is way better up close. I study her from top to bottom. Her whole look works together beautifully. Her shiny blonde hair is slightly curled. Her glowing skin, big blue eyes, small nose and great smile lead down to her slim neck adorned with a pearl necklace. Her breasts are kind of small but that's hot too, big breasts would look out of place on her slim frame. Her thin toned legs peak out of her black dress, like two sexy stilts. I take my ipad from my bag prior to taking my time putting my bag in the overhead. I take my seat. After adjusting the air above me and putting on my seat belt I turn and face my travel companion.
"How's it going?" I say, and so begins a long complex process. Good. She turns to me and says, before getting back to her People magazine. The cabin door has been closed, and our plane is pulling away from the gate. The aisle seat in our row is empty. I think it's a great idea to show this girl I don't want to sit too close to her. I get up and switch from the middle seat to the aisle. "No offense." I say to her. Her facial expression is one of disbelief. This flight has finally reached its cruising altitude. Now that the flight attendants and captain are done talking over the PA system I can return to my pursuit of victory. "So, what has you traveling to New York?" I ask. "My younger sister's bridal shower." She says "How old is she?" I query. "twentythree" She answers. "What's wrong with her?" I ask jokingly. "What's your name?" She asks. Anytime a girl asks me this I know I am heading in the right direction. People don't want to know the names of strangers they don't like, and once I know a girl that I am interested in likes me, that is my belief until she provides a ridiculous amount of evidence to the contrary. I believe it is on with this girl, but if she isnt trying to have sex I will eventually give up, I know how to take losses. "Francis." I say, extending my hand for a handshake. "Tricia, it's a pleasure. She says, putting her dainty hand into my own. "That remains to be seen." I reply, while holding her hand a bit longer than is the custom.
I alternate between talking to her and reading my book. During this time I find out that she lives in Los Angeles, is from SoCal, and works as a sales person for a large conglomerate. Large corporations are always hiring beautiful women for their sales roles. "So what is it that you do?" Tricia asks. "I'm an LA based playboy." I answer, looking her right in the eye, conveying my seriousness. "And that pays the bills, how?" she asks. "It doesn't, I'm poor." I kid. "Says the guy with an iPad." She states. "I'm a professional gambler." I tell her. "So you make a living off betting?" She asks. "Indeed. I say, squinting my eyes and nodding my head as I answer. "How do you know whos going to win?" She asks. "I don't know whos going to win, no one does, but that's the point. I build systems employing multivariate time series analysis and econometric tools to exploit statistical arbitrages combined with a risk management approach that uses the geometric mean to maximize growth but lowers risk of ruin." I say. She nods her head pretending to understand. "You want me to explain that in English?" I ask. Tricia laughs and answers. "Yes, please." "I just gather as much statistical information as possible, put it in a spreadsheet and calculate odds. If the odds I calculate are different from the odds sports books are offering I have a statistical edge. But having an edge doesn't mean
you can tell the future so I only bet a certain percentage of my bankroll on any given event. That percentage is determined by how much of an edge I believe I have." I explain. "Wow, where did you learn to do that?" Tricia asks. "Wall Street." I explain to Tricia how I spent some summers interning at an investment bank. There I learned that the investing business was nothing more than gambling. Sure, they have their fancy models, with names like BlackScholes Merton, Value at Risk, and dividenddiscount. And sure they have their crazy acronyms like DCF, CDS, CDO, CLO and VAR. But even with all that bullshit they still can't tell the future. No one can. That fact combined with greed and hubris is why Wall Street lost more money during the financial crisis than was made in the entire history of banking. "That's still crazy that you are betting all the time." She says. "Everyone is betting all the time. They just don't realize it." I respond. Her eyebrows are raised like she wants me to explain. "Again, no one can tell the future, so life is already a gamble, but that's some metaphysical stuff I don't want to get into. But you have a car I'm assuming?" I ask. Tricia nods her head. "Well you have insurance on that car as well?" I query. She nods. "When you buy car insurance you are betting that you will be in a car accident, and the insurance company is betting that you won't. When you get into an accident you win that bet." I say. She appears to understand the concept.
"You're really smart aren't you?" Tricia asks. "I'm just good at pretending to be intelligent, the illusion is just as good as reality. Knowledge is the illusion I use." I reply. I tell Tricia about my time at the Abbey last night, excluding the part where I broke up with my girlfriend. She laughs hysterically at the story and slaps my arm a few times. "You're trouble." She says. "Yea, but I'm fun though." I reply. "Yes, that too." She says with a smile. "So why don't we get some drinks when I get back to Los Angeles." I suggest. "I don't think my boyfriend would like that." Tricia declines. "You have a boyfriend?" I ask pretending to be surprised. "Yes I do." She says like it was a given. "You want another?" I ask with a smile. "You are definitely trouble." She says while hitting my shoulder. I somehow manage to turn the conversation to sex. I never know how I get to this point, but I consider it a gift. "So how long do you wait typically?" I ask. Tricia mentions reading in a book that women are supposed to wait 90 days before having sex with a guy for the first time. "If any girl waits ninety days with me she'll be waiting for a call back." I say. She again slaps my arm. I communicate with her my belief that people should get the sex out of the way. My argument is grounded in logic: "It becomes this thing hanging over the interaction, not allowing it to grow because as a woman you think
sex is something I am trying to get from you, and as a man I think you are keeping something from me, instead of us just experiencing each other." I explain. She finds this interesting but makes a valid point: "I don't want men thinking I'm a slut." Tricia says. I concede this point. But I also let her know she doesn't want to be with those guys anyways. Men who think women are sluts because they sleep with someone they like "too soon" have low selfesteem. They can't imagine a woman liking them so much so soon that the woman would sleep with them. Internally these men feel like they are nothing special, their logic, even if it only exists in their subconscious, is if a woman would sleep with an average guy like him she would probably sleep with any average guy. Because of the nature of statistics, there are a lot of average guys. I hold the opposite belief. I believe I am an awesome motherfucker, so of course a woman I just met would want to sleep with me. Her body language shifts. She crosses her legs towards me. Dave learned in sales school that this means the person likes what is being said and now holds the speaker in higher regard. "Oh, let me show you something." I say before switching back to the middle seat. I really have nothing to show her, but quick thinking leads me to grab my iPad to show her some pictures. I decide to push my chips to the middle of the table. "If you play your cards right I may make you a member of the mile high club." I say. I do this because this bet offers great risk reward. The downside: she rejects me and I go back to my aisle seat and I dont fuck her, which Im already not doing anyways. The upside: I fuck her in the bathroom.
She cocks her eyebrow and smirks at me. "If I play MY cards right? Yep, you're trouble." Tricia says. I smile at her. I lean in, she pulls back. I smile and start laughing. I try again. This time she accepts. It is a slow, soft kiss; she puts a small bit of her tongue in my mouth. I can sense her uncertainty. I pull away. Her eyes are still closed. She opens them. "You're a good kisser." She tells me. "Thank you." I say. The flight attendant comes by. I ask how her day is going before ordering 4 vodkas and club sodas. 2 for each of us. "I got these." Tricia says. Tricia reaches into her bag and pulls out drink tickets. She hands them to the flight attendant who in turn gives us our drinks. Tricia and I open two of the mini bottles. "Let's just do shots. She suggests. "Are we in college, on spring break?" I joke. "No I'm in sales." Tricia says before taking down a whole bottle. I follow suit and we spend the next ninety minutes of this flight getting fucked up. A few rounds later I'm licking her neck. I'm certain the audience is enjoying this. "I'm going to the bathroom." Tricia whispers into my ear. She gets up out of her seat, pauses in front of me to adjust her dress, providing me with a view of her ass, and heads towards the back of the plane. She looks over her shoulder at me and bites her lip. I hop up out of my seat, but forget to remove my seat belt. I unbuckle myself and walk at a brisk pace to catch my drinking buddy. Every row Tricia passes earns her a host of stares. She treats the
aisle as her red carpet, her high fashion runway. She is the center of attention, a true princess of the skies. There is a slight line for the bathroom. There is always a line for something because human beings are more similar than different. My hope is no one will ruin the scent of the lavatory. The line reaches a standstill as soon as we're on deck. I'm afraid my worst fear is coming true. We are so close to closing this sale. A man in an aisle seat is staring at Tricia. He finally works up enough courage to talk to her, but the poor guy fumbles his delivery. I look at him, smile, and move to smack and grab her ass. Tricia turns and smiles at me. "How's it going man?" I ask him, while a handful of Tricias ass rests in my grasp. He just nods before looking straight ahead. A short silver haired lady emerges from one of the bathrooms. She scoots by Tricia and myself with a smile. Tricia goes into the bathroom first. I turn to the man in line behind me. "We're going to be awhile." I say before slipping into the bathroom. Tricia pulls me by my collar and kisses me. I push her off so I can close and lock the door. She lifts my shirt up just enough to run her hands along my abs. I grab her by the waist and spin her around. I grab her hair, pulling it to make her look at herself in the mirror. With my free hand I hike up her dress and pull her panties down to mid thigh. I smack her ass then rub her pussy. I can feel it getting wetter. I tell her how damn sexy she is. I let go of her hair so I can use my hand to get a condom. I get it out of my pocket, place it between my teeth, unzip, release my fully erect penis, tear the wrapper open and slide it on all with one hand. I put a small
amount of spit on the tip with my fingers. I then poke around the outside of her box. "You aren't fucking me without a condom, I don't know how many girls you've slept with." Tricia says. (Some of the shit women say to me before, during, and after sex is so fucking rude. If I said some of that same shit to them I would never get laid.) "I have a condom on, feel my dick, there's a condom on there." I say. She checks with her hand before putting it in herself. She moans as my dick makes itself at home. I grab her by the waist, and start with slow and deep strokes. She arches her back to drive me deeper. I fuck her harder. I keep one hand on her waist and use the other to explore her body. I go as low as her knee before moving up along her body, to her breasts, taking a moment to squeeze them, and ending at her neck. I lightly grasp her throat; raising her head. She moans. We look in the mirror into the reflections of each others eyes. I fuck her like this until I finish. While I'm rolling up the condom in a paper towel Tricia is in the mirror fixing her hair. She makes eye contact with me through the mirror and smiles. I ask her if she is ready to go. She makes one more minor adjustment and nods her head. I stand on the toilet to give Tricia enough space to open the door and exit. I follow closely behind her. There is a whole new group in line for the bathroom now, led by a college aged guy followed by a father and his prepubescent daughter. When we squeeze by the college kid he gives me a man pound. Back in our seats Tricia is resting her head on my shoulder. "Was that really slutty?" She asks.
"I think it's good to be slutty sometimes." I say before misquoting Mark Twain. She falls asleep on my shoulder. I spend most of the rest of the flight surfing the Internet and reading. I eventually close my eyes and join Tricia. Tricia and I are woken up by a flight attendant right before the flight lands. She tells us how cute we are together before ordering us to put our seat backs up. The plane pulls into the gate and the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign causing a release of energy. All of the passengers commence a flurry of activity. Gathering of bags from the overhead, cell phone calls, and other movements take place. I prefer to stay seated until I can actually exit the plane. Tricia and I use this time to exchange numbers and goodbyes. It is our turn to spill into the aisle. We said our goodbyes too soon. We end up awkwardly walking with each other all the way to the security checkpoint. "I have to go to the bathroom." Tricia says. I look at her surprised. "I mean for real this time." She says before awkwardly walking into the restroom. I doubt I will ever see her again, but not for lack of trying.
Next Chapter.
I arrive late to my sisters birthday dinner. The setting she has chosen is an upscale gourmet Mexican restaurant that is popping up in major cities across the country. This particular location is in Union Square. "How's it going?" I ask the cute hostess. "Pretty good, and yourself?" she asks.
"It's been a long day but a glorious one." I reply. I tell her I am here to meet the Clark party. She takes me through the dimly lit restaurant and up some stairs. I shamelessly flirt with her the whole way. When we reach the top of the staircase the first thing I spot is my father's gray head of hair. I walk to the table and join the party. Moving clockwise the party consists of my father, also named Francis, one of his girlfriends, Elena, my cousin Juliana, my sister Connie, her fianc Michael, and my sister's friend Lauren. I sit between Elena and Juliana. Before greeting my family I give the hostess my phone number and invite her out to the club to come celebrate my sisters birthday. The women at the table shake their heads. Michael grins at me, and my dad gives me the thumbs up. "Well hello everyone, how is it going?" I ask the table. "Don't you have a girlfriend?" My hater cousin asks after witnessing me giving my phone number to the hostess. "No, we broke up last night." I answer. "Like that matters to him anyways." Connie adds. "How about instead of worrying about my relationship status and views on fidelity we do some celebrating. How old are you now Connie? 28? You hear that clock ticking?" I ask. "Haha." My sister says sarcastically before asking how my flight was. "Well it didn't crash, I got wasted with my seat mate, and I may or may not have joined the mile high club. A gentleman never tells." I say with a grin. "You are repulsively absurd, I can't believe I am related to you." Juliana says insultingly.
"I know, it's shocking right, how lucky can you be?" I reply. "I think he's just over compensating due to his small penis." Juliana says to the table. "Well first of all, even if I do have a small penis that doesn't matter because I'm still getting it in. And second why are you even thinking about my penis. We're cousins, that's kinda gross." I say. "Okay, enough of that. Since you took so long we went ahead and ordered. You need to find our waitress and order before its too late." My father states. I get the attention of our waitress. "How's it going?" I ask the waitress. "Pretty good and yourself?" She asks. "Just alright, we're here for my sisters birthday and my cousin here isn't being very nice to me." I say. "Oh, you guys are all family?" The waitress asks. "Unfortunately." Juliana butts in. "Well you have a really good looking family, I mean wow, all of you are really attractive, you never see that." The waitress says. "Thank you, here is what I will have..." I say before listing 2 items off the menu. The waitress walks away with my order. I pour myself a margarita from a pitcher that is sitting on the table and begin drinking it. It doesn't taste very good, it is far too bitter and I wish it contained more alcohol. Clark family dinner conversations typically encompass a wide range of
topics, from sex to business. "So I have an opportunity to invest in this Facebook pre ipo." Francis Sr. says. "Really uncle Francis, that's awesome." Juliana says. "At what valuation?" I ask. "$26 a share." My father answers. "What valuation is that?" I ask. My father looks at me blankly. Francis Clark Sr. is a phenomenal sales man who was able to build a $13 million dollar business that employs hundreds of people just because he was a hard worker and worldclass builder of relationships. He sold any and everything at the beginning of his entrepreneurial endeavors before striking it big by selling a small portion of the physical labor that fueled the dotcom boom. He went from food stamps to a black card in less than 3 years. Despite his phenomenal track record as a businessman, my father is a terrible investor. He was super long Internet stocks in 2000, long airline stocks in 2001, and long South Florida real estate in 2006. The easiest way to make money would be to do the opposite of what he does. "How does a successful business man not understand valuation?" I question. "That's not his thing." Connie jumps in before explaining the concept to my dad. "That's why I sent her to HBS. (Harvard Business School)" Francis Sr. says. Everyone's food except my own arrives, a consequence of my late arrival. The table stares at me as their food gets cold. "Go ahead and eat, don't worry about me." I say. The table begins eating their food as I sit there watching. Elena offers me some
of her food. I politely decline. My meal arrives a couple of minutes later. Despite receiving my food last I am first to finish. The topic of conversation switches to inequality in America. The debate is split. Michael, my father, and Juliana on the side of everything is okay, Connie, her friend Lauren, Elena, and myself on the other. "In any capitalist society there are going to be disparities." Michael says. "This is true, but things are more unequal now than they have ever been during my lifetime." Elena says in her Long Island accent. "Yeah, but if there wasn't disparity I wouldn't have worked so hard." Francis Sr. adds. "I agree you need some type of disparity to motivate people, but it is out of hand now. The top 1% earned more than the entire bottom 50%, and captured 93% of all income growth in the last decade. Connie interjects. Yea, but we also pay the majority of the taxes. I paid over 300k in taxes last year. Francis Sr. says. Well you should. If you didnt have America, you wouldnt be able to make so much money in the first place. I say. "Look I work hard for my money, if other people worked as hard as I did they would be paid too and things wouldn't be so unequal." Juliana says. "You got paid five times the median income right out of college for doing what exactly?" Lauren asks Juliana. "I evaluate the collateral of private wealth clients." Juliana answers. "What exactly does that mean?" Elena asks.
"She determines how much money and at what interest rate the bank she works for can loan rich people based on what they already own." I inform. "That pays five times the median income?" My father incredulously asks. "Hell yea, it's like a 70 hour work week." My cousin says. "I would hardly call that work, you don't produce anything, except money, which is just numbers on a computer screen that came from no where. It's a valuable service, but that is because value is just an idea. But work it is not, although you are working hard, or at least your mind and your computer are." I say to Juliana. What are you even talking about? Juliana asks. Money isnt real. Its an idea that is physically manifested in little pieces of paper with pictures of dead guys on it. Hell, most of the money that exists doesnt even exist in the physical sense, it is just numbers on a computer screen. It only has value because we all believe it has value. I like it though, it keeps society peaceful, and progressing but that may come to an end if the shit that is happening now continues. I say. When did you become a communist, you wanted to work at the same bank as me not too long ago. She asks. Hey, Im no communist. A key lesson from the last century is that shit doesnt work. The world has seen civilization progress more technologically and socially in the last 200 years than we had in the previous 10,000. That is due primarily to capitalism. Money is supposed to be the unit of measurement of an individual or collective entitys contributions to society. You do some farming, making food for society, you get paid. You are the government, you provide roads,
and protection, and healthcare, and education for all of your citizens, you get paid. You are a corporation, producing technology that makes our lives easier, you get paid. You are an employee of a corporation, making it possible for that corporation to produce technology that makes the lives of individuals easier, you get paid. You are an entertainer, entertaining society, you get paid. That is how it is supposed to work. I say. What is your point? Juliana asks. My point is that all of those things benefit society. The financial services
industry used to as well, but now it mainly exists just to enrich those working in that industry. The aspects of the business that actually benefit society, like making loans to businesses and individuals, is seen as less important to the industry because they dont make as much money. There is a glitch in the matrix. The system is clearly flawed, and bankers are exploiting that flaw. I read some derivatives trader at your bank made 20 million dollars last year. What benefit did he provide to society? I ask. Well he gave investors the risk exposures they were looking for. Juliana says. Yeah, risk exposures they could have achieved if they went ahead and invested in the real economy, by making loans or giving money for ownership stakes to real businesses, and real people, or even investing in stocks, bonds, or commodities because that would make prices more informative, which makes the economy more efficient. That would benefit society. Instead, the industry focuses on
some derivative economy that only exist in a digital world, yet takes its cues from the physical universe anyways. Why not just invest in the physical world? I ask. Its cheaper to invest in a derivative than the real economy. Juliana answers. Thats because no labor has to be done. If you dont have to pay labor, you make more money. Thats how casinos work. The actual athletes and coaches on the field of play do the labor. All the sports book does is take bets on the outcome that arises from the efforts of the athletes and coaches. I obviously have nothing against people gambling, but when I cant pay my bets, if Im in Vegas I go to jail, if Im anywhere else I get my legs broken, maybe worse. But if Im on Wall Street and I cant pay my bets, then everyone (the taxpayer) has to pay my bets for me, how is that fair? I question. I think everyone would agree that isnt fair, but the 20 million dollars that guy made gets spent in the real economy regardless. That guy goes to the grocery store, buys clothes, takes taxis, pops bottles, goes on dates, and buys real estate. The money he makes ends up benefitting society anyways. Michael says. Not exactly. First and foremost he probably isnt going to spend all of that money. 20 million dollars in the pocket of a millionaire isnt the same as 20 million dollars split up amongst 500 households making $40,000 a year. That one guy needs to spend what to have a fabulous life, 1 million in a year, 2 million in a year, 4 million a year? That would get him a Ferrari and a penthouse, and all the fine dining and designer clothes, and nights at the club he would want. He would save the rest of the money, or worse, invest it in the derivative economy. Even if he spent all of his 20
million dollars, it would cause inflation, because too much money spent in one geographic area, in too short a period of time causes a rise in prices, diminishing everyone elses purchasing power. That is why the cost of living in this city is so fucking expensive compared to everywhere else in this country; you have too many people, making too much money off of some bullshit that doesnt benefit society. If 500 households, spread out across this nation earned that same amount of money the old fashioned way they would spend it all on survival and not cause inflation. But thats not even the biggest problem. The real problem is all that money made from bullshit that doesnt benefit society is used to hijack our democracy. Some wealthy institutions and individuals use their money to get laws passed that benefit their class and no one else. I thought everyone that graduated high school in this country had to read Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities. That book should serve as a warning to everyone who thinks this inequality is going to end alright. I monologue. We wrap up dinner. Francis Sr. pays the bill. We all thank him. I am at the entrance of the restaurant flirting with the hostess one final time. The rest of the male contingent of our party is outside, ready to go uptown to my fathers brownstone. The women are all in the bathroom. The ladies come out of the bathroom and grab me on their way out the door. Lauren goes home to the upper eastside, Juliana to the village. Michael, Connie, Elena, Francis Sr. and myself pile into a taxi. We promise to pay the driver a bit extra to allow the five us to crowd into four seats.
Isnt it amazing that a poor kid from the Bronx was able to own a piece of Manhattan real estate. My father says, referring to himself. First of all, you are from Queens, and second Harlem is hardly Manhattan. Connie corrects him. You can move out of my building then if thats how you feel. My father says to my sister. The taxi driver takes the FDR up to Harlem, before heading west to Strivers Row. The gentrification of Harlem is fantastic. People like to vilify gentrification, saying that it ruins neighborhoods, and prices the long time residents out, which is partially true. But I say to hell with that, gentrification cleans up neighborhoods, makes them safer, and provides more educational and economic opportunities. Who the hell wants to live in a ghetto? We go into my Dads section of his Brownstone. He lives in the middle apartment, Connie and Michael live in the bottom apartment, and the building is chopped up into 4 other apartments occupied by other tenants. Francis Sr. Immediately goes to work on some mojitos. He has a handle of rum, a bag of limes, a bag of sugar, a bag of mint, a giant martini shaker, and mortar and pestle that he uses to make the drinks. He makes a huge production out of the whole thing, shaking up the concoction behind his back and over his head and between his legs while telling jokes the whole time. When he is done shaking he pours the mixture into glasses with ice and hands them out.
To 28 years of life for the best daughter a father could ask for. My father toasts. We all tap glasses before drinking. This mojito is delicious, my fathers always are. We tell jokes and laugh, and have some more intelligent conversation. The subject of my upbringing comes up. What was it like growing up in your Fathers house? Elena asks. It was normal, we had to work in the business, but Im sure it was like anyone elses upbringing. Connie says. Hardly, if I wasnt sleeping on the floor of his office like I had to most nights, then there just wasnt any parenting at all going on. I say. No parenting, what the hell are you talking about? My dad asks, clearly offended. Look dude, I appreciate you working hard, and getting rich and the opportunities that were afforded to me because of that, but face it, when Connie turned 16, she got a credit card and a car and her and I were on our own. She took me to school, she took me out to dinner every night, she took me clothes shopping, she did the grocery shopping, she made me do my homework. I explain. Well if it was so bad then you should have spent more time at your mothers house. Francis Sr. snaps. There was too much parenting over there. I rebut.
Next Chapter.
Connie, Michael, and myself take a taxi to 27th street and 5th Avenue. We are going into the rooftop lounge that will be the location of Connies birthday party. We
wait under the tall buildings and bright lights for her friends and Juliana to arrive. I have texted a couple of derivative trader friends of mine to join us, so we are waiting for them as well. Juliana is the first to arrive. Hey, wheres Uncle Francis? Juliana asks. Him and Elena opted to do something more age appropriate. Connie informs. My friends, Joshua and Tim are next to arrive. They spot me in line. I greet them and introduce them to my family. What the fuck is up FC. Joshua says. Same ole man. I say. What the fuck is that? Tim asks. Counting faces, fucking hoes. Playboy lifestyle gentlemen. I answer. Fuck that man. Money over bitches. You need to bring your ass back into finance and stop living in wonderland over there on the left coast. Joshua says. Juliana catches an earful of this and just shakes her head. Yeah man, what the fuck are you doing? Im on pace to make a buck this year and this asshole(pointing to Joshua) may somehow clear two. Tim says. What fund do you guys work for? Juliana asks. Tim informs her before leaving us to converse with her. Youre going to make 2 million dollars this year? I ask Joshua. Well see, I had a pretty sick month, ripped some assholes face off on 500million notional of some way off the run IG, fucker had no idea where the market was, by the time he realized how fucked he actually was his PnL showed him down
two and a half bucks. Then that asshole bloomberged me asking to scratch the trade. Joshua says. Did you? I ask. Fuck no, he said Done, when youre done youre done. Thats a lesson I had to learn the hard way so no free passes. I bloomberged that piece of shit back, telling him to go kill himself. I was so pissed. So I called up a few other desks, telling them his size so all of them could fuck him in the ass as well. They ran the market against that fucker, and in my favor. Im already up 14 sticks on that shit but I think well squeeze him a bit more before we let him out. Theres a price for everything and thats the price for being an asshole. Joshua says. The rest of Connies friends arrive, so we go to the front of the line. Michael negotiates with the promoter. He comes back and tells us that since we have so many guys we are going to have to buy two more bottles. They are your friends, are you buying two more bottles? Connie asks me. Dont worry about it. Joshua says, pulling out a black card and handing it to the promoter. Where did you get that? I inquire. Im up $14 million on one trade. The head of my desk gave me that shit and told me that if I didnt spend at least 15k and come to work tomorrow in complete flames Im fired. Joshua informs. We head into the building and take the elevator to the top. The promoter takes us through the penthouse lounge, which features floor to ceiling glass windows, and to the rooftop garden. We are led through the crowd to our tables.
Next to our section sits a bachelorette party. Connie is handed a menu and so is Joshua. Connie orders a bottle of champagne, and a bottle of vodka. Joshua orders the same thing, multiplied by 3. Everyone is meeting each other and talking when the waitresses come with the sparklers. It looks like the fourth of July. All eyes are on the bottle waitresses because people are attracted to shiny things. The eyes of the crowd end up on our section. The bottle waitresses ask each member of our party what they want to drink before mixing them. I go with a vodka soda. They then fill enough champagne flutes with bubbly and pass them out to everyone. I stand up on the couch and begin the toast. Attention everyone! Everyones attention please! I want to thank everyone for coming out to celebrate the most glorious, beautiful, intelligent, and thoughtful woman in the worldoh and for coming out for Connies birthday party. (the crowd laughs) All jokes aside, you really are all of those adjectives and so much more, you are the best big sister a little brother could ask for and I love you. Happy Birthday Connie! I toast. The whole party clinks glasses together and sips champagne before Connie gets up on the couch and thanks everyone for coming out to celebrate with her. I go back and sit with my friends. We polish off a whole bottle of vodka in less than half an hour. The bridetobe and one of her bridesmaids from the bachelorette party come over to us. You guys are really good looking, especially you. The bride to be says, and points to me.
Thank you, how is your night going? I ask. Awesome, obviously, Im getting married! I heard the toast you made to your sister and really liked it so I figured Id come over and say hi. She responds. Well have a seat, have a drink, and bring the rest of your friends over here. Joshua says. Ok, Well go get them. Be right back. The bride to be says. She disappears and comes back with 7 more girls. Most of them are pretty. They talk and drink with us. Joshua displays conspicuous consumption by ordering more bottles although we havent finished the ones we have. I excuse myself to go take a leak. On the way, Connies friend Shoshanna, who I havent seen in 6 years, intercepts me. Little Francis? Shoshanna asks. Yep, whats up Shoshanna, been awhile. I say. Oh my god, I almost didnt recognize you, I mean you look the same butdifferent. She says. You mean sexier. I say. She hits me in the arm. Noyeah, okay, sexier, what have you been up to? Shoshanna asks. Hey, I gotta go pee, come with me. I say. I take Shoshannas hand and start leading her towards the restrooms. Wait a minute, I cant be holding hands with you, youre Connies little brother. She says. Its just holding hands, you can feel bad about what goes down later tonight, not this. I say.
Youre funny, but Im not holding your hand. Shoshanna says. Fine. I say, before walking away unfazed. I wait in line for the bathroom. The line is really long because this place has single washrooms that are unisex. I turn around and look at the guy behind me. He is a muscular guy with a buzz cut. I look at his wrist. He has a metal bracelet on with the name of a fallen soldier amongst other information. I remember reading about this. It is a KIA memorial bracelet. You in the military? I ask. Yea, Im an Army Ranger, how did you know? He asks. I point to his wrist. Oh, yeah. He takes a deep breath. That was my best friend who was killed in action. He says. Im sorry to hear that man, how many tours have you done? I ask. TwoIn Iraq. He says. Thank you for going to war; whats you name man? I ask giving my hand for a handshake. Chad Conrad, thank you for calling it war, people act like it isnt sometimes, but thats another conversation. And you dont have to thank me man, Im doing what I want to do. Chad says, shaking my hand. Francis Clark. I introduce myself. Yea, its stupid to pretend like it isnt war, you guys arent over there on an aid mission. Look around you, people are partying, and making crazy money in this city, its easy for us to forget that we have guys like you out there risking their lives for us. Whether its what you want to do or not I still appreciate you and your guys. You guys are willing to defend our freedom when no
one else is, it allows my friends and I to do the bullshit we do, so yea thank you and thank your guys for me too. Do you have to go back? I ask. Yeah, next week, Afghanistan this time. Chad answers, it doesnt seem to bother him. Who are you here with? I inquire. Chad tells me that he is at this lounge with his fianc, who is standing behind him. She wanted to make sure they saw New York City together before his next deployment. Before it is my turn to go into a bathroom I tell him to come up to our tables to drink. Chad refuses, but I tell him I refuse to take no for an answer and that I am going to wait for him and his fianc to finish up in the bathroom to show them the way. I go into the bathroom and take my leak. I was my hands and exit. I wait for Chad and his woman to come out of the bathrooms, which takes Chad about 5 minutes. Chad exits and spots me. We stand talking while we wait for his fianc. I find out Chad is from Nebraska, and is 2 years younger than me. His lady comes out of the bathroom and joins us. I lead them up to the table and introduce them to our group. Everyone is happy to meet him and his fianc. I do some shots with them. Drink as much as you want, its all gambling money. I tell the military couple. They hangout at the table for a while having a good time. He tells me they are going downstairs to dance. I make sure I have the correct spelling of his name and branch of the military for Chad and promise to write him. We shake hands and I tell him to feel free to come up to the table and drink at any time before telling him to be safe in Afghanistan.
I turn my attention back to the bachelorette party, some of who are still hanging out with Joshua and Tim. I go up to the bridetobe. Oh, I thought you had left. You are so damn handsome. Whats your name? She asks. Francis, and yours? I ask, shaking her hand. Casey. I wish I wasnt getting married, I would so take you home. She replies. Well Casey, since you are, why dont you feed me your sluttiest friend. I say. No, You are just too fine, Im going to keep you for myself, lets go dance. Casey says. Casey and I walk hand in hand downstairs to the dance floor. Some of her bridesmaids are already down there. I spot Chad and give him the peace sign. He nods. Casey and I start off dancing far apart from each other, but as each song passes we end up closer and closer until finally she is grinding her ass into my dick. Her friends come over to tell her they are going back upstairs. After they are gone she turns around and kisses me. We are full on making out on the dance floor. I grab her ass with my hands, giving it a firm squeeze. She bites my lip, then shoves her tongue further into my mouth. I move my hands under her sequin dress. She doesnt say anything, so I move to her inner thigh. She doesnt say anything, so I rub the outside of her vagina through her panties. She doesnt say anything, so I move her knickers to the side and insert my fingers into her. She says something: Oh my God, what am I doing? I love my fianc; I cant do this; I have to go. Casey says, then runs away. I will never see her again.
I walk back up to the tables. Joshua and Tim are nowhere to be found. But their liquor is. I pour myself a drink. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and check it. It is a text from an unsaved number from the 347 area code: Im here. I dont know who I am responding to, but I do so anyways: Glorious, meet me on the roof at the table by the purple flowers. While I wait patiently for my mystery date I pour myself another drink. A couple of glasses of vodka later she comes up to me. Its the hostess from the restaurant. Hey Francis. The hostess says. Hey, whats up with you. I say, as I stand up to give her a hug. I realize I dont know her name, she may have never given it to me, but shes here, so its on. Im sorry it took me so long, a large party came in right before we were closing so I had to stay late. She says. No worries, youre here now. Have a seat; what do you want to drink? We have champagne and vodka as you can see. I love champagne. She says. I cant find any clean glasses so I just hand her the bottle. Show me how much you love it. I command. She looks at me confused. Just drink from the bottle, I wont judge. I say. She complies. So where were you flying in from earlier? The hostess asks. Sunny Socal. I live in Los Angeles. I say. That is so cool. She says.
We sit there in silence just drinking. Im too fucked up to talk. She seems pretty sober, but I feel like she is nervous. I lean over and start tongue dancing with her. I end up on top of her on the couch making out. I almost pull my dick out and start fucking her here, but that may cause me to get arrested, or 86d. Lets get out of here. I say, popping up and grabbing her hand. With my free hand, I grab a bottle of vodka for the road. I take her to the elevator and ride down, making out the whole trip. We exit the venue and hail a taxi. I take a swig of vodka before we get into the cab. Once comfortably seated I tell the cabbie my address. I ask him if he wants some vodka, he politely declines my offer. Once Im sure he is heading in the right direction I turn the backseat into the set of Taxicab Confessions. I jump on top of the hostess and get to making out. I slide my hand up her skirt and start finger banging her. She stops making out and starts licking my ear. I whip out my dick and put it in her hand. She whispers something, but I am too drunk to know what she has said. She moves her mouth from my ear to my neck. I tell her to suck harder, which she does. My fingers are still inside of her and her hands are still on me. I look out the window of the taxi. The city lights are a blur. We arrive at the Clark family brownstone. I use my credit card to pay the taxi driver. I accidently leave a tip the size of the fare. Fuck it, he deserves it. The hostess and I stumble out of the taxi, our vodka still in hand. My pants nearly fall down as we walk up the stairs of the building. The hostess and I continue making out as I fumble with my keys, eventually figuring out the proper sequence and opening the door to the building. I go straight to my fathers unit and open that door. I pull the hostess into the bedroom that I sleep in and take her clothes off. She gets on her
knees and goes down on me. Im so drunk I cant even feel if the head is good. I take another swig of vodka. I lie down on the bed and have her get on top of me. I wake up mysteriously, still wasted, partially clothed. The light produced by dawn is seeping into the room, making it just bright enough to see the hostess putting her clothes on. Where are you going? I ask. Im leaving. She says, visibly upset. Why? I ask. Because I came over here to fuck you and your drunk ass just passed out. The hostess informs. Did I really, that doesnt sound like me. I say. Well you did Hey Francis, what is my name? She asks. (Silence) I reply with a confused look. Thats what I thought, have a nice life asshole. The hostess says. Will do. I say before rolling over and falling back to sleep.
Next Chapter.
I wake up later that morning to the smell of bacon. It is full on daytime
outside. I get up out of bed. When I stand up, a sharp pain rushes to my head, causing me to lie back down, the price of the previous nights fun. I never want to drink again. I try to get up again, the pain is still there but I expect it this time. I keep my head down when I see the bottle of vodka I took from the club. This sight turns my stomach. I want to throw up. I walk out of the room and see my father cooking in the open kitchen.
Good morning son, you want some breakfast? Francis Sr. asks. Absolutely, I feel like shit. I say. I sit down on the couch and bury my head into the cushions to escape the misery of my hangover. You want some aspirin? My dad asks. Absolutely. I say. He throws the bottle my direction. I try to catch it but my hand eye coordination is nonexistent due to this hangover. I open the bottle and pour out 3 pills. I swallow them dry. Francis Sr. completes breakfast and brings two plates containing bacon, toast and fried eggs and two small bottles of orange juice to the table. I get up off the couch and join him. I can barely eat my food, but force it down anyways, slowly. You want to come bike riding with Yolanda and I? My father offers. Who is Yolanda? I ask. This Puerto Rican babe Im fucking. He answers. What happened to Elena? I ask. I told that babe that I was flying back home to the Bay Area. She went home to Long Island right before you woke up. Francis Sr. explains. Good move. How long have you been going out with her now, 5 years? I query. Has it been that long? No wonder Im getting tired of the babe, remind me to cut her loose when I get back to California, I need to thin out anyways. Doing all of this juggling is getting too stressful. He says.
I remind him that he never cuts babes loose. The only two ways his relationships ever end are when a woman has had enough of his bullshit and breaks up with him, or goes crazy due to previously stated bullshit. I dont think I can go bike riding with you, Im on the 3:10 train to DC. I tell Francis Sr. I finish breakfast and go to the bathroom where I shit, shower and shave.
Next Chapter.
I walk down the street, bags in tow, to the subway station. Even way up here in Northern Manhattan the streets are still buzzing with activity. I think New York is one of the safest cities in the world due to the fact that there is safety in numbers. I enter the station and use a metro card that has been in my wallet for at least a year. I wait for the train to come. The B is the first to arrive. I enter the train. Its the usual crowd of New York subway travelers, which typically is a little bit of everything. The subway system may have the most diverse ridership of any transportation system in the world. The subway is ridden by gangsters, and thugs, business people and artists, billionaires and the homeless, stage actors and college professors, locals and tourist, blacks, whites, Asians, Hispanics, and everything in between. I guess the twodollar price is too great of a deal to pass up. I take the train one stop down to 125th where I transfer to the A. I take a seat next to a woman with a newborn baby girl. The baby is crying. I look deep into the eyes of the newborn and smile at her. She stops crying and smiles her toothless smile back at me. The mother looks over to me, and nods. I smile at her. We reach the next stop. A dirty looking woman gets on the train with a young girl. They stand
in the middle of the car. The woman makes a loud speech. Its some sob story about having 7 kids at home that she cant feed. She finishes her speech and asks for money. A group of European tourists donate a few dollars to her cause. None of the New Yorkers on the train give a dime, because New Yorkers are jaded, people in this city are always trying to get over, from Wall Street traders and bankers, to people on the subway with sob stories, so everyone here just looks out for themselves. The woman and her daughter end up going to the next car and repeating the same speech, this is probably what she does for a living. Diagonal from me sit two homosexual male lovers who are cuddled up all over each other, stroking each others hair, alternating between resting on each others shoulder, and occasionally exchanging small kisses. An older black man with dreads moves away from them. He appears disgusted. I guess he is a hater. In contrast, the sight makes me happy; these two are clearly in love and willing to show it to the world despite the retarded repercussions. Thats a love that anyone should be able to appreciate. The train arrives at 34th St, which is my stop. I get off the train and move through the crowd so I can get to the Amtrak station. I go to a kiosk and print my ticket. I glance up at the board and wait for my track to appear. As the information on the board changes, crowds of people begin their collective movement toward their trains. The data that I am looking for eventually appears. I join a mass of people in collective movement towards the escalators and to the tracks. I get onto my train. I walk through the quiet car and into the next. Like always, I am looking for an opportunity to win. I see an attractive girl walking in
front of me down the aisle. Unfortunately she follows the guy in front of her into a couple of seats. Since she is already taken I continue my search. In the next car, I see a younger, equally attractive girl sitting in an aisle seat, reading a book. The seats across the aisle from her are vacant. I place my bags in the aisle seat and slide into the window seat. Hows it going? I ask. She either ignores me or isnt aware I am talking to her. You reading the book, hows it going? I ask even louder. She looks over to me. Its going. She responds before turning her attention back to her book. She then turns back to me. And yourself? She asks. Im doing fantastic, a bit hungover but that just means I had a great fucking time last night. What are you reading? I respond as the train begins its trek along the tracks. American Psycho, by Brett Easton Ellis. She answers. Never read it, great film though, it may be my all time favorite. I say. Really, I like the book better. She says. I find this interesting since she only appears halfway through the book. Do you really feel that way, or do you just think you should say that? I ask. She looks at me like she is thinking about it before responding. After you pointed that out Im not sure. Whats your name? She asks. Francis Clark, and yours? I ask. Allison English. She responds. Allison, why dont you come sit over here. I suggest. She gets up out of her seat and crosses the aisle. I get up and move my bags to the storage area above the
seats. Allison sits down and we shake hands. She smells like Victorias Secret body spray. Allison and I talk. I tell her my final destination and she tells me hers. I find out Allison is from upstate New York. Allison is traveling to visit her sister in Baltimore, the stop right before the District of Columbias Union Station. She tells me she wants to be a nutritionist. I talk to her about life and living, relationships and breakups. I try to explain fractals to her, but Im not sure she understands, so I move to a lighter subject. Getting drunk. I tell her a few stories that involve alcohol, like the West Hollywood Abbey story, and making out with the bridetobe last night. She laughs. She has an attractive laugh. You look cute when you laugh. I compliment. Thanks. You look cute doing whatever it is you are doing. Allison says. What if I make this face? I say, while making the craziest face I can think up. Especially when you make that face. She jokes. I grab her hand and interlock our fingers. I tell Allison I like holding hands. She looks into my eyes and smiles at me. I take this as my cue to kiss her. Our lips meet and I slip in a little tongue. I pull away moments later. Smiling at her. I cant believe that just happened, I just met you. Allison says, all dreamy eyed. Thats how life goes sometimes, we have such a limited time, why not? Life is too boring not to try. I say before returning to making out with her. I begin feeling on her body. My hands explore her body through her clothes. I manage to
reach under her shirt. I play with her chest through her bra, before making my way around that as well. She pushes me off. Whoa, I dont know. I just met you; this is moving kind of fast. Im not used to this. Allison says. What are you used to? I ask. Hanging out a few times, maybe going to see a movie or something, I dont know. I definitely dont just make out with strangers. She says. But you like me, and I like you, why wait to do something that you already know you are going to do anywaysYou know what, we dont have to do anything if you arent comfortable. I say. I stand up and get my iPad from my bag and start doing some reading. I sit next to Allison in silence for 2 minutes. Are you not even going to talk to me now? She asks. What do you want to talk about? I ask. Keeping my eyes trained on my ipad. I dont know, now its all awkward. Im sorry, Im just not used to guys being so forward. Guys my age are a lot less aggressive. Allison states, visibly flustered. I take this as a sign to start kissing her again, which she gets into. I then move down to her neck, the smell of Victorias Secret body spray is strongest there. I begin to put things together. Are you old enough to vote? I ask. Not yet, but I will be by the next election. Allison says. I stop kissing her neck and pull completely away from her. The expression on my face is like I have just seen a ghost. Whats wrong? She asks. Im not trying to get R. Kelleyd over here. I say.
You wont. The age of consent in New York is 17. I just Googled it because I was dating a guy who turned 18 while we were going out. Allison informs. Were no longer in New York. Were in Pennsylvania now, what is the age of consent here? I ask. Allison Googles the information from her phone. We get the laws for every state we will pass through during our time together. We discover that the age of consent in Pennsylvania is 18, and the same in Delaware, but if the two partners are between the ages of 16 and 30 and the adult partner isnt an authority figure like a teacher or coach, sexual contact is permitted. In Maryland the age of consent is 16. Well lets just be friends until we get to Delaware. I advise. Why, its not like were going to have sex or anything. Allison assumes. I roll my eyes at her. What? She asks. To be honest with you, if were not going to have sex or anything of that nature we can just talk. Making out doesnt really do it for me. Im a grownup well kind of. And grownups dont just make out. I say. Well Im mature for my age. She says. I laugh. The train crosses the border into Delaware. Allison presses her lips onto mine. I go with it. My hand glides down her body, resting between her legs. I rub her vagina through her jeans. Allisons breath is taken away. I put my mouth over her ear and breathe my warm breath while I nibble. I try to put my hand into her pants, but she stops me. I cant. She says. Okay, if you dont want to, we can stop. I say understandingly.
I want to, but I cant, becauseyou know Allison says. I figure it out. The girl is on her period. Well you can, but yeah, thats too messy for the train. I say. Ewww, are people actually doing that? She asks. I nod my head and enter into a monologue about how it is natural, and how a bit of blood never hurt anyone except Arthur Ashe. I even detail to Allison how achieving an orgasm can cause a woman to end her period more quickly because the contractions cause the vagina to expel whats up there. Francis Clark, educator. I dont want to get blue balls, how about some head? I ask. No, gross. Allison says. Gross, whats gross about that? Have you never gone down on a guy before? I ask. You guys pee out of that thing. Ewww. And no I have never done that, and I never will. She replies. Oh, youre one of those girls. Good luck with that. I say before returning to my reading. We sit together in silence for 2 minutes. What do you mean good luck with that? Allison asks. No quality guy is going to date a girl that isnt sucking dick. Not for long at least. You dont get to exist in a vacuum. There is a free market for love. As amazing as you may seem, there are 7 billion people on the planet, half of which are women, there are probably tens of millions of other amazing girls out there in the world, just as beautiful, and intelligent as you who are putting dicks in their mouths. If you were a guy that has options, and most guys you would want to date do, would you
choose the beautiful, awesome, intelligent girl who gives head, or the one who doesnt? I logically explain. You are making really legit pointsOkay, will you teach me how? Allison asks. Of course. Lets do it right now. I say, pulling my dick through my zipper. What, right here, with people watching? She asks nervously. Look around, this car is virtually empty, no one rides the train anymore. Just put your head in my lap, if anyone walks by they will just think you are sleeping. Go ahead, put your mouth on it, it doesnt bite. I say. Allison does as she is told. She literally is not moving her head though. I advise her she needs to bob up and down. I then tell her she needs to wrap her upper lip around her top teeth, and put her tongue over her bottom teeth. Once she has the basics down she really gets into it. I tell her to use her hand as well, in no time at all this 17 year old girl is sucking cock like a porn star. She brings about the beginning stages of my orgasm fairly quickly. Im going to have to cum in your mouth. I warn. She briefly stops sucking to object. Where else is my cum going to go, it will be too messy otherwise, this is the only way. I say, pushing her head back down and shooting my load into her mouth. She s no quitter either.
Next Chapter.
After Allison gets off the train in Baltimore, I text my former roommate and great friend Ramos: Can you pick me up from Union Station in about 30? Ramos writes back:
Short ass notice. I got you though. Ramos is my PanamanianAmerican military brat former roommate. We lived together for 3 years. He is the coolest motherfucker on the planet; at least he believes so. He is a case study in the power of belief and its effect on others. Despite being below average height, Ramos is able to constantly and consistently pull some of the most attractive women in the District of Columbia. His coolness oozes out his pores. He is swag personified. Despite swag that would be the envy of most rappers, and having graduated with a masters degree in Architecture, Ramos remains unemployed. Its 2010, so no one is building anything. The train pulls into Union Station. I grab my belongings and disembark. I make my way from the tracks to the glorious main hall. What a piece of architecture. The 96 feet high arching ceiling, decorated with a repeating sequence of gold hexagons rest above the large arching glass windows whose arches are decorated with a repeating sequence of gold squares, which rest above the grand wooden doors that make up the entrance. The government should be building shit like this right now. Since money isnt real anyways, and government controls the means of production for money, we could build grandiose train stations, transportation hubs, libraries, schools and other glorious public projects that are not only practical and needed, but also nice to look at. Building these things will stimulate the economy. Of course that will never happen because the idiots that represent certain parts of this country believe we have too much debt, which is owned by the Chinese. Our debt is only partially owned by the Chinese, the Federal Reserve owns the vast majority of the public debt. When the US Treasury pays interest on its debt, the portion of the
debt that is owned by the Federal Reserve returns that money to the Treasury. Money isnt real. Besides that, the rate at which the government can borrow money right now is at a negative real interest rate. This means that the money is virtually free, it is actually beyond free, the government actually gets paid to borrow money right now thanks to inflation. If the government were to build things people would be put to work. When people are put to work they have to get to their job site, and have fuel in their bodies to complete labor, they spend money on transportation, and food, and they buy things, which further stimulates the economy because they have to purchase that food and transportation and bullshit that they buy from somewhere, which employs more people still to provide those things. Contrary to Tea Party doctrine, the government can grow the economy. In the main hall there is a press conference taking place to promote a big boxing match. I walk past the crowd and through the entrance. The notorious DC humidity punches me in the face, and causes my clothes to instantly cling to my body. Outside, I look for Ramoss silver Dodge Charger. I cant see it, but I can hear it, as Ramos has an aftermarket sound system and likes to play his music real loud. I follow the sound of his speakers bumping. I spot the silver Dodge. I look through the windshield where I see Ramos in the drivers seat, wearing pitchblack aviator shades and fingerless leather driving gloves, bobbing his head. I get into his new age American muscle car. Whats up my ninja? Ramos greets me.
Same ole man, fucking and getting my dick sucked by models, and women that could be models, what are you up to? I respond as Ramos drives off. Looking for a job. This bullshit has become my full time job. I still got hoes though, just booked this bad joint on the way over here. But if you keep talking about fucking all of these models in LA, Im going to have to move out there. He replies. We drive straight down North Capitol Street to MMCCCXX, our college house. I still pay partial rent despite not living there, it is more of a storage locker for me. Ramos parks his car right in front and we open the gate and go up the short stairs into the house. It is shockingly clean inside despite 4 men living in this one abode. Why is it so clean in here? I inquire. Well first of all, the rest of those slobs(referring to our other housemates) went down to Ocean City for the week. Second, I have a chic coming over later, so Ive been cleaning all day. Ramos informs. I go upstairs to my room and drop off my luggage, pulling my ipad out of my backpack before returning downstairs. I join Ramos on the couch where he is playing Xbox on our 50inch flat screen, purchased by me when we moved in three years ago with his best buy employee discount. You got an iPad? He inquires. Yea, I waited in line at like 5am the first day it came out like a nerd. I answer. You have Angry Birds? Ramos asks. I shake my head. Ramos pauses his video game and takes my ipad, goes to the app store and buys Angry Birds. This is
the best thing on here. He says, as he demonstrates how to play. He hands the ipad back to me. I end up playing this bullshit for the rest of the night while Ramos ends up getting some pussy. Damn you Rovio. The next day is spent packing up my things and doing some light working out while Ramos is out on a couple of job interviews. I find the time to run some numbers and place some bets. I take the Yankees at even, the over in the Nationals Phillies games and the Pirates at 300. Hopefully money will be made. Ramos eventually returns home in the late afternoon. He enters MMCCCXX wearing a welltailored pinstripe gray suit, white shirt, purple tie, his dark shades, and his driving gloves. How did it go? I ask. The first two interviews, not so well. This one guy wanted me to work for free. I have my fucking masters so I put my dick on the table and told him to suck my balls. Ramos informs. Did he? I joke. Nah, he said since its so hot outside, they would probably be too salty for his taste. Anyways, my third interview went remarkably well, it was with this old chic so I put that Ramos mouthpiece to work and I guess it was too much for her to resist. She offered me a job on the spot, I told her Ill let her know sometime next week. I gotta try to enjoy a bit more of this summer. Ramos says. Ramos goes upstairs to change out of his suit before returning downstairs and playing Xbox with me. We waste time playing videogames until it is time to get ready for a rooftop party being thrown by one of Ramoss friends.
Next Chapter.
I am standing on the rooftop of one of DCs new upscale residencies, admiring the view when I receive a text message from Genevieve: I really miss you, come to Tucson! Xoxo This building was created during the boom times where just 3 years prior the skyline of our nations capital was dominated by cranes. After the financial crisis and great recession none remain. Something that the developers of this building forgot was how fucking hot it gets in the DC summer. Although it is nighttime the heat reminds me of a news report I read regarding those Indian sweat tents that are killing people in the Southwest. Empty kegs and beer cans litter the roof, the remnants of a great time. The alcohol; consumed by the attendees of this party looking for the best way to stay hydrated and to maintain their hard earned buzz. The attendees are the typical set of DC douche bags that descend like locust on the district from overpriced universities all across the nation. These are the people that arent good looking enough to make it in LA, and not smart or driven enough to make it in New York. They come here to be underpaid by some congressman or to begin a career as a bureaucrat. All of these people take themselves far too seriously. The guys wear the DC douche uniform, loafers, no socks, Tag Heur watch, pastel colored shorts, complimentary colored polo or button down shirt tucked into the shorts, collar popped for those with the highest self esteem/most delusional, and slicked backed hair held by some overpriced styling product probably bought at Sephora. These kinds of people are my arch nemesis. I feel like Buffy the vampire slayer when I
encounter them. I am there to stake their hearts. I make it my personal mission to let them know just how unimportant they are. I see a cute brunette speaking with one of the aforementioned uniformed douches and decide to have some fun. HEY! You are adorable, what is your name? I ask completely ignoring the guy she is speaking with. So are you, Im Alice she responds in a southern accent. I work for the 1st district of North Carolina, what do you do? She asks. The guy she was talking to walks off in shame. Today? Today Im an alcoholic. Raising my can of beer. Tomorrow? Perhaps I will become an astronaut or philosopher. I reply. Alice goes on for the next 15 minutes about how she is getting to work on real issues and how people our age are just too disinterested in our political system. This prompts me to start on how our system is controlled by corporate interest and how politicians just like everyone else are self interested, which changes their job (defined by how they make a living) from providing leadership and making the difficult decisions to just trying to get reelected. Her hardcore conservatism is brought to the forefront at this point and she becomes quite angry about individuals not taking personal responsibility, relying too heavily on government to solve their problems. Why are these black kids out robbing people when they should be at home studying or something? She asks in a hushed tone, realizing what she is saying can be construed as racism.
I think being black has nothing to do with it, I think it is more a socio economic thing, and due to lack of opportunity. I respond. She starts in on how she was able to go to school and make it so everyone else should be able to as well. The heat is making me irritable. There is nothing I want more than to escape this situation. So I create an out. Alice, it was a joy and a pleasure to meet you, someday I hope that you can experience the racial discrimination, economic disenfranchisement, and lack of equal opportunity on the scale received by the youth in this city, when that day comes you will remember this conversation and say that hot guy on the roof, he knew what he was talking about. But until then, dearest, have a wonderful and privileged life. I state. I walk away from her, not even waiting for so much as a response. Francis, what are you doing here? A female voice asks. I turn around to see it is Syx (Pronounced Six), a girl I used to date but never had sex with. She is one of those people whose parents, in a quest for uniqueness got too creative with her name. Syx was able to own it though, allowing it to make her more interesting. Hey Syx, Im just around for the night. I came down from New York to get my car so I can drive it to LA. I explain after giving her a hug. Wow, how is LA treating you? I dont care actually, I really miss you. Syx says, hugging me again. I think she is kind of drunk. I miss you too. I respond. No. You dont understand. I love you Francis, I always have. Syx says, wobbling around. She is definitely drunk.
You should have consummated things then. I say. I couldnt. That was a rough time in life for me. I realized that I liked girls, and I didnt know how you would react. Syx says. What! Are you kidding? We could have gotten girls together. I inform. No way, that would have been so cool, what are you doing later? She asks, her speech slurred. Im not sure, but excuse me a second while I make a phone call. I say before walking to a corner of the roof. There I pull out my iPhone to call Genevieve. The humidity and my own sweat have done a wonderful tag team job on my phone, turning the digitizer screen into a bathroom mirror after a hot shower. A press on the phone icon launches the strangely named safari browser. A press on the messages icon launches the google maps app. Frustrated, I escape to the cold air inside of the hosts apartment. Our host is a film student turned consultant by the name of Graham. Down in his apartment I spot him coming out of the bathroom with two beautiful women. Graham, didnt want to mess up the bed? I jokingly question. Nah man, I dont know where theyve beenno offense ladies. They dont seem to mind, And you are? Graham asks. Oh apologies, Im Francis Clark. I state. No fucking way, do you know Rachel Stone and Brittany Brock? He asks. I do. I reply. Rachel and Brittany lived next to me my sophomore year and both had quite amazing breasts and personalities; I had several wine filled non sexual adventures with both of them.
You my friend are a legend... Graham says before he pauses from our conversation to gain the attention of his roommate. Hey Derek, guess who this is? He asks. Who? Derek questions. Francis Clark, this right here is Francis Clark, can you believe it? Graham asks. No fucking way! Derek responds. Graham returns his attention to me. Dude you have no idea how popular you are with me and my friends. Brittany and Rachel have been telling us stories about you for years. It is truly an honor to meet you in the flesh. Graham says. Im just a guy, nothing special going on here. I respond. Dude, dont be modest, Ive heard some stories, fucking hilarious. Graham says. I need to make a phone call, excuse me gracious host. I say. With my iPhone now working properly, I disappear into the bedroom that Graham did not want to contaminate and finally call Genevieve. The phone rings. She answers. Hello, Genevieve. I say Hello Francis She says. You miss me, dearest? I ask. That depends, are you coming to visit me? Genevieve questions. I think so; but for some excitement Im going to drive. Are you free next week? I ask.
I am, my culinary school classes dont start for a couple of weeks. Im so excited to see you. But did you know the drive from LA to Tuscon isnt so exciting. She says. This is true, but Im coming from Washington, DC. I say. Wow, you must really want to see me. She says. Of course, but I also was like why not see the country? And the environmentalist in me was like go help clean that oil spill the British created. I say. Well since you are making such a long journey you should stay at least a few days But there is something I have to tell you before you come so there are no surprises. Genevieve warns. I am expecting to receive word of a child, perhaps a pregnancy. Could I be the father? No, its only been a week, perhaps an exhusband or something. My mom lives on 5 acres of desert property, andwell.I live with her. She says. Relieved I reply: Really, thats it, I thought you were preggers or something. Oh God no, but if you dont want to come considering my living situation Id understand. She says. Genevieve, believe it or not I could care less where you live. Assuaging her concern, I think its cool you and your mom are so close, I dig that family shit, and if your mom is hot perhaps we could convince her to be down for the threesome. I kid.
Oh yea? in her most seductive voice, I bet if we go about it the right way my mom would go for that. She jokes. But, I really dont think that I want to share you with anyone else. Genevieve adds. Somehow her selfishness gets me fully erect. I let her know as much. Your greed just made me so hard right now. I whisper seductively. Good, I cant wait to feel that inside of me. But hey, I have to go. Ill see you next week, I cant wait. She says. Neither can I. Ill call you from the road to let you know my progress. I say. Sounds good, goodnight Francis She says. Good night Genevieve. I respond. I return to the common area to find the remaining partygoers are all sitting down watching music videos on a massive flat screen television. The majority of the attendees are taking shots of some disgusting tequila that sits in a plastic bottle. A plastic bottle is an omen for sickness. I sit somewhere in the back to hide my raging male camel toe. Graham wanting all of these people out of his place tells everyone he is moving his party to a bar down the street. About a fourth of us make a left out of the building ,walk down Massachusetts Avenue NW to Seventh Street NW, make another left, and go to a bar. The remainder of the attendees escaped to the comfort of their own airconditioned residencies I assume. The bar isnt too crowded, but this is probably due to the nonfunctioning air conditioner. The walls are wet and the floors are slippery, both a consequence of the humidity and the selfcooling mechanism of the human body. The lighting is dim and
most people in the bar have that look as though they just came down from a cocaine binge, their skin pasty yet greasy. Graham and I resume our conversation and I order us 15yearold scotch from the bartender. I make a comment to Graham about how much better the weather and the women are in LA. He asks me when I am going back. The scotches I ordered arrive. The nearly unbearable heat is making them difficult to drink. This scotch was a mistake. I remark. Yea, we should have ordered beers. Graham agrees. Anyway, Im leaving tomorrow, but Im driving so I should arrive in Los Angeles Thursday or Friday. I continue. Really? Why drive? He inquires. Well I always wanted to drive across the parts of America we always just fly over. I want to become the worlds most interesting man, that involves doing some unconventional things, so Ill clean up the gulf for a day, and Im also going to visit this girl that Im really excited about. I answer. Yea, who is she? Graham asks. Shes this girl Genevieve, I met her in Las Vegas of all places during this epic trip but thats another story for a different time. She claimed to have been a model in Japan, which I still dont know if I should believe, anyone can make something like that up. I say. Wow a model, what does she look like? He asks. Well retired model. But that makes sense right, girls get started modeling at 15, so models have a limited shelf life, since they constantly have to compete with an
influx of younger women. This girl is still young and beautiful, but probably no longer young enough. I say before taking the time to describe her appearance. Graham and I shoot the shit and bother people until the bartender makes last call. We exchange contact information and part ways. I head up Seventh Street when some old friends driving by spot me. Rachel and Brittany tell me to get into Rachels new, yet dusty Audi courtesy of the Stone familys grocery store empire. I do as I am told. Francis Clark, where the hell have you been? Brittany asks. Sunny Southern California my lady. I reply. What for? Rachel questions. Beautiful beaches and beauti I try to answer before being interrupted by Brittany turning the Audis sound systems volume to 11. The ladies sing Kings of Leon as loud and untalented as possible. I join. We drive up Seventh Street and are getting ready to turn right onto Rhode Island Ave when I motion for them to stop at the slev(7eleven). We get out of the new Audi and are approached by a crackaddicted couple that asks us for change, the three of us all fully ignore them. As we approach the entrance another crack head opens the door as if the slev is a hotel. He offers to wash the car for Rachel. Sure, Ill give you 2 dollars and some food to wash it She says. The crack head quickly gets to work. Umm, Rachel that dude has no water. I state. Dont worry about that brother! the crack head yells behind us.
Who cares, he needs the two dollars. Brittany chimes in. The line in the slev is quite long at this point. The after bar crowd is getting their late night munchies. I move quickly and grab a Muscle Milk and a Gatorade. The girls split a bag of chips and buy some rolling papers. They also intend to purchase a spicy bite for their skilled detailer. As we are waiting in line I tell the ladies about my planned road trip. A female crack head is bothering an attractive black woman for some change and follows her into the store. This crack head is getting quite aggressive with the woman. She is turning into a crackfueled hulk. You think youre better than me bitch, you aint shit, thats why you here alone you fat bitch! The crack head yells as she aggressively moves towards the woman. The woman ignores her and pours herself a cup of coffee from the machine. The drug addict tries to grab the womans purse. Let go of my purse you crazy bitch, what the hell is your problem! Screams the woman. You think youre better than me you fat bitch, well you aint, this shit is mine. The addict responds. What happens next shocks everyone: The woman throws her steaming hot coffee into the face of the crack head causing her to scream and run wildly through the slev, knocking over aisles in the process. This prompts the two Arab guys working to jump over the counter and tackle the crack head. Lets get the fuck out of here I tell the girls.
With our goods in tow we return to a sparkling clean Audi. Rachel gives her detailer his $2 and a spicy bite. We hop in the car and as we drive off there is a free for all in the slev, the remaining crack heads are taking what they can while the clerks are trying to subdue the woman with the coffee burned face. We go east on Rhode Island, make a left onto 1st NW, and a right on Bryant, before making a right onto North Capitol, stopping at MMCCCXX. I kiss my rides good bye and they wish me safe travels. I exit the Audi, and watch the girls as they drive off. The Audi is shining. That crack head really did a good job. I enter MMCCCXX and go to sleep.
Next Chapter.
The air conditioning in MMCCCXX has seen better days. It is no match for the sun pouring into the bedroom from the eastern facing window. At least the humidity of the DC summer hasnt penetrated the 100+ year old brick walls. It is 9am and I am behind schedule. I need to pack up the car and get in a workout before I set out on the daunting crosscountry jaunt. I quickly rise from the bed and put on gray gym shorts and a green tee shirt, black gym socks, and my DC favorite gray New Balance 992 running shoes. As I walk down the stairs into the living room I see the remnants of destruction and debauchery I failed to notice the previous night. It appears the rest of my former housemates have returned. About 30 empty beer bottles, the tobacco filling from cigarillios, empty bags of chips, candy wrappers, empty baggies that were once filled with disgusting, barely high inducing District of Columbia cannabis know as reg, my three hosed hookah knocked over with a burn scar left in the hardwood floor
from the blazing hot coal, luckily it appears to have been extinguished by the rancid hookah water before it burnt through to the basement. Either way the security deposit on this place was long gone. Id estimate we caused about $25,000 worth of damage to MMCCCXX. The
weekly keggers certainly didnt help, nor did the fact myself and my roommates failed to catch a leaky kitchen faucet dripping water into a basement wall for over a year, or the countless condoms that were flushed down the second floor toilet, which led to a clog and overflow during one of the aforementioned weekly keggers. And certainly our untrained Yorkshire terrier did no favors for the upstairs carpet. Despite all of this damage I lack sympathy for our Harvard Law and Wharton Business School educated landlord for a number of reasons. The only one needing mention is that he received rent every month on time for over 30 consecutive months from the residents of MMCCCXX, during the worst recession and housing market crash in 70 years. Quite frankly, my roommates and I saved his ass from foreclosure. I walk out of MMCCCXX and away from the destruction, and hop into my Volkswagen Jetta. I drive down North Capitol to Rhode Island, make a right on New York Ave, and a left on 6th. I find a parking spot on 6th and H. I walk into the boutique gym that lies in Chinatown, connected to the Verizon center. I make a beeline to the fridge, which is stocked with all assortments of protein shakes. I grab 2 bottles of chocolate muscle milk, scan my fingerprint at the turnstile and enter the gym. I walk up the riveted metal staircase and enter the locker room on the right.
I keep reminding myself I have to be quick. I change, down one of my muscle milks and decide to do a full body cycle. Bench press, squats, deadlifts, rows, bicep curls, military press, and calf raises. I repeat the cycle twice and I head back to the locker room, down my remaining muscle milk, shower and rush back to MMCCCXX. I pack up the car with the essentials for my long drive, 2 Gallons of Water, apples, a couple of bags of chips, and 10 cans of redbull. I notice my two front tires are bald. I go back into the house where Ramos is cleaning. What happened to you last night? I ask Ramos. Man, I left that party to meet up with this one young. I was driving down 7th street with her in the car when I get side swiped by Metro Police. I was fucked up too, but it was clearly his fault. He didnt even think to check my blood alcohol content. He gave me a form to fill out, so DC is paying to have my car repaired; Im going to get a whole new paint job. Ramos informs. Wow, thats crazy, well Im off man. I say. Be safe out there. Ramos says. I bid my roommate farewell and depart down North Capitol Street. Turning left on New York Ave, I head to a tire shop my roommate recommended to me. I pull into the tire shop, which looks like a shack surrounded by a bunch of tires. An old black man with greased down gray hair waves me forward and approaches my window. What do you need son? He asks. Just two for the front sir. I say.
New will cost $300, but I can get you some used ones for $40 a piece. He informs. I decide on what my family affectionately calls a cheap attack and spend less money knowing that in the future as with all cheap attacks, I will wish I had spent more money now because it will cost me in the end. I take off back down New York Ave with my new front tires and embark on my journey to Los Angeles.
Next Chapter.
Two hours! Ive been stuck here for two hours. I tell my good friend and
former mentor Adam through my iPhone headset. Some foreign dignitary is touring the city and the presidential motorcade is causing all kinds of issues with me making it to route 66. I am angry. Listen man, there is nothing you can do about the traffic, just relax, and enjoy that you got to live in the capitol of the free world. Adam tells me. Easy for you to say, you havent been trying to drive out of this humid town for the past couple of hours. I snap. You are in a much better place than me right now, have you ever been to Nashvegas? Adam asks. Absolutely not I reply. On your drive come check it out, it will change your life, but hey I have to get back to work, call me when you are on I40 I hang up the phone, kind of angry with Adam for not appreciating my frustration. What an asshole. I say to myself.
In the 4 years that I have known Adam, he has been a constant series of contradictions both superficial and deep: an ardent antimarriage advocate who Im pretty sure had a secret wedding in Europe. He is disgusted by cigarette smoke but owns a hookah, and routinely smokes cigars. Hes also a hardline capitalist whose business is based on taking government subsidies. The most vocal capitalist typically receive the largest government subsidies. Despite all of this he is one of my best and most trusted friends. Adam and I met during the summer of 2006. I interned for him and another, much older wealth manager during my freshman summer. I thought he was an asshole, actually he is an asshole, but he taught me about the world of high finance and how liberating these markets were. He showed me that it was possible to make the median annual income of the average American in a single day. But most importantly he believed in me and put me down the right path. And when my mother died at the age of 52 from cancer he was the only one of my friends to attend her funeral. For that he will always be my boy. I have finally made it to the famed route 66. I am on the open road. The hustle and bustle of the District of Columbia is fading into the background. The landscape of the former Confederate Capital and the road are all that I can see. The scene is uniquely calming. I am able to just drive, and think. Think about anything. Would my life be a success, what is a successful life? Is it being rich, and greedy, is it traveling all over the world saving lives or defeating terrorist, is it finding the one and settling with her and doing the 2.5 kids and white picket fence thing, is it the baller crib, with the blowing money fast lifestyle dominated by fast
cars and faster women? Hell, is it all of these things? My mind continues to race like this when I receive a text message from Jasmine: I really miss you poo bear!!! Instead of replying to my new number one, my mind quickly shifts to the day nearly a week ago that Genevieve and I spent on the beach. Oh, that day, what a glorious day. My thoughts swiftly switch from that glorious day to the road in front of me. Typical of the Eastern Seaboard this time of year, a tropical storm is brewing. Darkness descends upon the barren Virginia landscape. The storm is approaching the road from the north. Its dark clouds look like something from an apocalyptic summer action flick. Perhaps I can get in front of it. Yes I can beat Mother Nature. I decide to push the German engineered sixcylinder engine that is shoehorned under the hood of my Jetta. A quick glance at the speed trap application running on my iPhone gives me the confidence of Jimmie Johnson. Knowing the law is nowhere around to bother me, I push down the clutch and shift the 5 speed manual transmission into 3rd gear. My volks jumps from 65 to 80 instantaneously. Before the engine reaches the electronically limited 6500 rpm redline I reengage the clutch and throw the selector down to 4th gear. The speedometer races past 100 miles per hour. I cruise at this rate of speed for a good while when I notice this is a race Mother Nature is refusing to lose. The storm is approaching the road like Sea biscuit. One drop of water crashes into my windshield, followed by another, and another. The raindrops are obstructing my visibility at an exponentially increasing frequency. My 6 years of
driving experience and two car crashes have taught me to slow down to a much safer 55 miles per hour. I feel the unnerving feeling of the tires losing traction. This causes adrenaline to shoot through my body, one of my favorite feelings in the world. The constant hydroplaning of the Jetta, and the gas guzzling sports utility vehicle spraying even more water onto my windshield in front of me, cause me to slow down even further until the red needle points at 25 mph. This monsoon is of biblical proportions; I half expect to see an arc floating by. I notice a green object in the swimming pool that is the road in front of me. Before I can take action, I roll right over it with my passenger side tire. A sprite or 7up bottle I deduce as the object fades into my rearview mirror. I am patting myself on the back for having the foresight to buy new front tires before I left DC, without which Im sure I would have lost control into oncoming traffic. The monsoon starts to fade and I quickly accelerate back to 80 and turn my music up. I am rocking out, and feel like the man, having taken Mother Natures best shot of the summer. A much newer black Volkswagen pulls next to me, Im assuming to race. Before I can drop a gear to blow past them I notice they are pointing at something. The passengers of the car are a young couple no older than 28. They are pointing at my right front tire. I nod my head in understanding and slow down the car. As I approach the nearest exit I pray that it is not a flat tire. I exit the freeway and pull over. I am less than 70 miles outside of DC when I hop out to take a look. FUCK!! I yell as loud as possible upon the discovery that it is in fact a blown tire caused by the soda bottle. I wish the previous owners of the aforementioned bottle had obeyed DO NOT LITTER signs instead of their thirst. I reason that the
humidity of the Virginia Summer had caused the pressure in the bottle to exceed the pressure in my tire, winning the battle when the two air filled vessels met, with a first round knockout. I think to call AAA but my fathers voice enters my consciousness: What kind of a man calls AAA to change a tire? I hear Francis Sr. ask. Wondering how the hell I am supposed to drive across the country with a donut on one of the drive wheels my mind goes back to high school; to the day I took delivery of the Jetta. It was the first game of my senior year. My high school football team had just had our hopes of an undefeated season deflated like my tire. I exit the locker room after our terrible coach gives the ole This changes nothing speech. I hop into my mothers car. She looks at me and tells me that I played my hardest and that win or lose she can never not be proud of that. She drives us to a used car dealership and tells me she found a car for me. It is the green jetta. Amongst one of the selling points the sales guy mentions is a full sized spare. At 17 I could care less, I was just more excited that I would no longer have to rely on my parents for rides. My disinterest is clear, but my mother seems impressed by this feature stating that it will come in handy some day. That day is today. I excitedly rush to the trunk of the volks and remove my two giant suitcases. I remove the cover of the spare to retrieve the full sized tire and changing equipment. The Germans with their great engineering foresight have the tire, jack, and iron all strapped together for easy removal. I loosen the lug nuts before placing the jack in the proper slot underneath the car. As I crank the car
higher I notice it has gotten noticeably darker again when I feel a drop of water hit the top of my head. Mother Nature has come back for more. I crank as fast as possible before the true deluge comes down on me when the jack breaks. Fucking Germans. I think, as I look at kick my broken jack. To answer my fathers question, it looks like the kind of man who calls AAA to change a tire is just like me. The dispatcher tells me that it is going to be 45 minutes before Joe arrives. I occupy this time by putting my luggage back in the car in anticipation of the sequel to the previous storm. The storm comes and goes as I wait patiently for Joe. Joe pulls up. He has a car already in tow and a family sitting in the cab with him. Joe is missing teeth, but that doesnt stop him from smiling when he arrives. So you need a tire changed son? Joe asks. Yessir I reply. Couldnt do it yourself eh? Joe asks. Annoyed I reply: The jack broke. He quickly gathers up a hydraulic jack and impact drill replacing my tire with the speed of a Nascar pit crew. I tip Joe $20 and shake his grease covered hand. I am now driving through Tennessee. The cost of my earlier cheap attack reveals itself. Peace of mind. Thanks to the American Reinvestment and Recovery act, the road is reduced to one lane with no shoulder, no street lamps, no call boxes and no other drivers. Apparently the locals know not to use this road, I didnt get that memo. The sun has retired for the night and is replaced by darkness. There is no moon at this stage of the lunar cycle. The stars above and the headlights of my car
provide the only luminosity that exists, preventing me from driving into a ditch. I have been driving for miles now and I have not seen another vehicle for close to an hour. I have always found it interesting that America, the worlds only super power, has this glorious highway infrastructure that is used beyond its capacity 4 hours out of the day, during the morning and afternoon rush hours. It seems rather wasteful that our highways would sit virtually empty during the other 20 hours of the day, but then I remember that the interstate system serves two purposes. It is not only a complex system that exists as a means of twoway civilian traffic between population centers, the interstate system was also built for one unifying purpose, the defense of our country. If we were ever attacked on our own soil by a conventional military, the government can make the traffic move one direction and use the interstate system to move our military where they are needed. Anything that is wasteful in one regard, yet exist to defend our freedom in another is wholly American, like handguns. The lack of street lamps, call boxes, other vehicles, and cell service magnify the cost of my earlier parsimoniousness. I would really be fucked if I lost another tire. My mind reviews the worstcase outcomes: What if I lost another tire and was eaten by wild animals? What if I have a Deliverance moment? What if it took days before anyone else drove by, and I starved to death before making it to civilization? The darkness around me never seems to change. I guess that is the point of darkness, its indiscernibility; one dark hole looks the same as any other, a jail of nothingness, where anything can be hidden. As my headlights pierce the darkness in front of me the scene doesnt appear to change. The road looks the same in front of
me no matter how far or fast I drive. That doesnt stop me from trying. I put my right foot down. I will escape this darkness at some point. Nothing stays the same when you are alive. Life is about constant change, no matter how subtle, and I am very much alive. I am driving on the open road. I am in a part of the greatest country in the world that I have never been before. The Unites States is the first country to put a man on the moon, the birthplace of the airplane, the assembly line, the traffic signal, the telephone, the internet, a country that values hard work and dedication, a country that loves freedom, a country whose constitution is the envy of the world. I am alive in the greatest country in the world and what an advantage it is. I feel damn lucky. I am only 20 miles from Nashville. What should I expect of this southern city. I find it best to not have any expectations except to have a great fucking time. I call Adam to get the details on where we are to meet. He provides me with the location of a restaurant and bar in town. Once we get off the phone I type the name of the restaurant into google maps and pull up directions. I see tall buildings in the distance. That must be downtown Nashville. I follow the directions, eventually arriving to the final destination. I pull into the parking lot. The lines denoting what is and isnt a parking spot havent been painted in years. I do my best to guess where to park. I settle on a void between two pick up trucks. I look at the building before entering. There is an illuminated sign that says hot legs and thighs. Did this guy just invite me to a strip club? As I walk towards the place I see other signs that are more obviously referring to food: fresh oysters, RIBS, pulled pork, etc.
I enter the dimly lit establishment and see Adam seated at the openair bar. The crowd is surprisingly diverse. Adam adds to this diversity. He notices me and lifts his beer glass up towards me. Norris! I yell out, referring to my friend by his last name. Clark! Adam yells, returning the sentiment. Adam places his beer down on the bar and directs me towards a seat to his left. I walk towards the bar and take the seat. Welcome to the past. Adam jokingly says to me. The overweight southern gentleman sitting on the other side of Adam doesnt look amused. The bartender comes by to take my order. I exchange pleasantries with him before ordering a Jack Daniels. JD huh? Adam asks in a judgmental way. When in Tennessee. I reply. Adam and I decide to order some food. The menu confuses us. This place offers everything from bbq, to enchiladas, to seafood. I was especially surprised to see raw oysters. A glance around the exposed brick venue reveals that to be the top choice of the patrons. I know we are avoiding any raw seafood in this place, where do they get fresh oysters from anyways? There isnt a body of water close enough to ensure the level of freshness I am used to or would trust. Adam and I both take a look at the menu. I parse through the options when one offering blows me away. I know what we are getting. I excitedly tell Adam. Look at the BBQ Feast. I continue.
Adam reads aloud the items in the BBQ Feast. A full slab of ribs, a whole pumped chicken (chicken pumped with secret seasonings, then slow cooked just right) a pound of hand pulled pork that was smoked for 12 hours, cornbread, and 4 sides. We negotiate the sides, settling on mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, tater tots and steamed broccoli. We relay our order to the bartender. While we wait for our feast, I talk to Adam about my earlier miserly move that caused me to end up with a flat tire. The two of us then discuss the plan for the night. Were going to go hangout with my Tennessee biatch. Adam says. Where the hell are you boys from? The man sitting next to Adam interrupts in an aggressive way. The future. Adam replies. The mans face turns a deep red, an outward display of his internal anger at Adams response. California, were from California. I say to calm down the situation. It works, somewhat. California? I dont like it much there, too many liberals and hippies. The man says. Well thats unfortunate sir, because he is a liberal and I am a hippie. Adam says, again riling the guy. Whats your name man? I ask the guy. Joe. The man replies. Like Joe the plumber? Adam asks.
Excuse my friend, hes an asshole. I tell Joe before asking him what hes drinking. He tells me a whiskey. Finally finding common ground I order 3 from the bartender. The more we drink the friendlier we are being to each other, one of alcohols good side effects. I get to learn Joe is just a regular guy not much different from us, but most of all he is just happy with Tennessee. Great food, great music, great whiskey. He says. Adam begins talking about his favorite places, and mentions New York City. I dont like New York City much. Joe says. Why not? Adam asks. I dont get along much with the brothers. Joe replies. Adam and I look at each other. What do you mean you dont get along with the brothers? Adam asks with aggressiveness in his tone. My brother inlaws can be some real assholes sometimes. Joe responds, demonstrating he wasnt referring to black men. A phone rings. It is Joes. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers. From the sound of his end of the conversation it sounds like his wife is asking where he is, what he is doing, who he is with, and when he is coming home. Joe gets off the phone. Well, I have to go, the misses. Joe says.
Adam and I stand up and bid Joe farewell. When we sit back down we see the bartender has already delivered our food. The feast is large. So large it takes up 4 spaces at the bar. Adam and I stare at the daunting task in front of us. Are we going to do this? Adam asks. Of course. I say before cutting off some ribs to consume. We dont talk for the next 35 minutes, as all we can do is eat the scrumptious food that is in front of us. The silence is only broken to ask for more of the amazing bbq sauce. We get about 35% through the feast when Adam hits the wall. I cant continue. He states, before waving his napkin in surrender and sitting back in his chair. I can. I eat another 30% of the meal myself before it is too painful to continue. I repeat the same surrender motion as Adam. We sit there together at the bar, breathing heavily, the look of defeat on our faces, bbq stained napkins scattered in front of us. I periodically have another bite of the assortments of meats in front of us because it is just too damn good to not eat. Can you just take this away before his stomach explodes? Adam asks the bartender. The bartender looks at me, I look down at the plates of food. What food left on the plates looks like it was attacked by a pack of wild animals. I acknowledge he can take it away without even speaking. Adam and I pay our bill and sit there for a while longer. The itis starts to set in.
We need to go or else we wont make it. Chrisitian states. I agree. I take the initiative and rise from my seat first. We exit the restaurant together. On the way out the door an attractive female hipster walks in. Oh my god, youre so beautiful. She says to Adam while looking deep into his eyes. He walks by without even saying a word. Youre just going to pass? I ask. Yea, I have something better where we are going. He says. We decide it best to leave my car and hop in a taxi. We take the taxi to
Demonbreun St. Adam leads me to a bar with a giant rooster out front. It is packed inside and out. This place is clearly where the party is. The space is huge, and open. A large bar runs down the center of the place and splits it in half. A stage sits in the back right corner. A live band occupies the stage. The lead singer, a short attractive blonde, rocks on with the voice of an angel. Adam leads me around one of the sides of the huge bar. He stops at the most attractive female bar tender, a tall thin woman who appears to be in her early twenties. When Adam catches her attention she stops what she is doing and leans over the bar to give him a hug. I stand back patiently while they embrace. Once they are done Adam introduces me to his friend. Elizabeth this is Francis. Francis this is Elizabeth. He says. Elizabeth and I exchange a handshake and the typical pleasantries of a first meeting before she returns to work. Who is this girl? I ask.
My Tennessee bitch. Adam responds loud enough so Elizabeth can hear. She throws some ice at him and smiles. She pours us some whiskey while I stand back and survey the scene. A look around and I see the scence is filled with drunk people having a great time, more interracial couples than I have ever seen in one place, and women who all have the exact same perfect smile. The women of Nashville must all go to the same cosmetic dentist. This guy must have decided it would be funny to file down the teeth of every woman in town to the exact same length. This lacks a certain personality that a natural smile provides. Some girl comes up to me. Hey, whats your name, youre really cute. She says to me. I introduce myself. I start talking about everyone having the same smile. She doesnt seem to understand what I am referring to. Youre not too bright are you? She asks me. No, Im not. I respond before turning my back to her. Im just kidding, and its fine because you so damn handsome. Where are you from? She asks in a southern accent. Not here. I reply. Im not from here either. She says. Where are you from? I ask Oklahoma. She says. Thats from here as far as Im concerned. I say before excusing myself. I make my way to the bathroom where I take a leak. When I come out of the bathroom I notice a DJ has replaced the live music. I return to the spot where I left
Adam. Hes sitting at the bar talking to Elizabeth and the lead singer from the band. I take the seat next to my friend. Elizabeth notices my return and introduces me to the singer. Anna, this is Francis. Francis, Anna. Elizabeth says. Now arent you just tall, dark and handsome. Anna says in a southern accent as she shakes my hand. You arent so bad yourself. Why dont you come sit closer to me so we can meet each other. I reply Elizabeth returns to her job but periodically comes to hangout with us. Adam, Anna, and myself sit there laughing, drinking, and talking. Adam gains the bulk of her attention for a moment when he begins talking about his planet saving work. I use this time to study Anna. Her long straight blonde hair, blue eyes and sun kissed skin would make her the standard of beauty during the third Reich. Through the years I have had interactions with countless women. What I have learned during this time is that the especially beautiful women are treated differently by society; hence need to be approached with a different type of game. The psychological phenomenon known as the halo effect is well documented. The halo effect states amongst other things, that the more attractive the person, the better another persons overall impression of the attractive person is. This means that goodlooking people are perceived as more intelligent, trustworthy, and overall better people than less attractive people. The illusion is just as good as reality. We see this in action all the time. Our society places more value on a 19yearold girl who hasnt accomplished a fucking thing in her life except being born and growing
into someone who is sexy, than we do on a successful businessman or a well published academic. My evidence? How many magazine covers does Kate Upton have compared to the greatest thinker of our time, Nassim Nicholas Taleb? A beautiful woman can go through her whole life without having to work because there is always some schmuck willing to take care of her, whereas the women who are less physically attractive have to get good at math, or engineering or something to survive; a glitch in the matrix. I exploit this glitch by shattering a beautiful womans reality. Their reality typically is men will give them whatever they want because they always have. When you shatter someones reality his or her ego will do anything to return to that reality, its just too painful not to. With women, they will do anything to get that reality back, including sleeping with men they had no intention of sleeping with. So are you a dumb blonde? I ask Anna. She stares at me blankly. Her face betrays nothing. Is she falling for my game or not? Hahaha, is that the best line you have? How about you try being nice, and maybe, just maybe youll get laid tonight. Anna responds. I decide to actually get to know this gorgeous southern belle. Who cares about getting laid? So who are you? I ask. Im about to be a junior at Vanderbilt. Anna replies. And you study music? I ask.
No, I just sing for fun, its what my mother did. Im working on figuring out what I want to do. Im in no rush, but I also know that the sooner you figure out what you want to do, the sooner you will be doing it, and the better you can be at what you are doing. She says, showing maturity beyond her years. I dig what she has just said and decide to reward her. I lean in for a kiss. Anna dodges my advance. I smile and laugh it off. You cant kiss me yet. She says. I take this statement as meaning she will kiss me, but she just wants me to earn it. Fine, little singer. I will play your game. I say. Anna and I talk and talk and talk. We discuss a variety of topics including life: I think life should be about maximizing happiness while not treading on the happiness of others. I say. I think its about doing your best to provide your kids with some advantage so they can have a better life than you. Anna says. and death: My mother died when I was your age. I say. My mother was killed by a drunk driver earlier this year. This bracelet was hers. Anna says while raising her arm to display the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. Politics: The conservative commentators have hijacked the political discourse in our country. I say.
Yea, but they know how to speak to the emotions of the citizens, what they are able to tap into is real. Anna replies. Drugs: My ranking of drugs from soft to hard goes marijuana, shrooms, cocaine, ecstasy, LSD, crack, meth, heroine. Those last three are off limits for me. I say. You rank mushrooms as less hard of a drug than ecstasy? Anna questions. Sex: I think we all like it a little bit rough. I say. Just a little bit? She questions. The more we talk the more I appreciate this girl. She has a love for people and a thirst for life. She wears her heart on her sleeve. She is comfortable in her own skin, with just being herself, fuck what anyone else thinks; the definition of cool. Up until this point I have been leading the interaction, but Anna decides it is her turn. She leans in to kiss me. The kiss is pretty bad. She goes in too aggressively and with her mouth too far open, which causes our teeth to connect. She clearly lacks experience. I hate weak ass kisses, and that is what this is. I stop her from continuing so we can avoid an emergency trip to that cosmetic dentist to fix our chipped teeth. I dont want to end up with the same smile as these women. Whats wrong? Anna asks, with a concerned look on her face. You havent done this much, have you? I ask. How can you tell? She asks.
I explain to her where she went wrong. Too much teeth, and too much tongue, not enough lips. She informs me that I am only the eighth guy she has made out with in her life. Thats cute. I joke. She instantly slaps me on my arm. Well, how many girls have you made out with? She asks. You really want to know? I ask. She nods her head before I continue. I dont have exact figures, but somewhere between 300 and 400, 6 last week. I say. Youre kidding? Anna asks. I shake my head. Youre not worried about herpes? 1 in 5 people have it. She says. Thats what I keep telling him. Adam chimes in. I explain to both of them the complexities of mouthtomouth STD transmission before moving onto the fun with statistics that is going on in STD reporting. A deeper dive into the statistics will show that STDs are most prevalent in the economically depressed segments of the population and this is probably due to uneven access to healthcare. I finish by telling them I dont swim in that pool. It is 3 am and Anna has spent the last couple of hours sitting between my legs and making out with me. It is closing time. Elizabeth comes from around the bar and hangs out with us. Adam suggest we all go back to his rented home. The women agree on that course of action. The four us exit the bar. I grab Annas hand, Adam
Elizabeths, and we walk across the street to a parking lot. Elizabeth leads the way to an old pickup truck. Who is driving? Anna asks. We decide it is Adam since he appears the least drunk. To be sure he isnt too drunk to drive Anna asks Adam to do a field sobriety test, making him stand on one leg and touch his nose, and to walk in a straight line. Once she is satisfied we pile into the old truck. We get settled into our proper positions. From left to right: Adam in the drivers seat, Elizabeth, Anna, and me. I reach for the seat belt to secure myself. I cant find it, so I turn around and look for it. No seat belts? I ask. No, this truck is really old. Elizabeth replies. We begin our drive to Adams temporary residence. I put my arm around Anna and stroke her long blonde hair. She rests her head on my shoulder. She turns to look at me. She looks into my eyes as if trying to see my soul. Im scared of what she may see, although I dont blink. I give her a light kiss on the forehead and gaze back into her eyes; I am nearly hypnotized. Elizabeth takes me out of my trance by turning on a dome light. She then reaches over and goes into the glove compartment. She rummages through a scattered collection of CDs. She grabs a few and then asks me if I like Paramore. When in Tennessee. I reply. She puts in their latest album as we cruise down the dark road. I notice Anna playing with the clasp of her bracelet. I study her face. She looks down and stares at
her bracelet. The expression upon her face is one I recognize because I have had the same look. She is thinking of her mother. The bond between a mother and her child is one of the strongest bonds that can exist. I think it has something to do with the child having lived inside of his or her mother. This causes a woman to love her child and why so many women experience postpartum depression. Being inside of someone is intense to think about. The only other time someone is inside of someone else is when people have sex. My mind draws a connection. Having had sex with so many women I have realized the more time I have spent inside of a woman the more she is into me. The void left by my penis is similar to the void left by a child. You miss her? I ask Anna. She nods her head. I pull her body closer to mine. Anna continues to play with the clasp of her mothers bracelet. I feel her body completely relax into mine. She trusts me. She shouldnt. My thoughts are somewhere else. I for some reason think of Genevieve and that glorious day her and I had on the beach together. I wish it was her who completely trusted me, her right next to me right now, her I was comforting, her body that was relaxing into my own. I feel guilty. Here I am with this young, beautiful, intelligent girl who would have been the standard of beauty during the Third Reich and Im over here wishing I were with some other girl. Is this wrong? Perhaps. But we like who we like. Anna keeps playing with the clasp of her mothers bracelet. I adjust my body and stop stroking Annas hair. Although we are nearly as close as possible in a physical sense there seems to be a wall that rises between us emotionally. Female
intuition is one distinct advantage women have over men. Hers has told her that I am thinking about someone else. Women always know. This subtle change disturbs the rhythm at which she was playing with her bracelet. She looses her grip on it. The diamond bracelet drops to the floor of the pickup truck and in all of its glittering glory slides towards the pedals of the truck. In a panicked motion, Anna completely detaches herself from me, ducks down, and lunges for the bracelet. This action causes Annas body to crash into Elizabeths that in turn crashes into Adams. This causes Adam to jerk the steering wheel of the truck. The chassis isnt sturdy enough to absorb this shock. Adam looses control of the pickup truck. Time slows down as adrenaline flows instantaneously through my veins. The tires of the pick up truck screech above the collective screams of the four of us as we do several full revolutions and end up in the approaching lane. Our bodies slide and crash into each other as we spin. What is outside the windows is a dark blur followed by approaching headlights. I didnt expect the light at the end of the tunnel to be headlights. I cant believe this is how Im going to die. I wish this old fucking truck had seat belts. If it did I could survive this accident with a story to tell. On the bright side if we do die right now I hope our bodies arent too mangled or scattered across the road so the record will show I was on my way to getting laid. Fuck it, I am willing to die attempting to do what I love to do. I will be remembered as a champion till the end. At least Im not about to die doing something stupid like skydiving in a third world country or drowning in my own vomit. Those are the types of deaths that people remember more than they remember your life. What no
one will know about how we die in this car accident is that it wasnt caused by alcohol but by a young girl just reaching for the memory of her mother. Miraculously, Adam regains control of the truck and veers back into our proper lane avoiding a head on collision. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as I realize we arent going to die. The near death experience has sobered me up. WHAT THE FUCK! Adam yells. Im sorry, Im so sorry. Anna sobs. I console her and begin to explain why Anna would make such a crazy move. Before I can finish, Adams yelling again interrupts me. FUCK! He yells. I am wondering what the hype is about when I turn to see the blue lights behind us. I cant believe this shit. Adam states. Neither can I, we escape certain death and now my friend is probably going to end up with a DUI. Adam pulls the truck over. The cop car behind us shines a spotlight through the back window, blinding us. We sit for close to ten minutes waiting. Whats taking them so long? Elizabeth asks. Hes probably waiting for backup. Adam answers. Why? Anna asks. Because Im black. Adam answers. Another five minutes pass before two more cop cars show up. The 5 officers converse before two of them approach the drivers side window. Two of the other cops approach the passenger side. I look in the side view mirror and notice the
officers have flashlights in one hand as their other hands rest over their holstered firearms. Adam is sitting perfectly still with his hands on the steering wheel. Compared to the approaching law enforcers he is the calm one. This is asymmetry of information. Adam knows he isnt going to try to kill these cops, whereas they have no idea what he is going to do and are assuming the worst. The officers shine their flashlights into the pickup truck. Adam rolls down his window. The officer shines his light directly into Adams eyes. He first asks the women if they are okay. They nod their heads. Son, I pulled you over because I saw you swerve into oncoming traffic. How much have you had to drink tonight? The officer asks in a heavy southern drawl, I think his mouth is filled with chewing tobacco. None. Adam replies. Dont lie to me, I can smell the alcohol. The officer states sternly. A few but thats not why I Adam says before being interrupted by the officer. License and registration son. The officer demands. Adam alerts the officer of his intention to get his wallet out of his back pocket. Elizabeth retrieves her registration and insurance information from the passenger side sun visor and hands it to Adam. Adam hands the officer the requested documentation. Youre a long way from home, arent you son? The officer asks Adam. Yes officer. Adam replies.
So what brings you out here from California, Mr. The officer looks closely at Adams license before continuing. Mr. Adam Norris? Business, I build solar farms, you know saving the planet. Adam replies. Now I just dont get why they would have boys way from California come all the way here to build solar do hickeys. That just doesnt make any damn sense. The officer says. Well California is a global leader in technological innovation officer. I inform. Step out of the car gentlemen. The officer says. Two officers take Adam behind the truck and have him do field sobriety test. I step out of the vehicle and am told to put my hands on the hood of the pickup and to spread my legs. The girls wait patiently in the cab. The officer asks me if I have anything that can poke him or any weapons. I reply no. He runs his hands down the front of my chest, along my arms, my legs, and takes his time around my pockets, waist and ankles. Once he is done I ask him a question. Was that as good for you as it was for me? I joke. This isnt a joke, son. The officer says. These guys are always so serious. He has me sit down on my hands, which I dont find very comfortable. The officer who just frisked me goes to the open pick up truck to talk to the girls, while another stands over me. What are you yall ladies doing with these two jokers at this hour. He asks. Really, are you asking us that, you cant figure it out? Elizabeth asks defiantly.
I just asked you a question maam, no need to get snippy. The officer replies. Oh, sorry, we were going to go home with them to have sex, probably give some head, the usual. Elizabeth answers. I cant help but laugh hysterically getting the attention of the officer. He shines his flash light in my eyes, like that will end my involuntary laughter. Officer Im so sorry, this is all my fault. Anna says before taking her time to explain exactly what happened. The officer then helps the girls look for the bracelet. He must have been touched by her story. Meanwhile Adam is being escorted to one of the police cars. One of the officers reaches into the car and pulls out a Breathalyzer. Why did you make him go through all of that walking a straight line bullshit if you were just going to give him a Breathalyzer anyways? I ask. Not another word out of you. The officer standing above me says. Well thats just rude. I say before deciding to follow his instruction. Adam and the officer who tested him walk back to the truck. You passed son. The officer says to Adam. Whaaaa, really? Are you serious? What was my score? Adam asks like it was a game. You made it son, now get out of here and get home safe. The officer says. Adam and I get back into the truck. Anna begins to apologize again but is interrupted by Adams celebration.
YES! YES! YES! I thought I was going down but I passed that shit. Hell Yea! Adam yells while giving each of us a high five. Adam starts the truck and we continue towards his rented home. I look at Anna and notice her still nervously playing with her bracelet. I put my left arm around her, and pull her in tight. I use my right hand to grab her hands, preventing her from repeating her previous fumble.
Next Chapter.
This house is huge. I blurt out as we drive up the long gravel covered
driveway towards Adams rented McMansion. Adam parks the pickup right out front, we all exit the vehicle, go up the small staircase to the double doors and enter his glorious temporary residence. On the other side of the doors is a foyer that leads to a massive staircase. The hot tub is in the back. Adam states as he points towards the back of the house. The women rush towards the direction my friend pointed. Adam and I head up the stairs and begin a grand tour of the house. At the top of the stairs there is a pool table and lounge area. To the left of the pool table lies the entrance to the master bedroom and to the right two guest rooms. Youre sleeping in one of those. Adam says as he gestures over to the guest rooms. We go back down stairs and enter the large kitchen. An expensive commercial range, subzero fridges, granite counter tops, and mahogany cabinets shows that the schmuck who built this place on spec probably lost a lot of money.
Adams alcohol stash sits on an island in the middle of the kitchen. He tends to only drink single malt scotch and craft beers. His stash reflects this. Adam offers me an Oban, which I gladly accept. Adam goes to the cabinets and pulls out two glasses. He then goes to the freezer and gets four ice cubes, two for each of our drinks. He puts the glasses down on the island and fills each glass to the brim with scotch. He hands me my glass and raises his own. I touch my glass to his. As they connect they make the familiar clinking noise. We touch glasses because drinking is an experience that stimulates all of the senses except our sense of sound. We can see the color of the alcohol, in this case the light brown of scotch. We can feel the glass in our hands, the slight cold from the ice passing through the crystal. As we raise the drink to have a sip our sense of smell is activated, the scent of the oak cask that was the 14year home of this particular variety hits my nostrils. The first sip hits my mouth and activates my taste buds, the flavor of malted barley. Adam and I stand there drinking our drinks; the soundtrack is a mixture of the sound of hot tub jets, the air conditioning, and the Tennessee wild life. (The sound of the ladies giggling and animals and insects making noise) Well, I guess we should get dressed and get out there. Adam suggests. I agree, but then let him know I am going to need some swim trunks. He tells me to wait here as he runs upstairs. I decide to use this time to go check out the scene outside. I walk from the kitchen towards the back of the house and sliding glass door that leads to the deck and hot tub. On my walk I encounter several items of clothing lying on the floor: A black lace bra and matching panties, a pair of toms, true religion jeans and a blue tank top; all belonging to Elizabeth. Next I spot a white
blouse, a black miniskirt, and black high heels, the clothing that belongs to Anna. I step around, over and through the trail of clothing to the sliding glass door. The door is fogged up, a consequence of the humidity in the air and the steam from the hot tub. Through the haze I can see the girls in the hot tub, completely naked. They have the bodies of goddesses. Elizabeths shoulder length hair is wet and slicked back like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Her petite breast glisten while the rest of her body disappears under the violent bubbles of the hot tub. Annas long blonde hair looks relatively dry, only the ends are wet, sticking to her body just above her erect pink nipples. The two of them are barely separated. They are glancing into each others eyes. They move closer to one another maintaining eye contact the whole way and it appears as though their lips will touch. I like most other redblooded American men love the sight of two beautiful women kissing. Girl on girl action is so enchanting. There just isnt anything more perfect or beautiful on this planet than a woman, so putting two women of such beauty together and having them be sexual is causing massive action in my pants. If I was a premature ejaculator I would have cum all over myself at this precise moment or maybe at what is supposed to happen next. They draw closer and closer, excitement and anticipation build, my dick gets harder, their lips are about to touch, when simultaneously the girls turn towards me and begin laughing. The joke is on me. These God fearing southern belles arent going to make out. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see Adam standing there. Whats going on out there? He asks me.
Unfortunately no lesbian action. I reply. Adam hands me some neon green board shorts. I look down to see what he is wearing. His pair is undisputedly more fashionable. Really? I question as I take the shorts from him. He just shrugs his shoulders. I shake my head as I walk away towards the downstairs bathroom. I open the bathroom door, reach in and feel around for the light switch. I find it, flip the switch and enter the bathroom. I remove my shoes, socks, shirt and pants. Finally I take off my underwear. I take a moment to check myself out in the mirror. Wow. I say to myself as I admire my chiseled chest and abs. I turn to the side and do the same with my shoulders and arms. I flex my arm straight down to cause my hard earned muscles to buldge. I look down at my glutes, quads and hamstrings, the work in the squat rack has paid off. I think having a solid body is important. First of all having a sexy body is just going to get you more attention, everyone wants to have sex with hot people, everyone brags when they do have sex with someone especially attractive, and people congratulate each other for having sex with someone sexy. Second, all it takes is 15 to 20 minutes a day and it only makes you healthier, well worth the investment. Third, if a woman is going to take her time and energy as well as risk her reputation to have sex with me, the least I can do is give her something nice to look at and a story to tell her closest friends. I snap out of my narcissistic trance and put on the neon green swim trunks. I do a final check of myself in the mirror and make some minor improvements. I smooth out my eyebrows, make sure I have no boogers in my nose, and no food stuck in my teeth. I make my way towards
the sliding glass door. On the way I grab a bottle of scotch off the island. I slide open the door and walk outside. Cool shorts. Adam says. I reply by showing him my middle finger. I think you look really hot in those shorts. Anna says. What took yall so long to come out here? Elizabeth asks, her southern accent more pronounced than before. He needed some help getting out of his clothes and into those sexy little shorts he has on. Adam replies. The girls look my way for a response. I enter the steamy hot tub with the bottle of scotch before responding. This is true. I say while simultaneously shaking my head and rolling my eyes. I settle in next to Anna, who is smoking a joint at this point. I pass the bottle of scotch to Adam who drinks directly from the bottle. We talk about the near death experience we have had and how lucky we all are to be sitting in a hot tub getting fucked up right now. I talk about a philosophy known as determinism. Determinism states that for everything that happens there are conditions such that given them, nothing else could happen. Put in other words, what ever happens was going to happen since everything that does happen was set in motion by a previous circumstance. For example, the high school a person goes to is determined by where there parents live, which is determined by where there parents work, which is determined by the skills their parents have acquired over the course of their lives, which is determined in part by where they went to high school, which is determined
by where the parents of the parents lived, and so on and so forth all the way back to the beginning of time. But shouldnt we be able to tell the future if that is the case? Anna asks. No. I answer prior to explaining to the group that there are an indeterminable number of variables that are a function of each other at any given time. Examples include, but in no means are limited to, earths position in its yearly orbit around the sun which influences weather, which influences peoples moods, which influences consumption patterns, which influence how much ice cream the ice cream man can sell, which influence him paying his rent, which influences his landlords consumption patters, which influences how much gas he can afford, which influences how much he drives, which influences weather and so on and so forth in a complex interconnected seemingly infinite web. The computing power needed to calculate all of those variables that are a function of each other just isnt possible or even on the horizon at this point. And even if you had the computing power you would still need to know all of the variables in the universe, including ones that we have no way of observing, because the distance at which they exist, both temporally and spatially, contained or contain no human observers to record said variables. Why even live life if everything is predetermined, and what about the freewill given to us by God? Anna asks. I dont know, Wikipedia that shit. I joke before providing the answer. I tell the group that just because the action was going to happen anyways doesnt mean that we arent active participants in that action. Human beings, our thoughts and actions are variables as well that have influence and have been influenced. We are a
part of it all. Our freewill is still there, but it is still influenced by something. An example: You chose what food you want to eat today, but you chose from a limited set of options; what you are going to eat today is determined by what food is available in close enough proximity for you to get that food before today is over. We finish with the philosophical talk and get back to drinking, smoking, laughing and carrying on. How do you feel? I ask Anna as I move her naked body to the other side of the hot tub, away from Adam and Elizabeth. What is your word? She asks as we glide through the water. Glorious? I interject. Glorious. Anna says seductively as she settles between my legs on the other side of the hot tub. Anna and I are cuddled up in the water. She is looking up into my eyes as I intermittently kiss her. Adam and Elizabeth are on the other side of the hot tub looking at us while they drink scotch from the bottle. Awwww, arent you two cute. Elizabeth says, her accent becomes more pronounced the more she drinks. They are. You two should get married. Adam contributes. Perhaps we will. I say before pulling Annas hair, tilting her head back and passionately kissing her. I take my freehand and use it to grope her breasts. I get lost in the sexually charged whiskey haze in which my mind finds itself. I open my eyes while still making out and I see Adam and Elizabeth doing their best Anna and Francis impersonation. I also notice they left the bottle of scotch floating aimlessly
around the hot tub. I place Annas back against the edge of the hot tub and face her. I glide my hands through the warm bubbly water and settle them under her thighs. I grip them tightly then pull her body towards mind, spreading her legs so they wrap around me when our bodies meet. When she arrives my full erection pokes her through my shorts. Her eyes get big before she reaches down into the water and grabs it. Thats so big. She whispers. Why do girls keep saying that? I ask. Girls? How many girls? Anna asks. I put my index finger over her lips before I say Only the special ones. and return to kissing her. She moves her hand from the outside of my shorts, over to the top and down into them. My scotch flavored tongue dances with the marijuana flavor of hers. The thought of how fucked up we are gives me an excuse to go all the way with it. I break the make out and whisper into Annas ear that we should go upstairs. She nods slightly. Anna and I exit the hot tub and make our way towards the house. Adam has left a pile of towels by the glass door. We grab two and dry off. I lightly spank her naked ass as she towels off, and she does the same to me. I turn back to see Adam sucking on one of Elizabeths breast. Her face shows she is in pure ecstasy. Elizabeth opens her eyes slightly and sees us leaving. Dont forget we are teaching Sunday school in the morning. Elizabeth calls out to Anna. Anna acknowledges this before we enter the house. I open the sliding
glass door and allow Anna to enter first. I grab her hand as she walks by and I take my place one step behind her. Coming from the hot tub and its glorious warmth the cold air of the AC stings like Chicago in February. I try to not go to Chicago in February. Its fucking freezing. I say as I pull Anna close to me for warmth. A shot of whiskey will warm you up. She suggests. Anna pulls away from me and goes to the cabinet. She opens a few cabinets before finding the one that contains the glasses. She pulls out two glasses and places them on the counter next to where I am standing. She goes to the island and grabs a bottle of scotch. She walks back over smiling at me the whole way. She takes her time opening the bottle and focusing on pouring two even shots. During this time I get closer to her and kiss her on the cheek before nibbling on her ear lobe. She smiles and whispers something about it tickling before she abruptly kisses me on the mouth and hands me my drink. To glorious times. She says before we tap glasses and consume our poison. I find this shot particularly harsh. It burns going down my throat. It burns in my chest. It burns in my stomach. I want to vomit. I hold it together. Once I gather myself completely I place my glass down and shake my head. No more alcohol for me. Anna gathers her clothing and we walk hand in hand upstairs, using each other for balance. We pause at the top of the staircase after much effort. Anna asks which way, to which I have no answer. I am too drunk to remember, but I am a man so I make a decision anyways. We enter the bedroom, which upon first glance
appears way larger than any guest room should be. The room is complete with a plush king sized bed, huge walkin closet, fireplace, balcony, and huge bathroom with a large Jacuzzi tub, separate shower and his and hers sinks. I think to ask Anna if she feels like this is a guest room, but before I can do that she drops her towel and jumps up into my arms wrapping her legs around my waist. This girl must be solid muscle because she is way heavier than she looks. We kiss in this position as I cup her tight little ass in my hands. I use my right hand to work my way between her legs. Once there, I slip a finger into her vagina, which causes her to moan. She is soaking wet. Through her moans she manages to tell me how hot she thinks I am. This turns me on and makes me feel as though I have to get inside of her. I take her over to the bed and savagely throw her naked body down. My face says Im all business right now. I stare her in the eye as I take off these stupid neon green shorts. Anna lies there sublimely in front of me. Blonde hair spread out over a pillow, blue eyes fixed on me, lips slightly open, her tongue making brief cameos to enhance the scene, pulse racing through her jugular, collarbone visible, chest moving with her breath, pink nipples erect, stomach washboard flat, hips slightly elevated, legs spread, vagina hairless and pink, clitoris out from under its hood, knees slightly bent, and her feet flat on the bed. She is ready to get fucked and I am ready to fuck her when through my whiskey and marijuana induced fog I realize I dont have a condom. Fuck. I say under my breath. Whats wrong? Anna asks, sitting up in the bed.
I dont haveummmare you on birth control? I ask. Of course not, that is so against the bible. She says. I roll my eyes but think it best to not get into a religious argument regarding the merits or practicality of the Churchs view on the use of contraception in our modern society. Ok, Ill be right back. I say before first running to the bathroom to conduct a DEA level search for a rubber. I rip open drawers and cabinets, shoving cleaning products and toiletries desperately out of the way. I cant find any so I run downstairs naked. I think to check in my clothes, which I have left in the downstairs bathroom. On the way down the stairs I slip, creating a loud amount of commotion and some rug burn on my knees. Anna calls down to ask if I am okay. I tell her I am. I get up and continue towards the bathroom. I get there and begin digging through my pockets. I search all of them and turn up nothing. I think to search my wallet, but I never put condoms in there because a wallet is where condoms go to expire. Just then I hear my phone chime. I take my phone out of my pocket and see a text from Genevieve: Seriously cant wait until you get here! Hope you are having a fun drive. Xoxo I nod my head because I am proud of myself. I am about the get some new sex when I have other sex texting me at the same damn time. Glorious. This deserves a toast. I exit the room and go pour myself another drink. I take it down without hesitation. As soon as the scotch hits the back of my throat I immediately regret what I have just done. I want to vomit. I hold it together. Once I get my bearings back in order I stand there trying to remember what I am doing downstairs naked. I think about it, and think about, and I start retracing my steps. Halfway between the
alcohol and the bathroom it comes to me. My next course of action is to go ask Adam for condoms. I go to the sliding glass door and open it. Adam is sitting in the hot tub, lit joint in one hand, bottle of scotch in the other, head tilted back with his eyes closed. He looks up at me with a dazed and confused look. Whats up man, where the fuck are your clothes? He asks. I grab a towel to cover myself and explain the situation. He has me come over and hit the joint with him while he tries to think of the solution to my dilemma. He tells me the location of his condoms. I take this information and start running back inside. I stop at the door because I have another question. Where is Elizabeth? I inquire. He looks down repeatedly at the water and pokes his tongue into his cheek. I give him a thumbs up and rush back upstairs to complete this mission. What took you so long? Anna asks. Her southern accent causes me to laugh. I approach the nightstand where Adam told me his condoms would be. I pull out the box. It isnt my preferred brand but they will do. I take one out of the box and show it to Anna. She smiles. I plop down onto the bed next to her. She lies on her side facing me and begins playing with my dick. Put it in your mouth. I command. Anna looks at me seductively with those blue eyes as she gets in position to do as she is told. She puts my semi erect penis in her mouth and begins bobbing up and down. The head is kind of teethy but not so much so that she doesnt get a further rise out of my dick. This girl makes up for her lack of experience with effort, and with anything in life if you are giving good effort you should improve.
Less teeth. I whisper. Sowwrrry. Anna says with her mouth full before making the requested adjustment. She moves her head up in down at dynamic speeds and angles. I find this quite pleasurable. The thc, scotch and fellatio concoction is making this experience one of the top of my trip. If she keeps this up I dont know how much longer I could last. I need to get inside of her body, but I am like a dog getting his belly rubbed, I dont want this to stop. I am removed from this state when Annas head stops moving and the teeth are returned to the equation. Anna, no teeth. I call out. She doesnt respond and the pressure she is applying is slightly increasing. I call her name repeatedly and shake her to no avail. This girl has blacked out with my dick in her mouth, and I am afraid she is going to bite it off. I try slapping her on the ass. That doesnt work. I try lightly slapping her cheek. That doesnt work. I try lifting her head off of me, but all that does is cause her jaw to clamp further down. Perhaps if I push it far enough down her throat I can cause an involuntary response, which will give me enough time to escape her bear trap of a mouth. I hold her head and raise my pelvis. I get as far down her throat as I can but her current state has removed her gag reflex. Is this it for my dick? Am I going to lose it in some girls mouth? The thought causes me to lose my erection, which is not where I want to be. Without the hardness her teeth may be able to go straight through, castrating me in the process. A light bulb goes off in my head. I pinch her nose shut to cause her to solely breathe through her mouth. Thankfully this works. I turn her heavy ass head
to the side, off my crotch as I make my escape from the Jaws of Life. Once I am completely free I just shake my head and begin laughing uncontrollably. What a fucking scene.
Next Chapter.
I wake up to the sound of Anna in the bathroom. She comes back to the bedroom in just a towel. She notices I am awake. Oh hey, good morning handsome. She says. My eyes are adjusting and I decide it would make sense to sit up before replying. When I rise I realize I am still drunk. Where are you going? I ask Anna. Sunday School. She replies. She comes over to the bed to give me a kiss goodbye. She tries to leave but I hold her tight. She looks down into my eyes. Hey, dont judge me but did we have sex last night? She asks. What. You dont remember? I ask. Oh, well, yea I kind of remember, can we do it again before I leave. I promise to remember this time. She says. I dont object and I damn sure dont tell her the truth. I pull her on top of me, put a condom on and let her ride me until we both come. As soon as I am done I begin to fall back to sleep. She kisses me goodbye just before my eyes close. I awaken from my second slumber covered in sweat and to familiar sounds coming from the bathroom. I expect to see Anna but instead Adam is the one to come out of the bathroom in just a towel.
Get the fuck up and change my sheets. Were going to brunch. He commands.
Next Chapter.
How is everything? The waiter asks. Honestly, this food sucks. I reply The waiter looks at me blankly before walking away without responding. Youre an asshole. Adam tells me. Look man, if I said everything was fantastic, they would never know that their food needs improvement. People would stop eating here; in response management would first cut hours before eventually laying people off. Those that lose their jobs would stop paying their rents causing landlords to default on their mortgages, which in turn would trigger credit default swaps tied to mortgages, which would deplete capital reserves at banks, which would cause the credit markets to freeze up. Hell, I think I just got to the root of the financial crisis. I say. People not complaining about bad food in restaurants collapsed the global economy...What the fuck are you talking about? Adam asks annoyed. Perhaps I am reaching but that little dialogue gives a glimpse into the complex interworking of the global economy and financial system. Besides, it cant hurt for this place to know that they should serve better food. A Mexican busboy comes to remove the remains of our brunch. A half eaten bowl of cheesy grits that were a bit too salty, hash browns that were more like hash whites, and French toast that was drier than the Mojave. Although the food sucks it is good to see that Mexicans have made it all the way to Tennessee. Doing the jobs
that no American wants. There are probably more Mexicans working in the kitchen. It amazes me how Mexicans in America have mastered the culinary creations of the world. Im sure their skill in the kitchen in part explains why their women tend to peak at fifteen and only get wider with age. This peak is so well defined that there is a whole celebration for it known as a Quinceanera. Growing up with scores of Mexicans I participated in a couple and attended many more during my teenage years. The waiter returns with the check. A quick glance at the damages and Adam and I decide that although the food wasnt right the pricing is. We both place our plastic in the leather receipt holder. The waiter comes back and asks if we want an even split. We nod our heads. The waiter comes back with our credit cards and receipts. I tip the customary 20%. I glance over to see what tip Adam is leaving. It is decidedly less. I call him out on this. You know black people get poor service because it is assumed that black people are poor tippers. I say. The service wasnt that good. Adam replies. Exactly. I say. Adam and I get up to leave. We begin walking back towards his car. On the way we both notice a tall and ridiculously beautiful black woman walking on the opposite side of the street. Quality. He says. Do you think she is a good tipper? I joke before telling him I am going to go get her.
Hey! I yell to the woman. She ignores me. Hey you in the skinny jeans and stilettoes! I call out getting her attention this time. Im going to come over there and meet you real quick. I continue, before running across the street. She is even more beautiful up close then she was from across the street. She should be in the movies or something. This chic is as good as it gets. Im Francis, youre adorable whats your name? I ask while extending my hand for a handshake. My name is Cynthia, and youre pretty handsome yourself. She says while she shakes my hand with a firm yet feminine grip. The softness of her hands have me thinking about a glorious hand job, although hand jobs havent exactly been glorious since 8th grade. In fact hand jobs suck. I am always left disappointed and wishing I had just jerked myself off instead. Thank you, what do you do Cynthia? I ask. Cynthia tells me she is in pharmaceutical sales. Big Pharma recruits good looking women into their sales roles with promises of riches and the opportunity to meet and possibly marry a doctor. Big Pharma has figured out hot women mysteriously have an innate ability to convince doctors into prescribing drugs that their patients dont need, so every one wins. Well everyone except the public, who are left with a prescription drug addiction. So, you like being a drug dealer? I ask. I do, I get to help people live longer, and its good money. She replies.
The former is debatable. I say. What do you mean? Cynthia asks. Doesnt matter, where are you taking me tonight? I ask. Oh cutie, I cant my boyfriend would kill me. She answers in her sweet tea accent. Sounds abusive. You sure you want to be dating this guy? I joke. She laughs. Im flattered but I love my boyfriend Cynthia continues for the next three minutes talking about all the reasons she loves her boyfriend. When Ive heard enough of this I just tell her bye and walk back to the car. I guess I cant get them all. Being good with women is like being a good hitter in baseball. Luck is an even bigger component than skill. I bat maybe like .300 overall, but my homers come in bunches and I have a high on base percentage. Out of every ten girls I go up to, half will have a conversation with me, of those 5, 4 will give me their phone number, and if Im lucky 2 will go out on a date, and when I get a girl out on a date I close. Like any business you have to take your losses, but the only thing you may lose when you go talk to a woman is time and perhaps some selfesteem. Once you get over that and realize that selfesteem is free, like being able to borrow from the Federal Reserve at .25%, you realize you have nothing but upside. I return to the car and tell Adam of my failure. He tells me we are going to the forest to see his job site. We drive into the dense forest of the Tennessee valley. It is quite a beautiful and majestic site. I look out the window. The giant trees sway back and forth in the wind as we make our way down the freshly paved road. Over the trees I see a group of about twodozen birds flying in a perfect V. What a site to
behold. We arrive at what I assume is our destination, a large clearing in the middle of the forest. Adam parks the car and turns off his rental. This is it. Adam says. We exit the car. I stand there and survey the site. All of the trees have been cut down and the land has been graded. A giant bulldozer sits idle next to one of those trailers that are the offices of Mafiosos on TV. Diesel powered machines and generators liter the landscape. It is barren and sad, a stark contrast to the life and vibrancy of the surrounding forest. So they cut down a few acres of trees to put up a solar farm? I ask. Its much worse. They dont even recycle or sale the wood. Instead they dig a pit and just burn it all. Adam replies. Solar farms are supposed to be saving the planet, but to do so they burn trees and pollute ground water. I guess they are still better than burning fossil fuels. I hate false choices where the lesser of two evils are your only options. But I guess to save the planet tough choices are made in the pursuit of government subsidized cash flows. Everything has a price. Adam and I get on an ATV used by the workers and drive around the construction site. Adam explains the building process to me and tells me what the various machines do. He then tells a story about a worker losing a finger: The guy was tiny, probably about the size of McLovin, but he was too proud. Had to show everyone how strong he was. He was lifting one of the frames that the solar panels sit on. It is a twoman job, but pride. He dropped it onto another frame and it severed his shit. Adam says.
Once we are done driving around the site Adam drives the ATV into the forest. He picks a spot between some trees and produces a joint from his shirt pocket. He takes his time igniting the joint, to prevent it from going out prematurely or burning unevenly. Adam takes a long first drag. The orange hot end of the joint glows and expands as Adam fills his lungs with smoke. He exhales as he passes the herb filled paper. I receive it between my right thumb and index finger. I am careful not to pinch it too hard and cutoff the airflow. I raise the rolled paper to my lips and pull some smoke into my mouth, pausing a second before letting a small amount of smoke into the atmosphere and taking the remainder down into my lungs.
Next Chapter.
Im still high. I tell Adam over the phone. What, we smoked hours agoWhere are you now? Adam asks. I am somewhere in Mississippi driving about 105 miles per hour. I have only seen minimum speed signs since I entered the state about 30 miles ago, so Im assuming there is no speed limit. I say Im sure there is a speed li Adam says before the call drops. I shake my head. Steve Jobs greatest invention is such a wonderful device but such a terrible phone. I look down at the screen and see that I have no service. I assume I am in that part of AT&Ts coverage map that Verizon likes to display so prominently in their advertisements. The road is pitch black. I am cruising at triple digit speeds when I pass another minimum speed sign. This emboldens me to drive faster. I press my right foot down until the speedometer reads 120 miles per hour. If it werent so dark out I
would try to reach my cars theoretical maximum speed. That will have to wait for another day. I am lonely. The longer I drive with no cell service the more foolish I think this whole excursion is. I cant believe I am actually driving across the country by myself. While I feel it is good to be alone with my thoughts sometimes, 8 to 15 hours at a time is a bit much. When you have that much time alone with your thoughts it is easy to run out of positive things to think about. This happens to me. I begin reviewing all of the things I regret in life. The list is long and diverse. At the top of my list is not going home for the Thanksgiving holiday the week before my mother succumbed to her illness. Next on my list is breaking the heart of my first love at the age of 15. People like to say that high school love isnt a real love. I find that shit condescending and inaccurate. Im not 15 now and I can tell you those feelings of love I felt at that age were as real as any I have felt since, perhaps even more real because when you are that young you love with all of your heart because you dont know that the wonderful feelings associated with love also leave your heart vulnerable to some of the greatest pain. I think after that first love we all hold a little something back until we procreate with someone. That love I had for her was so real, so pure, so intoxicating and till this day is the highwater mark for which I measure all other loves. R.C. McCadden is the most remarkable woman I have met in my life. She is intelligent, funny, beautiful, exotic, sexy, stylish, versatile, and kind. She treats every person she comes across with respect and love regardless of race, class, sexuality, or creed. She is refreshing to be around. She is spectacular and she is one of my soul mates. Does she have her flaws, sure, we all do but R.C. is even able to turn her flaws
into a positive because instead of hiding, or ignoring them she acknowledges they exist and works to be better herself. When we were 15 I was lucky enough to have her love me with all her heart. I can still remember her smile, the smile that my presence was able to bring out in her, the smile that I was more than happy to put on her face, the smile that I so callously took away when I broke her heart to go out with a younger, more popular girl, a decision I immediately regretted and have regretted ever since. We still stay in touch, but that ship has probably sailed. She lives in San Francisco with the guy she is probably going to marry and if she is truly happy I can live with that. For fun I like to believe in the possibility of an alternate timeline where I didnt break her heart. I imagine our whole lives going completely different. I would have never left California for school. She would have never ended up in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship with that crazy asshole. I wouldnt have slept with all of these different women, broken so many hearts and seen so many lady tears. I wouldnt have to compare other loves to that love because I would have that love, I would have her, and her and I would have been together, happy, perfectly happy, happily ever after. Instead I am who I am because I did what I did. I think breaking her heart is the genesis for my current affliction, an unwavering desire to stick my dick into any beautiful woman that will spread her legs. It is like Im doing what Im doing to fill that R.C. McCadden sized hole in my heart. The women I meet and fuck all share one or some of the qualities that I love in R.C. but not all of them, that would be impossible because she is who she is and they are who they are. Perhaps I am
wrong. Perhaps shallowness is my problem. Perhaps I should shoot for women with more substance, not less beauty, but still, more substance. Shallowness is pervasive in our society, and I no doubt have benefited greatly from the shallowness of women. But that shit is still negative, and I dont want to be negative. People shouldnt be judged based on their physical attractiveness. No one chooses to be ugly, just like no one chooses to be black, or white, or gay, except unattractive people who are that way because they are fat, they choose that shit by being lazy and not exercising will power or anything else for that matter. I look down at my phone and see that some service bars have returned. I decide to take this opportunity to call Jasmine. Hey my Francie Poo, how are you, where are you? Jasmine answers. I can barely hear her. I find pet names this early in the relationship annoying, but I dont mention it. I tell Jasmine where I am and what I have been doing; neglecting to mention all of the women Ive been with. I do most of the talking because she is a low talker and I cant hear a fucking word she says. I hate low talkers. My favorite thing to do with women isnt to fuck them but to have deep and meaningful conversations with them. How do you have deep and meaningful conversations when you cant hear someone? Every time I ask her a question I cant hear her response, when I tell her to speak louder she tries but I still cant hear her. This is getting frustrating for me. I hang up the phone. Ill just act like the call dropped. I send her a text message: The service is really shitty out here, Ill talk to you soon lover.
I look at the time and do some quick calculations to determine what time I will arrive in New Orleans. I realize I will be driving right into their Monday rush hour. I shake my head at my own lack of foresight. Im sure I will pay for this lack of foresight. The price will be time spent sitting in bumper to bumper traffic if New Orleans is anything like Los Angeles. I pass another speed minimum sign and decide to speed up to beat the hypothetical traffic jam that will be waiting for me in New Orleans. The trees pass by in a dark flurry blur, the white lines of the road remind me of the Star Ship enterprise traveling at warp speed. I look as far ahead as my high beams will allow. Both of my hands grip the steering wheel in the 10 and 2 position. I am prepared to maneuver the car out the path of any hazards living or otherwise. I pass one of those cavities along the side of the road where law enforcement like to hide at 115 miles per hour. Once I pass it I look in my rearview and see a cop turning onto the highway. I assume I am going to jail for reckless driving. I think to make a run for it then think better of it. I ease off the accelerator and pull over. As I sit in the car waiting I wonder how many days I will have to spend in jail for reckless driving. This is going to ruin my trip. Who is going to bail me out of jail? How much is bail? Will they impound my car? How much is it to get my car out of impound? A somewhat overweight officer with the build of an offensive lineman approaches my window. When he arrives he puts his flashlight in my eyes. This move must be on page 8 of the coptraining manual. I roll down the window. Hello officer. I say. Youre a long ways from home. He says.
Yes I am, its been a long drive. I say. Well I pulled you over because you have a taillight out, I figured I would let you know so you can go ahead and get it fixed. The officer says. I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. The officer briefly checks my license and sends me on my way. What a pleasant interaction. Hours of driving, boring, uneventful, and unrelenting driving, later I am starting to feel tired. The feeling creeps from deep within my brain and moves down in waves through the rest of my body. It is 5am and I still have two hours to go. My destination: The French Quarter. When I arrive I will have a quick nap and some food before making a oneday guest appearance at the gulf coast cleanup effort. I reach down for an energy drink. It is room temperature at this point, but I need it. I crack it open and take a sip. It taste like warm robot piss. I want to spit it out. Instead I chug it down since caffeine will be the only thing that keeps me from falling asleep behind the wheel. I pass a sign that says I am only 70 miles away from the NO. There are a few more cars on the road, commuters driving to the gulf coast from where ever the fuck I am in Mississippi at this time. My assumption is these are the brave men who work on oilrigs. Oilmen have a crazy commute, drive to the coast, park, and then take a helicopter to the middle of the ocean where whatever rig they work on is sitting, isolated. I take notice of an old pickup truck that is raised to monster truck heights. The driver seems to have contempt for the speed limit as he is going at least 30 miles per hour over. I decide this truck will be my lead blocker.
I Google the NPR New Orleans to ascertain what frequency I should tune my radio. I tune my radio to the frequency Google tells me to. Google has become a trusted mentor; I do what ever it says. The topic of conversation on NPR is about a proposed municipal ordinance that would make it a crime to not properly sort your recyclables from your typical landfill waste. The host, who has an awesome name for radio, scoffs at this notion. He mentions that they cant even convict someone of murder in New Orleans, so how the hell are they going to convict people for not recycling properly. What type of place am I driving into? My mainstream media, hiphop derived view of New Orleans is one of a fantastic tourist destination with tons of history, worldclass restaurants, and expensive room rates surrounded by the Holly Grove projects, with the whole city covered with a green and purple voodoo haze. Approaching the city from the North, the surprisingly large downtown appears through the fog. I apologize New Orleans; you are a legitimate city. Since my most recent encounter with the law I have decided to take it somewhat easy on the accelerator. Im going about 78 miles per hour, Im not going to break any land speed records, but still well above the speed limit. This is why I am confused about being constantly passed by car after car, the drivers of which sneer at me as they pass, a few even honk their horns. I am the hare in this race. Drivers in New Orleans are in a hurry for some reason. The traffic around me is tight, not virgin tight, but sardines in a can tight. Everyone is tailgating the guy in front of him. Despite this, the flow of traffic is moving closer to 90 miles per hour. There is no margin for error. Although serial tailgating is the norm this doesnt
prevent people from completing five lane sweeps when given a window. So far I have counted seven such maneuvers. In my rearview mirror I see a Crown Victorian belonging to some local or statewide law enforcement agency entering the freeway. Perhaps his presence will put an end to this orgy of reckless driving. WRONG! The officer driving the Crown Vic completes a fivelane sweep of his own without even thinking of putting on his lights. He settles into the fast lane and blends seamlessly into the flow of traffic. Clearly he isnt interested in ruining anyones Monday. Fuck it. If the cops are okay with driving like an asshole so am I. I join the fray and do some tailgating of my own at 90 miles per hour. I see the exit I should take and do my own five lane sweep. That was fun. Sleep is heavy on my mind as I navigate through the rougher part of this great city towards my hotel in the French Quarter. One thing I notice about the streets of New Orleans is that they are completely fucked. When is the last time they fixed a pothole in this place? I am careful not to drive over any of the more egregious holes in the road. I cannot afford to damage one of my four remaining tires. I get lost several times due to the little blue dot in Google maps that is supposed to represent my location not representing my location. Eventually I abandon technology and just do things the old fashion way. I follow the street signs. When I finally arrive at the hotel my exhaustion is overwhelming. I give my car to the valet and mumble good morning to him. I go inside the hotel and begin the checkin process. A jolly, overweight black woman is the only one working behind the counter. I greet her. I cant understand a word she says because my brain has
shut down. I am a zombie. I fall asleep standing several times before I complete the arduous checkin ritual. She hands me my keys and directs me to the guest elevators. I take the elevator to my floor, exit and find my room. When I get to the door I cant believe there is an actual keyhole. I open the little sleeve she gave me and pull out a brass key. I cant remember if I have ever been in a hotel with real keys. I turn the key and open the door. I immediately throw down my bag and strip to my boxers. The bed is calling me but so is my bladder. I go into the bathroom and take a long awaited leak. When I am done I flush the toilet and thoroughly wash my hands. I go gather some toiletries, return to the bathroom and wash my face and brush my teeth. The bed is still calling me, but I muster the last ounce of energy in my body and workout on the floor. My routine is 100 pushups and the sequence from 8minute abs, which I have long since committed to memory. I get up off the floor and go to the bed. I remove the hotel comforter because I am sure they dont wash it between guests. I curl up under the sheets and immediately pass out.
Next Chapter.
Im doing my part the assist in the gulf coast clean up effort. I owe it to mother nature due to my aggressive use of motor vehicles. I have to get right with mother earth but Im concerned the four hours of sleep I was able to achieve may not be enough for the physical labor that the volunteer leader has just told me I will be doing. My task is to shovel oil soaked sand into a wheel barrel. Then push the wheelbarrow to a larger mound of dirty sand where I dump it out and start the process over again. It seems daunting but it wont be that bad, besides I will collect
good karma and a glorious story to tell women. Women dig guys that care about the planet. I am too tired to converse with my fellow Planeteers. I insert my headphones and play some Wiz Khalifa. Hopefully people will get the hint. I do my work and I am not being bothered. I guess people can take a hint. Well not all people. Some hipster looking guy dressed like the joker is in front of me trying to talk. I cant hear him above my music. I remove one ear bud so I can hear him. Pardon? I ask. Oh sorry, I was just asking how many days you have been volunteering? The hipster asks. Hold on a second. I tell him as I spot a potentially hot girl in giant sunglasses walking by. Hey, hows it going? I call out to the potential hottie who turns to look at me. Good and you? She asks. Glorious. I reply. She smiles before going about her business. Sorry about that man, Im just always on. Back to your question, this is my first day what about you? I say to the hipster. He tells me he has been out here since the first days of the spill doing all variety of jobs, cleaning birds, shoveling sand, putting together tents, answering phones at the phone bank. He then enters into a monologue where he blames this oil spill on greedy capitalist. This is where I stop him.
Capitalism isnt so bad, if we didnt have capitalism you would have to produce your own food, you know how to farm and slaughter animals? How would you eat without money? I question. I rarely pay for food anyways. He says. What, how do you eat if you rarely pay for food? I ask. I dumpster dive. The hipster replies like I should have known. Oh Im sorry man, I didnt know you were homeless. I say. Ha, no need to apologize. Im not homeless. He clarifieswell not really. Ummm, but you eat out of the garbage? I say as I think to escape. The hipster explains to me that it isnt what I think. He tells me that he knows the closing times of every fine dining establishment in New Orleans and that these restaurants throw away all kinds of goodies: fince cuts of meat, fresh veggies, fresh seafood, delicious bread and hes always there, right on time to take it. He tells me about one of his greatest finds. I get to the restaurant right on time. When I open the dumpter there is the nicely tied and wrapped stack. I dont know what its going to be but I know it is going to be something good. I unwrap this gift from the gods and there are like ten prime cuts of meat. Filet mignon, New York strips, ribeyes, all of the best cuts. He says. Glorious Kind of. I reply. Then some homeless guy comes up and asks if he can have what I have found. The hipster continues. So you gave them to him. I assume.
Hell no, but I told him we could share. He says. The hipster and I exchange names and talk while we work next to each other. His name is Chris and he is a successful artist and former child prodigy from a coastal city in Florida. He started painting at 3. Sold his first painting at 8. Was emancipated at 15. Moved to New Orleans right after Katrina for inspiration. Created his most successful series to date from that inspiration. Fell in love with New Orleans but was ready to move before the most recent disaster hit the region, which he took as a sign that he should stay. I begin talking about my road trip when the girl who walked by earlier interrupts me. Hey, Im Stephanie, you said hi to me before and I walked away, but I thought to myself, that guy is really good looking. I should go introduce myself and maybe give him my number. So here I am. She says nervously. Hello Stephanie, Im Francis. I shake her hand before continuing. Id be happy to take your number, you know how this works? I ask as I hand her my iphone. She puts her number in my phone and tells me to call her once my day is over. Before she is even ten yards away Chris starts talking shop. Did that really just happen? Chris asks. Yea, Ive been on a bit of a hot streak recently. I reply. Hot streak? He questions. Yea, like blackjack. Its raining bitches. I reply. Speaking of rain. Chris points to the sky and the dark clouds forming above us.
Chris, myself, and about twodozen other volunteers crowd into a tent where the tools are stored. The smells of mildew and body odor fill the air. I assume it is a military tent, the kind you see on TV where all the higher ups control the chess pieces. The volunteer leader who earlier assigned me my task begins speaking into a megaphone. WERE GOING TO CALL IT TODAY DUE TO THE STORM. THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOUR HELP AND I WILL SEE YOU TOMORROW. He says through his electronic amplifier. Chris asks me what my plans are for later. I tell him that I will probably be fucking Stephanie. He appreciates my confidence and invites me out to eat. Im not eating out of a dumpster. I tell him. Haha, we can go pay for food if that suits you better. Chris says. That Im down for. I respond. Prior to parting ways Chris and I exchange phone numbers and he tells me the location of our destination. I run out of the tent and to my car to avoid getting too soaked. Running doesnt do much good as I arrive to my car soaking wet anyways. Ill tolerate it. Its not like I am the Wicked Witch of the West or a black woman who just got her hair did. I map out the address where I am to meet Chris. It isnt too far away from my hotel. I turn on my car and follow the directions. I am on my way. Despite the rain, the drivers of this city are still in a race. I manage to avoid death by car accident and arrive at the address. From the outside it looks like one of those hole in the walls
that Guy Fieri and Adam Richman are so fond of. (The hosts of Diners, Driveins, and Dives, and Man v. Food respectively) I hope Im not risking a case of food poisoning. I find a parking spot not too far away. I decide to use this time to send off some text messages to Genevieve and Jasmine as well as a call to Stephanie. I shoot off my text and then scroll through my contacts to Stepanies name, which she entered as Stephanie Planet Saver The phone rings once, twice, three times, voice mail. Its Francis, give me a call back. Is the message I leave. I remind myself of the worthlessness of phone numbers. I wrote a paper about this once and the empirical data that my friends and I were able to gather show that of every 10 numbers received on average led to 1.8 dates. Women are an incredibly fickle bunch. I exit my car and sprint to the establishment. I open the old wood door and to my amazement see about 15 people in line waiting to place their orders. Near the middle I notice Chris, thanks to his hipster ass hair cut. I walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder. We nod our heads acknowledging each other before I settle in next to him. An overweight black woman standing behind us accuses me of cutting. Hey, Ive just been volunteering my valuable time cleaning up the oil spill, trying to better the region, can a guy get a break? I ask. Im just saying; its rude as hell to just cut. She replies. Apologies. I reply.
The line creeps along. I ask Chris whats good. He tells me not to worry about it, hell order. We arrive at the register. The woman working behind the counter immediately recognizes Chris. Chris! How you doin baby? She asks in a roux smooth Louisiana accent. Fine Miss Shirley and yourself? Chris responds. Miss Shirley tells Chris that she is blessed everyday the lord wakes her up. He says amen to that and orders two of the usual. What ever that is. Chris reaches into his pocket and pulls out some cash. Baby, dont insult me now, you know good and well I am going to take care of you. Miss Shirley protest. Thank you Miss Shirley. He says. Thank You. I follow. Chris and I find an empty table to sit at while we wait for our food. There is a brief silence between us that we both try to end at the same time. So. We both say simultaneously. I let Chris take the lead. So, Im assuming you are single. Chris states. Just recently actually. What about you, you have a girlfriend? I ask. Not exactly. He says. What does that mean? I question. Well Im engagedto a guy. He answers. Oh shit thats cool man, good for you. I congratulate before telling Chris about my time spent at the West Hollywood Abbey. He looks relieved. Im sure his concern was him being gay would somehow ruin our nascent friendship, and Im
sure for some it would have, but not for me. Being around gay people isnt going to turn someone gay. I have gay friends; I was in the flower boy in a lesbian wedding, and if you have been reading this shit you know that I am as straight as they come. Hate is a waste of energy as far as I am concerned. Besides gay dudes are still men, they just so happen to be born liking dick. The woman from the counter personally delivers our food to us. We thank her before rising from our seats. I follow Chris through the back door of the establishment, down a long hallway, to another door that leads to an outdoor staircase. The staircase is old and made of wood, it has old faded blue paint, and Im not entirely sure we should be walking up it. I keep my mouth shut and follow Chris up two flights of stairs. We arrive at a door with a gray welcome mat in front of it. Chris lifts the mat and reveals a key, which he uses to open the door. We enter the door. The room is pitch black until Chris turns on a light illuminating what is his artist studio. The room is filled with paintings both complete and incomplete. There are sketchbooks and materials spread out all over the place. There is also a bunch of antique furniture. This place is funky. One of the paintings on the wall catches my eye. The background is a vanilla sky like you would see from Monet and the foreground contains a beautiful crystal city suspended above ruins. What inspires you? I ask Chris. Right now? Chris asks. I meant generally, but sure right now. I state. Chris explains to me that the oil spill, the event itself and the associated clean up efforts are what is inspiring him right now. But mainly the oil and what that
represents. The progress that oil has given society. Its many uses. Oil is the lifeblood of the modern economy. But it also has an inherent darkness. Not just its physical appearance but metaphorically speaking as well; all of the back dealing, the corruption, the wars, the marginalization of entire populations, the pollution. I sit there in silence briefly taking it all in. Well enough sadness, Im going to go hit the bong and then eat this amazing sandwich. Chris says before handing me a warm foil wrapped blob. I sit down on an antique chair and begin unwrapping my meal. What is revealed is one of these world famous New Orleans poboys. A warm baguette surrounds a small amount of lettuce, a couple of tomatoes and what seems like a buckets worth of fried shrimp. My mouth immediately begins to water. I rush into my first bite like a starving African child. The first bite is a glorious one. This is a damn delicious sandwich. The bread is perfectly balanced, flaky on the outside tender in the center. The shrimp are seasoned and fried to perfection, and the lettuce and tomatoes provide the proper amount of moisture to make all that bread go down without drying out my mouth. This may be the perfect sandwich. I nod my head approvingly between glorious bites. Chris returns from the corner of the room with a threefoot tall smoking apparatus. Apparatus is disrespectful. Chris returns from the corner of the room with a threefoot tall work of art. The bongs extra large red base is surrounded by a sculpture of three busty shedevils of different races who are all holding hands. They have typical demon qualities like horns and long tails. Their tails spiral up the shaft of the bong ending at the ice catcher. The detail of the piece is astonishing, the facial
detail of the shedevils is so clear that you can tell the ethnicity of each demoness; one Asian, one African American, one Caucasian. The top of the bong is another sculpture; the open mouth of a dragon. Chris takes some buds out of a zip lock bag. He breaks down the weed and places it into the bowl. He grabs a giant lighter with which he of course uses to ignite the weed. The smoke goes from the bowl, down the stem, into the water, up through 2 percolators, pass the ice, and out the dragons mouth into Chriss. Where did you get that bong? I manage to ask between huge bites of my delicious sandwich. I made it myself, they teach some practical things in art school. Chris answers. In the next sixty seconds I finish what remains of my sandwich. I reminisce on how well it entertained my taste buds before I start to question the origin of the shrimp. Is this gulf coast shrimp? Isnt the gulf covered in oil right now? Would they serve oilslicked shrimp? Once these questions pop up in my head I notice an almost chemical like after taste in my mouth. I have no idea if this came from my head or is real. Noticing I am done with my food Chris passes me his beautiful bong. I receive it with both hands and grip it tightly. I carefully place the heavy piece of art/drug paraphernalia down between my legs. Chris tosses me the giant lighter. I spark it and apply the flame to the bowl while I take a shallow pull. Chris gives me shit for being a pussy. I tell him I dont want to ruin my night by burning up my throat.
Chris and I pass the bong back and forth while we converse about several topics. We discuss the domestic and international failures of the Bush Administration, the lack of equal educational opportunities in America, war, peace, and the real estate boom and collapse. Believe it or not I was caught up in that whole real estate craziness. Chris says. You were trying to be a young Donald Trump? I ask. No, just wait here a second. He says. Chris gets up and fetches a sketchbook from one of his many stacks. He returns and sits next to me. He opens the book, which contains drawings of houses. Some of the houses are more conventional and some look like something a hobbit would live in. These are houses that I designed, eighteen of them were built. Chris says. I thought you studied art, not architecture. I say as we scan through the pages. Im just an artist, but someone, somewhere thought it would be a great idea for me to design some houses to be built, and they were paying so I didnt complain. He says. We continue to turn the pages when one of the houses looks eerily familiar. I think hard through the marijuana fog and I think I have figured it out. Where did they build these houses? I ask. Right outside of Nashville. Chris answers. I tell him that I think I stayed in one of his houses last night. The one rented by Adam. What a small fucking world.
We spend the next few hours looking at some of the art Chris is working on and talking about his process. It is a long drawn out monologue that I am sure he has performed countless times at numerous gallery openings, but I still find it genuinely interesting. I ask him the prices on some of his pieces. They range between anywhere from $2,000 to $30,000. I am impressed. It is difficult putting a price on what is essentially a window to my soul, but I have to live and this damn sure beats a real job. Chris says. I find art and the prices people are willing to pay for it fascinating. To my untrained eye, a lot of art looks like shit smeared by a toddler on a canvass, and then I hear it cost over a hundred thousand dollars. Still there is plenty of art that I find pleasing to look at and regardless of whether I think it is good or bad I still admire someone who was willing to put in hours of work and display their creation to the world. The stuff that looks like kindergartner vomit can still be good art because a piece of art isnt just what you see in front of you. It is the story that that piece is trying to tell. Human beings by nature love a good story. Some of us go and create our own glorious stories, whether through living an adventurous life, or being creative, and others are too damn busy making money or their stories are so fucking boring that they go and buy a good one. That is why art can get so expensive. The purchaser can end up with two different kinds of stories and it varies depending on whether the art was created by a living or deceased artist. The Pablo Picasso pieces that go for millions provide the purchaser with a story about how they spent a bunch of money on a piece of work by an all time great artist. The Damien Hirst pieces that go for millions of dollars provide the story that Damien Hirst was trying
to communicate, which Damien Hirst himself is able to tell the purchaser who in turn can tell his friends to impress them. Everyone loves a good story. Next Chapter. I get a text message from Stephanie, the girl from the gulf coast cleanup effort: Hey Francis, I just got out of a meeting are you still willing to meet up? I thank Chris for the hospitality and art lesson and tell him I have to go do what I do best. We bro hug and promise to meet up next time he is in Los Angeles. I exit his studio and return to my car. On the short drive back to my hotel I contemplate my response to Stephanies text message. The beauty of the text message is that you can craft a near perfect response and reply back at your leisure. Taking your time to reply shows the lasses faire attitude that women seem to dig. No one wants to be with someone that seems desperate. I pull up to the valet at my hotel. The valet opens the door to my car for me. Welcome back Sir. He says. Thanks dude, how is your day going? I ask. Just fine Sir, and yours? Glorious. I state. I enter the hotel and extend a greeting to any and all staff that I cross with on the way to my room. When I arrive to my room I take the comforter off my freshly made bed and fall down into it. I pull my phone out of my pocket and type my reply to Stephanie: Stephanie, sure lets meet at 7:15 you pick the place.
She replies instantly with the name and address of a bar where we are to meet. I map the location and see that it is in walking distance. I pop up and immediately go to the shower. I open the curtain and fool with the dials; a quarter inch to the left with this one, a half inch to the right with that one, until I find the perfect temperature. I disrobe, sit on the toilet and make myself lighter before hopping in. The steam of the shower and the sound of the water crashing to the floor cause me to enter a state of deep relaxation. The shower is where I typically do my best thinking. This time around I do some thought provoking work on my understanding of the femalemale power dynamic. On a macro level, in our society and in most societies around the world men are clearly in control. We should be. Men have the physical strength to build things. Women simply do not possess the physicality to build things, real things, like buildings, not Ikea furniture. Men have built every great city in the history of the world, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Sure, women can design, and solve problems and be intelligent and all that good stuff but they cant build. If we couldnt build we wouldnt even have the relatively cohesive society that we have now because there wouldnt be enough shelter. Luckily for women and all mankind, but mainly women, one of the benefits of this relatively cohesive society is it is no longer acceptable for men to go around raping. Since men just cant take sex like it is the Middle Ages women are given complete power over their bodies. Men have a fatal weakness; men need sex. In turn, the power that women have over their own bodies translates into power over men. Any form of power can be abused and some women are guilty of abusing
the power they have over men by withholding sex. Some women withhold sex to control a mans behavior or even worse for material gain. But power is merely an illusion so to flip that illusion around back in mans favor I have realized all a man needs to do is control his own access to sex. A man can control his own access to sex by maintaining a list of willing female partners and gaining the skill necessary to continuously add to that list. One simple way to make adding to this list easier is to stay well groomed. I brush my teeth with my sonic toothbrush and thoroughly wash my face and body with a washcloth. I take my time to make sure Im as fresh as possible for my date. While washing my groin region I notice a long strand of blonde hair tangled up amongst my trimmed pubes. At first I am grossed out, but that feeling quickly turns to pride as I realize it is Annas long blonde hair. I reach for the small hotel shampoo, twist off the cap, throw it on the floor, and pour a small amount of shampoo into my hand. I place the bottle down before rubbing my hands together and massaging the lather into my hair. 30 seconds of this is enough. I rinse and repeat the process again except this time I replace the shampoo with conditioner. I turn off the shower and grab a towel. I dry every part of my body except my face. I step over to the counter. I grab another towel to wipe the condensation off of the mirror. I reach into my bathroom bag and remove my shaving cream, razor, and preshave oil. I open the bottle of preshave oil. The masculine aroma of sandalwood fills the air. I pour a large drop of oil onto two of my fingers prior to rubbing it onto my five oclock shadow. I replace the cap and perform a similar process with the shaving cream. Once complete, I rinse my hands with cold water. I grab the razor and run the blades
under the faucet. I raise the blades to my face and focus on each downward stroke. I work my way from the right side of my face, down to my chin and neck, rinsing the blades clean after each stroke. I then focus on the area above my lip, taking my time to meticulously shave those tough whiskers that sit near my nostrils. Finally I shave the left side of my face with long deliberate strokes. I rinse the razor one final time before resting it on the counter. I rinse my face by cupping my hands under the running water and lifting them to my face. The cold water feels refreshing. I reach into my bathroom bag again and remove a small bottle of witch hazel. I twist off the cap and spill a small pool into the palm of my left hand. I splash my face with the liquid. I grab a clean towel and carefully pat dry my face. I once again reach into my bag, this time to retrieve a bottle of noncomedogenic facial moisturizer. I turn the tiny pump of the 4oz bottle to the on position and dispense a small amount of moisturizer into my hand. I gently rub the moisturizer into my face. I do one final inspection of my face and teeth in the mirror prior to exiting the bathroom. I go to my luggage and pull out a suitable outfit. I put on the clothes. When I look at myself in the mirror I realize the shirt I have chosen is too wrinkled. I shake my head and remove the shirt. I gather the iron and ironing board from the closet and set them up at the foot of the bed. I go to the bathroom to get some water. I put the water into the iron and turn the iron to its highest setting. I take my time to remove every wrinkle. When I am done I put on the warm crisp shirt. I look at myself again in the mirror, this time I nod approvingly. I put all of the domestic tools back in the closet. I slip my foot into my sneakers and fill my pockets with the necessities: my phone, my wallet, and some condoms.
Next Chapter.
As I walk into the crowded bar I scan the room. There are several cuties that notice me, but I dont think any of them are Stephanie. The more I think about it; I realize that I may not even know what this girl looks like. Our encounter was so brief. All I can remember about our meeting was her great attitude, how glorious I felt, and her big sunglasses. Is she tall or short, skinny or fat, her hair long or short? I think she has brown hair, but I could be wrong. What hairstyle did she even have? A ponytail? Every detail of this girl is lost on me at the moment. I have a seat right in the middle of the bar. This seat gives me a clear view of the space opposite of me occupied by two hot girls that are talking about how hot they think I am. I make eye contact with the better looking of the two. We smile at each other. She whispers something to her friend. Her friend briefly makes eye contact with me before quickly turning away and giggling with her friend. I smirk and shake my head. I take a peak at my watch. My date is late. I need a drink. I notice another group of hot girls sitting adjacent to me. One of them catches me looking. Fuck it, I keep looking. The girl sitting at the left end of the group looks up and eye fucks the shit out of me. I smile at her and nod in acknowledgement. She taps her friend closes to her and whispers something in her ear. The friend glances at me. She says something to her friend. I make it out to be Oh my God, hes really hot. Her friend slaps her on the arm and they both look away. I laugh on the inside; a slight grin shines out. I glance at my timepiece. This girl is really late now. I still need that drink. I gain the attention of the bartender. He raises his eyebrows, the universal sign for What the fuck are you drinking, and you better hurry and tell
me. I order a double vodka soda and have him put it in a beer glass. While the bartender practices his craft a really hot girl enters the bar. The whole room notices. The guys talk about how hot she is and some of the girls hate. She joins the group of girls sitting opposite from me. They greet each other like they are all old friends. The bartender delivers my drink. I hand him a credit card and advise him to keep my tab rolling. I have that feeling of being watched. A scan of the room confirms the feeling is warranted. Both groups of girls are looking my way. I think they like me. I shift my vision to my wrist. The second hand gracefully sweeps from point to point. I take a large gulp of my drink. If I am being stood up there are still wins to be had in this establishment. If this girl isnt here in the next 4 minutes Im seeking comfort in another vagina. Another group of 3 hot girls enter the bar with a slightly overweight brown haired girl, with bad makeup, and wearing all of the wrong clothes. The overweight girl doesnt fit in with the group at all. I thought hot girls rolled in packs. I take another swig of my drink. I look down at my chronometer; Stephanies four minutes are up. I take another large taste of my social lubricant. I am ready to push the right buttons on one of these hot girls that have already decided I am good looking enough to go home with. Which one should I go for? My phone chimes in my pocket; a text message from Stephanie: Im here. I cant find you. I glance around and I dont see Stephanie, but again, I dont really know what she looks like. I feel a tap on my left shoulder. I turn around to a slightly overweight brown haired girl with bad makeup, wearing all of the wrong clothes. She has on green eye shadow, bright red lipstick, a yellow tank top, a black miniskirt and red
pumps that match her lips. The phrase lipstick on a pig comes to mind. I do a glorious job of masking my disappointment. I get out of my seat and stand. Come here. I command as I grab Stephanie and give her a huge hug. Wow, great to see you too. She says, startled. I grab the stool to my left and pull it closer to my own for Stephanie. She takes her seat. I take mine. I ask her what she is having. She tells me bud heavy. Classy. I order her drink and another for myself, plus an extra shot. I look around the bar at the two groups of hot girls I now wish I had just gone and talked to. Their faces range anywhere from shock, to disappointment, to anger. I even notice a few snickers. What would all the beautiful women I have had sex with in life feel about me doing something like this? Im not saying I only fuck super models and actresses, no one does, but everyone wishes they could. Its the reason we have sex symbols. One thing most Americans can agree on is whom we find attractive. Those people typically make it to the top of Hollywoods A list, or the cover of some magazine. The fact is the world isnt made up of super models and movie stars. The entire population of the world probably only contains 1,000,000 people with that level of physical beauty. Not to say there arent plenty of goodlooking people in the world and that all of the 7 billion people on the planet arent beautiful in some way, but I am talking about being able to earn a living off of physical attractiveness. There just isnt enough of that to go around but I still think a base level of attractiveness of my sexual partners is important. I also think it is important to fuck a lot of women. It is good for my self esteem and helps keep my head clear. But I dont want people thinking I make a
habit out of fucking unattractive girls. That would ruin my whole reputation. Friends and family are already questioning my lifestyle choices, but one thing they cant say is that the women I bed arent all attractive. Everyone knows someone that is constantly getting laid but does so with no standards except maybe the presence of a heart beat. Instead of being a salute to their conquest, the conversations that people have about that person deteriorate into a summation of their disgraces. Those conversations typically go like this: Person A: Person C gets laid all the time. Person B: Yea but Person C would also fuck anything that moves. Ive seen Person C do things I wouldnt do with your genitalia. The key to it all is to find the equilibrium where quantity and quality intersect. It is a personal choice, but one that the outside world is judging. I ask Stephanie what she does as if I will actually be interested. I am a PhD candidate. Stephanie answers. This intrigues me. My one kryptonite when it comes to women is I really love smart girls. I inquire on the focus of her studies. Chemical Engineering. She answers. Fuck, an exact science, not the qualitative pseudo science of the social variety where there isnt one right answer. Perhaps I can make an exception for this girl. Where do you study? I ask. The University of Southern California. Stephanie answers. No way. I live downtown on 3rd St. I say excitedly. I live downtown on 3rd St. She responds.
3rd and what? I ask. Third and Bixel. Stephanie answers. Me too! I say excitedly. We figure out that we live in the same building. Other commonalities we share are our age, means of transportation (she also drives a Jetta), love of adult cartoons like Archer and Southpark, and a thirst for knowledge. She asks me what I do for a living. I tell her about my professional gambling activities and my use of multivariate time series analysis, bi and trinominal trees, geometric means, partial differential equations and the like. Being an engineer she understands exactly what I am talking about. I dig that. Next I ask Stephanie if she can synthesize MDMA for me. She asks me what that is. I explain to her that MDMA is the active ingredient in ecstasy and goes by the street name Molly. Maybe, whats in it? She asks. I Google MDMA Synthesis which brings a site with the necessary steps and chemicals needed to produce the drug. I pass my phone to Stephanie. She takes a look at the webpage. We have most of these things in the lab, I could definitely make it. She declares. Glorious. I reply. We talk more about drugs before I move the conversation towards sex. I tell a few stories about some recent conquest which leads to Stephanie asking the tough questions. So do you have sex with a lot of girls? She asks.
I used to, but now I only have sex with women I like as human beings. I answer. As opposed to liking them as dogs? Stephanie jokes. Damn, this girl is funny too. I think I like her. How long does it take to figure out if you like someone? She asks. I think anyone can know within a half hour of conversation, sometimes sooner. I respond. That is absurd. She states. I dont think so, you dont have to be in love to have sex with someone. You know right now whether you like me or not. I rebut. Youre not getting laid tonight. Stephanie says. How do you know? I ask. What are you going to do, rape me? She asks. No, this isnt the middle ages, that type of thing is no longer socially acceptable unless of course you are into that. I joke before continuing. There are plenty of other women in this room that I am sure are willing to have sex with me, watch this. I wave to one of the groups of hot girls. They smile and wave back. See what I mean. I say to Stephanie. Impressive. She says. At this point I should be making out or at least holding hands, but I cant bring myself to make a move despite having an awesome time with this girl. I look at her and there is literally no physical attraction. I decide to just keep talking. I find out that Stephanie is in New Orleans because she developed a chemical that helps
biodegrade the oil faster. The largest oil spill in the world is her lab for the summer and her chemical is working wonderfully. The only problem is they cannot produce the stuff quickly enough. This girl is awesome; I decide to throw her a bone. I close my tab and Stephanie and I walk towards the door. The two groups of girls have their eyes fixed on us. I encourage Stephanie to wave goodbye to them. She does before we walk out of the place. We are walking towards another bar. I switch positions with Stephanie so I am walking between her and the street because that is a gentlemans place. You know, Im done with bars. Do you just want to go to my place and smoke some weed? Stephanie asks. Hell yeah, that is a glorious plan. I reply. I walk down Bourbon St. with Stephanie back to my hotel where we retrieve my car from the valet. She gives me directions to her Environmental Protection Agency funded rental. I am kind of drunk, but not so much so that I cant drive, but definitely enough to get a DUI. Do they even enforce drunken driving laws in Louisiana? How could they when they allow drive thru daiquiri shops. We make it to her spot without incident. A white picket fence surrounds the cozy home. Out front is an impeccably manicured lawn. Once Stephanie figures out the door we stumble into the house. Stephanie points me in the direction of the couch. I have a seat. In front of me lies a 55inch flat screen television. Stephanie disappears into another room. I pull out my phone and see that I have a text from Genevieve: Hope youre not having too much fun Cant wait to see you. xoxox
Stephanie returns to the room with two glasses of red wine. I smoothly return my phone to my pocket before she takes her seat next to me. She hands me my glass. We clang glasses and have our first sips. Stephanie looks deep into my eyes. She wants me to kiss her, but I am so not physically attracted to her, no matter how much I want to be. I need to get more fucked up. This girl didnt choose to be unattractive, it isnt her fault her parents provided her with the genes to be super intelligent and not the ones to be a super model. This girl is funny, intelligent, and willing to synthesize drugs for me. She deserves to get fucked. I down the rest of my glass of wine in one gulp. Stephanie looks over at me. Wow, you want another? She asks. I do. But you lured me over here with the promise of marijuana smoke. I say. Oh, ok. She says with a huge smile. She gets up and runs to one of the bedrooms. She quickly returns but not before I was able to reply to Genevieve with a smiley face. Stephanie places a green medicine bottle and a box of rolling papers down on the coffee table. Can you do this? My roommate typically rolls. She says. I nod my head and open the bottle. I choose a nice looking nug and begin breaking it down on the cover of the latest issue of Science magazine. I pull out a rolling paper from the box Stephanie placed next to the weed. She watches intently as I place the weed into the center of the paper and in one motion roll it closed. I then lick the gummed edge to seal the deal and pass the perfectly rolled joint to the engineer for final inspection.
Impressive. She states. Do you have a lighter? I ask. She thinks to herself before shaking her head. What about matches? I inquire. She shakes her head again. Gas stove? I ask. She smiles at me before standing up and leading the way. When we get to the kitchen I go to the stove and turn the nob for a burner. I place an end of the joint at the edge of the blue flame. This is some drug addict shit. I say. She smiles as she watches me light our drug. I take a quick puff and then pass it to her. She tells me we have to smoke outside since this is governmentfunded housing. She leads me to the backdoor. I open the door for her. She exits, I follow. I gently close the door behind me. She takes some drags and passes the j back to me. I take a long deep puff. What do you think of this weed? She asks. I think about it for a few seconds and take another hit before answering. I dont know. Im just really fucked up right now. I say. I try to pass the joint back to Stephanie. Im way too high right now. She declines. After one hit? I ask prior to taking another drag. This is only my third time smoking. Stephanie states.
Whaaa. Thats crazy. I smoked weed for the first time when I was 13, although I didnt get high for the first time until I was 15. I say. Thats crazy. She replies. I put the joint out on the ground, taking great care to completely snuff out the fire before handing what remains to my hostess. During our peregrination back to the couch Stephanie grabs the wine bottle she opened earlier. When we sit down on the couch Stephanie immediately fills our wine glasses. Are you trying to get me drunk? I ask. Obviously, I think youre really hot. She replies. My experience with these situations is talking to me. It is telling me to shove my tongue down her throat. But my dick wants no part and my dick is in charge. I need to drink more. I grab my glass of wine and down half of it. It is now halfempty. I immediately grab the bottle and fill my glass back to fullfull. Stephanie grabs the remote control. She turns on the television and enters her DVR menu. She selects an episode of Archer. If you dont about Archer you should watch that shit. It is in the top five most hilarious shows on television. I am now done plugging someone elses creative outlet. We sit back and laugh hysterically throughout the episode. The marijuana, alcohol, the company, and spectacular comedic writing of the show complement each other gloriously. I am truly having a good time. I should add sex to it. I look over to Stephanie. When I look at her, with her bad makeup, wearing those clothes that dont quite go together, those clothes that were the pinnacle of style in the late nineties, I cant help but think what is underneath those clothes, and what lies
underneath those clothes is nothing but disappointment. Fuck it. If she makes it easy Ill do it. All I have to do is find something sexy on this girl. I scan her up and down. Her legs are kind of toned. There it is, she has sexy legs. I pull her closer to me and put my arm around her. She settles in nicely beneath my arm. I grab her chin and turn her face toward mine. I slowly lean in. She closes her eyes. I move closer. Our lips meet. We are kissing. I move my hand from her chin to her neck. I move from her neck and hover over her breasts. I sensually massage her breasts. Her tongue lashes around in my mouth. I move my hand to her knee. I slowly move my hand up her inner thigh. Im rubbing her pussy through her panties. She stops kissing my mouth and moves to my neck. I rub her pussy harder. She moans. Her wetness soaks through her panties. She pauses from kissing my neck. Lets go to my room. Stephanie suggests. She leads the way. She opens the door and enters. She keeps the light off. I appreciate that. I follow her into the room. She sits on the bed. I take off my shirt and shoes. I join Stephanie in bed. We resume where we left off. Shes still soaking wet. I slip two fingers around her panties and into her vagina. It is moist and soft and warm. The precise attributes one would expect a vagina to have. She moans. I finger her while she kisses my neck and feels on my ripped chest and abs. She moves her hands down to my belt buckle, which she undoes. I remove my fingers from her vagina and slyly move them under my nose. No bad smells. I take off her shirt. While she continues to kiss my neck I put my right hand behind her back and in one motion undo her bra. Youve done this before. She says.
Shhhh. I respond before kissing her. I pull her skirt off, followed by her panties. She is completely naked. I push her down onto her back. I stand up on the bed and reach into my back pocket. I take out a condom. I drop my pants and boxers and roll the condom down my dick. I get back down onto the bed and settle between her legs. I am about to enter her when she interrupts. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? She asks angrily. Ummm, getting ready to fuck you? I reply with a confused look on my face. No you arent. I told you earlier we werent going to have sex. What type of girl do you think I am? I cant believe you. You know what, put your clothes on. She says like she is talking to a child. I sit there naked, condom on, with a confused look on my face. I feel small. Wait a second. Why am I feeling this way? Is this bitch fucking crazy? I guess hot guys are just lining up to fuck slightly overweight unattractive chemical engineers. Yeah, that must be it, she can afford to pass because it must happen all the time. I feel like I am doing her a favor and this is how this bitch treats me. Its not even that she doesnt want to have sex, thats fine. Its the way she was mean about it. put your clothes on. This stupid unattractive little girl, she just blew her chance. Shes going to regret not fucking me for the rest of her life. Me? Ill laugh with far more attractive girls about the time some slightly overweight girl with bad makeup and all of the wrong clothes hiding her disappointing body told me to put my clothes on. I really just want to get up and leave but I realize something. I am too fucked up to drive. I gather my underwear and pants and put them on. Stephanie gets some gym
shorts and puts them on, but she remains topless. Gross. I look for my shirt to no avail. My plan is to take a nap and sober up before I get the fuck out of here. I get on the bed and make myself as small as possible so no part of my body is in contact with this ungrateful bitch. We lie there in the dark room and suffer through the most awkward of awkward silences. I have a variety of moves and speeches that I have picked up over the years to get girls that say they dont want to have sex to have sex, but I am not going to use any of them, she doesnt deserve it. I am so uninterested in this girl. put your clothes on. I cant help but shake my head and laugh. I look over at her body in the darkness and I realize this girl just did me a favor. Not fucking her keeps the dispersion of the level of physical attractiveness of women I have stuck my dick into closer to the mean. In other words, fucking this girl would have been a new low for me. Suddenly Stephanie climbs on top of me and starts undoing my pants. What the fuck are you doing? I ask. I want to suck your dick. She replies. I lie there with a blank stare and my mouth agape. Before I can stop her she takes it out and goes to work. She isnt doing a bad job at all. I still hold a great dislike for her, but right now the orgasm shes trying to induce takes precedence. I reach down and forcefully play with her tits. They are fat girl breasts, the type that arent very big, and arent very round, and have the consistency of play dough. Rick James (played by Dave Chappelle) would give these titties four thumbs down. The disdain that I have for this girl is manifesting itself in how hard I grasp her breasts. I
think I remember reading somewhere that rough breast play increases a womans risk of breast cancer; Fuck it, fuck her. She is really going to work with this blowjob. I can feel my orgasm coming. I begin breathing really heavily. I move my right hand from her breast to the back of her head. My left hand remains in place still ruthlessly gripping her other breast. I violently slam her head down, forcing her to take me deep into her throat. She gags, but that only eggs me on. I have a sinister look on my face as I grab a handful of her hair and use it as a handle to move her head aggressively up and down on my dick. I move her head faster and faster, my cock goes deeper and deeper down her throat; she gags louder and louder; saliva flies out of her mouth. I command her not to stop. I am using her mouth as my personal masturbation device. I can feel the semen bubbling, plotting its explosive escape. Dont stop, you fucking bitch. I command under my breath. I get more aggressive, more forceful, more merciless, more revengeful, more vicious, more barbaric, more brutal with the movement of her head. Pulling it up and down, up and down. I am hate fucking her skull. Here it comes, here it comes, ahhhhhh! I scream while I hold her head down. My cum shoots down her throat in globs. She swallows every last bit. I immediately and callously get up and ask Stephanie where her bathroom is. She tells me its location. I go to the bathroom and close the door behind me. I turn on the light and look at myself in the mirror. I look for something, anything. I cant find what Im looking for. I am disgusted with myself, not for the brutality that I just subjugated this girl to, but for even allowing my dick inside any part of her body. I
go to the toilet to take a leak. My crotch is covered in Stephanies saliva. I take a long piss that sprays everywhere. I dont even bother cleaning up my mess. I wash her bodily fluids off then wash my hands before returning to the bedroom. I want to leave but I am still too drunk. I lay down in the bed as far away from Stephanie as possible. I cant wait until Im back in LA so we can have crazy sex all the time. She says to me. Little does she know I plan on never seeing her again, certainly not naked, no one should have to see that. I ignore her stupid presupposition and fall asleep.
Next Chapter.
I wake up at four in the morning, still drunk, although I deem myself sober enough to operate machinery. I get out of bed and search around the room for my shirt. This task is difficult in the dark but I locate it in the last place I look. I think about just sneaking out, but even Im not that big of an asshole. I walk to Stephanies side of the bed and nudge her awake. She looks at me threequarters asleep. I have to go. I whisper. I then kiss her on the cheek and leave. I map the directions back to my hotel on the way out the door. Its further away than I remember. I open the Jetta and hop in. Prior to starting the car I look at myself in the rearview mirror. I peer deep into my own eyes trying to see my soul. I cant determine if I still have one. I start the car and begin my expedition back to my hotel, which has served as nothing more than a storage locker for the night. When I arrive back at the hotel I greet the valet and tell him Ill be back in in less than ten minutes. The woman at the front desk is sleeping as I pass. I take the elevator up to my floor and go down the
hall to my room. I open the door and urgently attend to the task of packing my belongings. Once I am done with that chore I do one final inspection of the room to make sure I havent forgotten anything. I exit the room, but I have the nagging feeling that I indeed have forgotten something. I go back into the room and find out that the feeling was unwarranted. I go downstairs and wake the woman at the front desk up with a loud Good Morning. Accompanied by a smile. She is shocked to be woken in such a manner. Her face looks as though she isnt entirely sure what is happening. What can I help you with? She asks in her New Orleans accent. She sounds like Lil Wayne. Just checking out. I say as I slide my keys over to her. She does some typing on the computer and prints out my receipt. Youre good to go. She says. Have a glorious day. I state before walking out of the hotel. The valet who I left my car with is gone, replaced by someone else. What happened to the guy that was here before? I question. Hes on break. His replacement replies. Well can you make sure he gets half of this? I ask as I hand him two ten dollar bills. Sure thing boss, have a wonderful day. He says. You too man. I say. I imagine he is going to keep that whole twenty dollars for himself; I dont care, I did my part.
On the way out of New Orleans I stop at a gas station across the street from a cemetery where I postulate voodoo is practiced. I get out of the car to pump my gas. The latch to keep the fuel flowing is broken. Hood gas stations always have this problem, I think the drug addicts who beg for change do this to keep people out of their cars. I have to stand here holding the pump. I am agitated. A homeless man suddenly appears next to me. I stand ready to punch him in the face, douse him in petrol, and set his homeless ass up in flames like hes a voodoo doll. Can you spare some change for some food? He mumbles. If you can wait until I am done pumping my gas; Ill meet you inside and you can get whatever you want. That work? I ask. Yes, God bless you. The homeless man says. I finish pimping my gas and meet the homeless man inside. He is waiting for me at the counter with the breakfast of champions: a big bag of cheese puffs, white powdered sugar donuts, a kingsized candy bar, and a 32oz soda. I gather some goods of my own for the road. I go to the counter and pay for the homeless mans nutrients calories and my own. I bid him and the attendant a good day and go about my journey.
Next Chapter.
Back on interstate 10 and halfway complete with the drive to Houston. I call my friend Taylor, an attractive student from Houston and perhaps my only remaining female friend, probably because I havent had sex with her. Whats up sexy? I greet Taylor when she picks up the phone.
Shut up Francis. What do you want? She asks in her Texas accent. Her voice sounds like she just woke up. Well love, I am 3 hours away from your hometown and wondering what you will be up to on this glorious day. I say. I have tickets to the Astros game, but my boyfriend cant go so I think I will skip it. Taylor says. (Silence) I reply. Hello? Taylor questions. Yeah, Im here I say hoping she will figure out I want to go. Ohdo you want to go to the game? Taylor asks. Of course. What took you so long to ask? I say. Shut up. The game starts at 1:05. Well leave from my house. Ill text you my address. She says. Glorious, see you soon. I end the conversation. The excitement of the prospect of enjoying a summer day at the ballpark gives me new energy. While not Americas most attended sport (Nascar) or our most popular (Football), it is our national pastime. The game of baseball is so beautiful, so inspiring, so magical. What makes the sport all of those adjectives is that the game of baseball is the sport that most mimics real life. Baseball can be unrelentingly boring at times, but all it takes is one pitch to change the complexion of the whole game, much like real life where one moment can change your life. Like life, the baseball season is a long grind filled with ups and downs, but everyday is an opportunity for something special to happen. In baseball an individuals
accomplishments benefit the team as a whole, just like a productive member of society trying to make money ends up benefiting us all. Luck is a huge factor in baseball just like in life; a hitter can hit a ball hard into play but it can be right at someone making an out; being born to a rich family provides someone with too many advantages in life to count but too is based entirely on luck. The best hitters in baseball only get a hit 3 out of 10 times, just like not every invention Steve Jobs dreamed up or every investment Warren Buffett has entered into have made money. The game values core American values: toughness, resilience, and hard work. And finally, like life there is no time limit in the game of baseball but there is a definite ending. I put my foot down on the gas hoping to speed up time. Unfortunately time doesnt work that way so I can only speed up the speed I am traveling. My car breaks the not so magical triple digit mark. An hour of driving at this speed is no longer entertaining to me. Like most things in life you do too much of something it looses its appeal. The long and straight roads of Texas remind me of the cover of a Cormac McCarthy book. I can look ahead at the rarely changing landscape for miles. Blue sky peaks through the multitude of low hanging clouds. These clouds come in a variety of different flavors. We have thin gray clouds that remind me of Los Angeles smog, thick white clouds the shape of animal crackers, and thin powdered clouds like cocaine stuck to the baggie. The boredom of this drive raises thoughts of last night. I cant believe I was making out with that girl. I cant believe I let her suck my dick. The scene replays in my head. I think of her fat out of shape body, and her weak ass style. I become
nauseous. I feel like a bad person because I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of hooking up with an unattractive girl. No one chooses to be unattractive. Beauty can and will be taken away from all of us. As beautiful as women tell me I am, I can easily be disfigured in a car accident, or shot in the face by the jealous boyfriend of one of the women I fucked. What does external beauty matter in the end? In the end we all end up a rotting corpse anyways. Even if you die young you will end up a rotting corpse. Those of us that are lucky get to grow old still lose bits of our beauty commensurate with our youth until we end up dead in the ground as a rotting corpse. It is pointless to be so caught up in beauty because that shit is fleeting. Defining yourself or anyone else by something so ephemeral is a stupid way to go through life and seems like it would inevitably lead to sadness. The closer I get to Houston the gloomier the sky gets. I look down at the dash to see the fuel light illuminated. I stop for fuel in the city of Galveston. I pull into a filling station right off of the freeway. Another chunk of my gambling winnings go to help the oil economy. After I insert my credit card and watch the numbers signifying the cost of this fill up churn higher the money goes from my account into the coffers of this particular gas station. From there the gas station pays the refinery. The refinery pays a large multinational oil company. And ultimately that large multi national oil company pays an oil rich sovereign nation for the right to drill that oil, that was transported, refined, transported, and pumped into the gas tank of my volks. Each entity takes a cut of my gambling winnings along the way, and there is a simple breakdown of the workings of the modern oil economy.
I leave the gas station and continue on to the address Taylor has texted. I arrive at her parents residence, a giant McMansion, the middle house at the end of a culdesac. I park my car and text Taylor, letting her know that I am outside. She opens the giant doors to the house and comes out dressed to impress. Her hair is styled in loose curls, her makeup is impeccable, her child size Astros jersey fits tight around her bust, and her tight white jeans and high heels accentuate her corn fed ass. I cant believe I was doing what I was doing last night and havent done this. I get out of the car and calmly walk towards my friend. My walk ends in a huge hug. I think to grab Taylors phat ass but decide to keep things platonic. It is better this way. Taylor invites me inside. The entrance to the home is massive and has extremely high ceiling. The home and everything in it are Texas sized. The couch in the living room touches 3 of the four walls and faces a 70inch plasma television; also in the room are two massive leather reclining chairs and an epic coffee table. Taylor and I have a seat next to each other on the massive couch. So how are you doing Francis? Taylor asks. Im not sure. I reply before sharing with my friend every detail of my date last night. Well youre too good looking to be fucking around with ugly girls anyways. She says before leaving the room. While Taylor is gone doing who knows what I receive a text message on my phone from Claudia, my exgirlfriend: Hey, Im going to drop off all of your stuff when I get off work, will you be home? I reply back:
No. I am on a roadtrip, you can either wait until I return or you can coordinate with Dave. Claudia writes back: Id rather wash my hands of you and your stuff. What is Daves number? I write Claudia back, providing her with Daves contact information. I then text Dave, letting him know to expect her call. He responds back immediately: Do you care if I fuck her? I dont bother replying. Dave texts again moments later: Joking kind of I love how a smiley face in a text message can make everything better. Taylor returns to the living room with two Texas sized glasses filled to the brim with a dark liquid and ice. She hands me a glass. She sets two coasters on the coffee table and places her glass down on one of them. Thank you, but what is this? I ask. Homemade sweet tea. Taylor says like I should have known. I take a sip and realize that this sweet tea is liquid diabetes. What is wrong with people in the South? Wow, this is sweet. I remark. I know, its amazing, isnt it? Taylor says with a smile. Taylor and I catch up on the happenings in our respective lives. She has completed a music industry internship in New York and is home enjoying the rest of her summer. She has fallen in love with a boy named Eric who she has just spent a magical weekend with at some lake house near Austin. I fill her in on my break up
with Claudia. Taylor claims to be sorry to hear about it. I dont believe her and call her out on it. She admits that she didnt understand what I was doing in the first place. I tell Taylor that the break up was the smoothest break up that I have ever been a part of and that Claudia didnt go crazy and burn my things or do any of the crazy girl things women do when they get broken up with, like trying to be seen with another guy. That wont last. Taylor declares. I change the subject from my failed relationship back to her promising one. Do you think Eric is the one? I ask. I think so, but you never know. If it doesnt work out I can always marry your dumb ass. She says with a smile. You couldnt handle me. I kid. Our conversation is interrupted by a phone call from Dave. I answer the phone. Dude, Claudia called me and she is taking everything! Dave says in a panic. What do you mean she is taking everything? I ask. WiFi router, bed sheets, pillow cases, comforter, and a red beach towel.
Dave reads from the list Claudia has texted him. What, is she kidding? Stay on the line, Im going to give this bitch a piece of my mind. Ill conference you in because this is going to be epic. I say to Dave. I tap the add call button on my screen and call Claudia conferencing Dave in. I put the phone on speaker for Taylor to listen as well. I need an audience. Hello. Claudia answers nonchalantly.
Hey, Dave is telling me you sent him a list of things that you want to take from my apartment. What happened to just dropping off my stuff? I question. Well I figured since I was going there I should collect my things so I never have to see you again. She says calmly. Hmmm. So youre going to take our Internet away. You know how I feel about the Internet, you know that is how I make my money. I say. Well go buy your own router, I need mine back. Claudia quips. Why do you need it back today? Did yours stop working? I ask, anger rising in my voice. No. But I may need it at some point in time so Im taking it. She says. Ok. Well come back to that one. You want your bedding back too? I ask. Yea, I want that back too. Claudia says. You sure? I question. Yes Im sure. Why wouldnt I be? Claudia asks. Well Ive been fucking on that beddinga lot. But if youre cool with that I guess you can take the bedding. I say. Fuck you Francis. Fine! You can have my bedding since youve been fucking whores on it! She explodes. They arent whores. I defend. Sluts, floozies, skanks, bitches, hoes, whatever you want to call them! She continues. I want to call them lovely young ladies. I say.
Shut the fuck up! You dont give a fuck about them; theyre disposable to you. I know first hand how you treat women you piece of shit. Keep the fucking bedding, but youre giving me back my router and my beach towel! Claudia yells. Or else what, whats going to happen if I dont? I ask calmly, letting her know I have the upper hand. ImIm Claudia stutters. Yea, you arent going to do shit. And besides you bought that beach towel for me, you cant have it. I say. No, I bought it for myself and let you use it. She says. Thats revisionist history. You bought it for me and I refuse to allow you to be an Indian giver. I say. Ahhhhh! Fuck you! Im taking my router and my beach towel and thats that! She yells. Youre not taking that fucking beach towel. That was a gift, its mine now. I say sternly. It was not a gift, I let you use it and now Im done letting you use it. Claudia declares. Waithold on. What are you talking about? Are you talking about your vagina now? You want the pussy back too? I ask. Youre disgusting. I fucking hate you. Tell your douchebag friend to have my router and beach towel ready when I get there. She says. Dont talk about Dave like that! And if you want to play that game, when you go over to my apartment why dont you bring with you the television and laptop
that I bought. See Claudia, the thing about acting like a spiteful ex is you allow emotion to cloud your judgment. When your judgment is clouded you make bad trades. I mean you were coming out on top; you traded a router and a beach towel for a flat screen television and a laptop. You were winning. But that wasnt enough; you just had to push me didnt you. Silly woman. I say. She is silent on the line for a few seconds before ending the conversation. Tell Dave Ill be over there at 7 to drop your stuff. Oh and you can go fuck yourself Francis. I hope your dick falls off from all the whores you are fucking. She says before hanging up the phone. Wow, why was that bitch calling me a douchebag? What did I do to her? Dave asks while still on speaker. Youre friends with me, shes emotional, I just ruined her world. I say That was an all time great destroy on your part. Asking her if she wanted her pussy back, ha classic, Im tweeting that. Dave says through the phone. So am I. Taylor chimes in. I get off the phone with Dave and ask Taylor for some vodka for my diabetic drink. Sensing my anger bubbling over she does so immediately. Ive never seen you that angry. Taylor says. I really love that fucking beach towel. I say.
Next Chapter.
Taylor and I drive in her brothers yellow Dodge Ram SRT10 to Minute Maid Park. The truck is the ultimate pickup of all time. Someone at Chrysler thought it would be a good idea to put the 500hp V10 from the Dodge Viper under the hood of
this truck. The sub 6 second 060 time of this nearly 3ton behemoth has me feeling like it was a great idea as well. Where is your brother? I ask. Hes in Iraq. Taylor informs. Damn, I would hate to come home from war and find out my sister has been driving my SRT10 in my absence. I say. Ha, he isnt at war. Hes an over compensated private contractor being paid to rebuild their infrastructure. Taylor says. Well fuck him then, drive this shit faster. I say. The deep throaty growl of the V10 rings out as Taylor puts her right foot down. I am thrown back into my seat. I cant believe the size and power of this truck. I am in love. We take US90 to the 610 loop. We can see over the top of any traffic in front of us. Taylor takes the exit for the south freeway. Downtown Houston comes into view through the summer time haze. I recognize Enrons former corporate headquarters from the nonstop news coverage during their accounting scandal. I look to the top of the jewel of a building. That is where the smartest guys in the room worked. I think about how some of the best gamblers traders in the world went to work there everyday. I think of my personal hero, billionaire natural gas wunderkind John Arnold, who at the age of 27 made three quarters of a billion dollars for the energy company, receiving an $8million dollar bonus that he parlayed into billions within 5 years. He was underpaid. From my iphone I place a bet of my own. I take the home team for the game we are getting ready to attend. I
do this without consulting my models. This will give me reason to cheer for the Astros. We exit the freeway and take the surface streets to the ballpark. We arrive at the gates where Taylor shows her parking pass to the attendant. We drive through the gates and into the parking lot. The truck bellows every time Taylor taps on the gas to move us through the parking lot. She pulls the yellow beast into a spot and turns off the truck. I jump out of the truck. Taylor and I join the sea of people all heading in the same direction. We join one of the lines that lead into the stadium. The line moves and we reach a woman who scans tickets. I greet her as she takes my ticket and scans the barcode. I pass through the turnstile and rejoin Taylor on the other side. Our first stop is the concession stands. The sound of PA announcements and people speaking in Texas accents fill the air. The aroma of garlic fries, beer, hot dogs, burgers, and peanuts joins the sounds. Taylor and I make our way through the mass of people and get in line. I look around at the surroundings. It is wholly Texas. Men wear cowboy hats and cowboy boots when baseball caps and jerseys arent present. The women have that general big city Texas level of glamour about them. Their hair is freshly done, and is big. Their makeup looks like they have just come from a makeup counter at the mall. Diamond earrings, designer bags and nice shoes are the norm. It is like Los Angeles except every one is a bit thicker. Everything is bigger in Texas. Taylor and I make it to the front of the line. I ask the older woman working the concessions how her day is going. She issues a standard response before asking me what I am ordering. I order a hotdog, a hamburger, 4 beers and a bag of peanuts.
You have some id? The woman asks. What, you dont trust me? I ask with a smile. Just because you are handsome doesnt mean you dont have to show me some id. She replies. You think Im handsome? I ask before producing what she asked for. The woman takes her time gathering my many items. While I wait patiently for her to get my goods I look for attractive women to hit on. I catch a woman looking at me. I make strong eye contact with her. She looks like she could be Miss Texas. We smile at each other. I check out her body and it is perfect, but not like it was god given perfection, a scalpel and a medical degree were definitely involved in this perfection. I notice a huge diamond engagement ring and that she is holding hands with some old guy in a cowboy hat. I look deep into the engaged womans eyes again. She holds her stare momentarily before she quickly glances away. Stop it. Taylor commands. I heed her imperative and turn my attention to paying for my food and beverage. The total is over $70 for al of this bullshit. I give the woman my card before taking my stuff and wishing her a good day. Taylor helps me carry the concessions through the crowd towards our section. I implore her to stop at a condiment stand so I can make my hot dog edible. I add sauerkraut and mustard. I grab more napkins than we will be able to use before continuing on to our seats. We work our way through the stadium and to our section. We pop out on the second deck right above home plate. I glance at my ticket to ascertain our row and seat number. Once I have the information I lead us to our seats. We are slightly early so
the path down our row is rather frictionless. Taylor and I settle into our seats. I put one of my beers in the cup holder in front of me and keep the other one in my hand. The rest of my food items sit in a cardboard tray on my lap. Cheers. I say to Taylor, touching plastic beer cups before beginning consumption. The seats around us and in the rest of the ballpark slowly fill as people make it to their seats. The two seats to our right remain empty. The first pitch is approaching. The stadium rises to their feet for the singing of our national anthem. It is a beautiful rendition sung by a local high school girl. When she is done the 40,970 fans in attendance break into a chant of USA! USA! A chill runs down my spine, and a tear is nearly brought to my eyes. I love this fucking country. We have made it through the first inning and a half. My hot dog and hamburger have long since been devoured. Taylor remarks on my insatiable food appetite. I tell her that it is a far cry from the 6,000calorie days that built me up to my current size. She tells me that was just gross. Our conversation stops due to the crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd. The home team has gotten on the board first with a two run homer. I down what remains of my first beer in celebration. The inning comes to a close without any more base runners crossing home plate. Between innings two hot girls sit down in the empty seats next to us. Late arrivals. I feel like I have to say something. I turn towards them. What took you two so long? I seriously question before easing out a smile. Oh, ha, we are always late, how are yall doin? The one sitting closes to Taylor asks.
Yall? I question, my face showing my confusion. Oh you mean her and I? I point to Taylor without looking at her No, no, no. Im not with her. I say. Shut up Francis. Taylor says after slapping my arm. Im Taylor, this is Francis. Im Ashley and this is Ashley. The Ashley sitting closes to us interrupts. We all shake hands. You two have the same name? Taylor asks. We surely do. The far Ashley, who I have decided is the less attractive of the two, answers. The ballgame goes on in the background as the four us carry on a conversation. I remark at the wonder of the stadium. The sheer volume of people all in one place at the same time with their own thoughts in their heads, their own problems, their own accomplishments and each having a different life story that led each of them to end up at a baseball game on this humid, somewhat sunny summer afternoon in Houston, Texas. The Ashleys look spell bound by my words. The four of us discuss other things including where each of us is from and how we all know each other when the topic of how long Taylor and I have been going out comes up. Francis, ha. I would never date Francis. Taylor says. Thanks Taylor. I say while I pat her on the head. I make a pronounced declaration that I need more beer. I stand up and grab the more attractive Ashleys hand. Youre coming with me, I need two ids. I say. She looks confused but follows anyways. We scoot past the people in our row and exit out into the aisle. We walk hand in hand up the stairs. I like holding hands. I say.
Me too. She says as she looks at me and smiles. Her teeth are too perfect. I spot the engaged woman from the concession line and wave. The woman sees me and looks as if she wants to wave but instead just smiles. Who is that? Ashley queries. Some woman I caught staring at me. I reply. Can you blame her? Ashley smoothly compliments. Ashley and I stand in line. I keep her hand in mine, our fingers interlaced. I guide our hands behind her back to the other side of her body, drawing her in closer to me. I look down into her eyes and smile at her. She smiles back. How tall are you? She asks. The question sounds that much sweeter carried by her Texas accent. Eight feet tall. I reply. Really? She asks with complete seriousness. I roll my eyes and dont even bother answering. The line advances. The two of us advance along with it. Once we are again stationary I release Ashleys hand. I then grab her hips and turn her body so she is facing me. I move my hands from her hips to her ass. She doesnt complain, so I squeeze her butt and pull her closer to me. Her eyes close just before our lips touch. She puts her tongue in my mouth and whips it around like a snake. Our embrace last for what seems like minutes, only ending because the people around us begin to cheer. When I open my eyes I see that the line has moved far ahead. We are next to order.
Joined at the hip Ashley and I order 4 beers, for which we both produce our IDs. I see that she is 22 years old, a fine age. I kiss Ashley again while our beers our poured. I pay for our drinks and we return to our seats. We make our way down our row, clearing the gauntlet unscathed. Taylor has taken Ashleys seat so Ashley and I can sit together. She knows the drill. I hand the other Ashley and Taylor the beers that I am holding. They thank me. I look to the scoreboard to see the home team is now firmly on top. Leading six runs to two. I have a sip of my beer and retake Ashleys hand. She glances over at me, her mouth showing her too perfect smile. In my peripheral I see Taylor shaking her head. A few innings have passed and the Astros are only a few outs away from victory. I move one step closer to a victory of my own by agreeing to meet Ashley at the bar in my hotel later. With victory all but assured Taylor and I sneak out to avoid the rush, leaving the Ashleys in their seats. My bet is going to pay off and I didnt even use my tools to gain an edge, always better lucky than smart. As we make our way out of the stadium I spot some hot girls. A hot blonde and I eye fuck each other. Taylor notices this and has had enough. Do you ever stop? You know you cant fuck them all. She snaps. I can try. I reply. Youre going to catch a disease or get someone pregnant, then what are you going to do? Taylor asks, anger rising in her voice. Well, sexually transmitted diseases are a myth, and Im pro a woman exercising her right to choose not to have a baby with me. I say.
This just pisses Taylor off further as she just walks away from me. I let her get fifteen feet away admiring her sexy back side the whole time before I decide to catch up to her. I enter a light jog until I pull even with her. I grab her shoulder, stopping her and begin talking. Look Taylor, I really dont like being this way. I wake up most mornings and I feel empty, soulless almost. But I dont know what else I am supposed to do. I pour my heart out. Pick one, fall in love, treat her like she is special and she will do the same in return. Taylor says, making it all sound so simple. I tried that, it didnt work, I wanted more. I say. Well pick another one and try again and actually work on it. Relationships are hard work, but a life long love like my grandparents have appears to be worth it. Look, youre good looking and sexy and all of that stuff, but thats not why we are friends. Remember I became your friend before you were all of that. We are friends because you are one of the smartest people I have ever met and you had all of these plans to change the world. But its like getting attractive and all of the female attention that comes with it is the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Instead of using your intellect to make the world a better place you use that brilliant fucking mind of yours to get women. To me it seems like a waste. What does getting tons of women get you? Does that change the world? Does that take care of your family? Does that leave a legacy? You like making girls cry? Do you want to end up as one of those middle aged men sitting in the bar chasing ass? Do you want to be one of those old guys dating girls who arent even old enough to go to the bar? Is that the
life you want? If so, keep doing the shit you are doing, if not make some changes, pick one, love her, and trust me, she will love you back. Taylor monologues. As we walk back to the truck Taylors words cut through me like a hot knife through butter. (I wish I could come up with a better analogy, but I dont have one) I have a blank look on my face. I am replaying all of her words in my head. Processing each sentence. Reviewing my life, my behavior, my treatment of women. Part of me feels like I am doing what I am supposed to do. I am a tall dark and handsome man in his earlytomidtwenties who has figured out how to make money with little effort from anywhere an Internet connection exists. If anyone is supposed to be a playboy it is me. It is what I am best at. But deep down I do not want to be a player. I do not want to break hearts and make women cry. I want what most people want. I want love and companionship. I want a wife that I love with all of my heart that loves me back with all of hers. I want my happiness derived from her happiness. I want to grow old with her. I want a family with kids and eventually grandkids. I want to be consumed by love. The entire ride back to Taylors house is a silent one. Taylors words have taken an emotional toll on both of us. The only noise comes from the roar of the V 10 and the sounds created by her overtaking other cars. We arrive back at her house. Taylor parks the truck in the garage and the two of us enter the house and return to the couch. Taylor turns on the absolutely massive television and changes the channel to highlights of the game we just attended. There is a tension between us. Taylor decides to slice through it. With the steady hands of a surgeon, words are once again her scalpel.
Im sorry for the harsh words earlierjust know that I love you as a brother. Taylor says. No worries. There was plenty of truth to what you said. I understand that I can be a bit much. Im sure it is difficult for a girl to be friends with me. I reply No, no, no. It is never difficult being your friend. She says.
Next Chapter.
I check into my hotel in downtown Houston. After a friendly chat with the staff working the front desk I go to the elevator. I enter the elevator and press the button for my floor. As the doors are closing an arm reaches in preventing the doors from closing. A family of four enters the elevator. The father who is dressed in a Texas flag button down shirt presses the button for the floor right below mine. I stand on the opposite side of the elevator, the family stares at me. I grin at them. Youre tall, you play basketball or something? The Texas flag dressed father asks in a Texas accent. Yeah, or something. I reply coldly. Not another word is spoken between us. The family exits the elevator at their floor. Soon after they leave and I have exited the elevator I feel bad for being so rude. I am so into my own head right now that I have forgotten my manners. Oh well, fuck em. I put my key card in the door. It takes several tries before the little LED light turns green instead of red. I enter my room and am pleased to see it is far nicer than the one I inhabited in New Orleans. I throw my bags down and go take a piss. As I stand there aiming for the toilet I am overcome with exhaustion, the aftereffects of the physical and emotional roller coaster of the previous 20 hours. I finish peeing,
then flush the toilet and wash my hands. I exit the bathroom and strip down to my boxers, leaving my clothes where they fall. I pull the comforter off my bed and loosen the sheets so I can climb in. I set an alarm on my phone to wake me up in one hour. This will give me one hour of sleep and another hour to get ready for my date with Ashley. I get in the fetal position and close my eyes. I am on my way to dream land when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. It is Claudia calling. I ignore her call and get back to my muchneeded rest. Just as I am about to fall asleep my phone rings again. I glance at my phone again. Claudia is calling again. I ignore her call again. I close my eyes and just as I am about to fall asleep my phone rings. I am furious. I open my eyes and glance at my phone. Its Genevieve calling. My mood transitions from anger to elation. Hello beautiful. I answer. Aww, hey handsome, hows the drive going? Genevieve asks. Long, but Im managing. It certainly helps to have something to look forward to. I say. What might that be? She asks. You woman. I say. We end up talking for the next 2 hours without a single pause in our conversation. I feel like I am in high school staying up late talking to my girlfriend, hoping my parents dont pick up the landline and catch me on it. Genevieve and I discuss a panoply of topics from family, to the ever expanding universe; from modeling (both with spreadsheets and in front of the camera) to education, from childhood to love. We are like long lost loves, old kindred spirits. I feel like I am falling in love though the phone and I think she feels the same.
Well I have to go meet up with some friends. I tell Genevieve. Okay, Francis, I really cant wait until you get here, its going to be amazing. She says. I feel the same way, see you tomorrow. I end the conversation. Our conversation would have never stopped but I have to end it because I
have a date. Not that I even want to go on it at this point, but I made plans, and Im not going to be a flake. I hate it when girls flake. I try to do onto others as I want done onto myself. Once I am off the phone I cant stop thinking about Genevieve. When I take off my boxers to shower I think about Genevieve. When I turn on the shower I think about Genevieve. When I am in the shower I think about Genevieve. As I wash my face I think about Genevieve. While cleaning my body I think about Genevieve. When I shampoo and condition my hair I think about Genevieve. When I exit the shower and towel off I think about Genevieve. I think you get the point. I cant stop thinking about Genevieve. I am smitten. Maybe this is the girl I should try to make it work with, the woman who I can love, the person whose happiness from which I derive my own, the one who I will grow old with. How glorious would that be if that were the events set in motion at the beginning of time for my life. I shave my face and brush my teeth. Once done in the bathroom I quickly get dressed. I grab my wallet and phone, stuffing them into my pants pockets. I fetch my room key from the top of the nightstand and exit my room. I make my way to the elevator. I press the button to go down. An elevator heading in my direction arrives instantaneously. I press the button for the lobby and ride the elevator down. The
elevator music is the typical Jazz, the boring background variety not the type that makes a person want to dance. Whose job is it to select elevator music? What does that job pay? What qualifies someone to choose elevator music? Is there a school for that? An online course perhaps? The elevator arrives at the lobby. I pass some good looking girls who are entering the elevator while I exit. They seem to like what they see. I have no desire to talk to them. I follow the signs to the hotel bar. When I arrive to the dimly lit room I take in the scene. It is what you would expect to find in a hotel lounge, people dressed in suits sitting on couches around small tables, solo business travelers posted at the bar waiting to meet someone to take up to their rooms for sex, the occasional local looking to go upstairs with said solo business traveler, and of course a few tourist who booked the downtown hotel because it was the cheapest on hotwire. I eye a seat at the bar flanked by an alcoholic Bukowskiesque looking guy, drinking a scotch, on one side and a cougar type solo business traveler on the other. I walk towards the bar stool and make the seat my own. I lean over the bar to get the attention of the bartender, while doing so I accidently brush up against the cougar. My rock hard arm muscles graze her left breast. Apologies. I say. She turns to look at me. Her eyes light up like she found what she is looking for. No need to apologize, whats your name? The cougar asks. Francis, hows it going? I ask as coldly as possible. Good, but a lot better since you sat down. She says to me.
If you say so. But check it out. I think youre hotyou knowfor an old chic, but Im here to meet someone, and also I think that I may be in love with a girl Im driving to see tomorrow so if youre looking for the win tonight it aint me. I say. She turns around, upset. The cougar was clearly turned off by the hot for an old chic comment. It is a sure fire way to get older women to leave you alone, and works for women ages 25 and up. If youre actually into older women or just looking to get laid, do not under any circumstance mention age, aged, old, older, or any synonym, or derivative of such words to a woman 25 or older. I ask the bartender how his night is going before ordering my drink. I order a 15yearold single malt scotch. I give him my credit card and tell him to keep my tab going. He pours my drink and delivers it to me. The first sip of this single malt is amazing. (The first sip always is, its that 20th that will take you out) The flavor puts my mind at ease and washes away the days stresses. What are you, a model? The probable alcoholic sitting next to me asks. I look at him strangely before I reply. No Im just a guy. I respond. I know what youre thinking. Im not gay or anything. Youre just a good looking kid is all. He says. Hey man even if you were that would be cool. Im Francis Clark by the way I extend my hand for a handshake. Gary. He says as he shakes my hand. I ask Gary what he is doing in Houston. He tells me that he is a commercial airline pilot, has been for 20 years, and that his next flight isnt until the morning. I
congratulate him on making it 20 years in his career. Gary asks what I do for a living. I detail my professional gambling activities for him. He is impressed, but skeptical. A young red head and her group of friends enter the lounge. How much do you want to bet that the carpet matches the drapes? Gary asks. I act amused by his statement, but in my mind Im wondering why this old guy who I just met thinks he can talk to me like this. The more I think about it the more Im weirded out by this statement. Whats up gambler, you dont think I could pull something like that? My 19 yearold girlfriend is way hotter than that chic. Gary says in an aggressive tone. Gary must have detected a shift in my body language, because his tone changes and he volunteers information Im sure in his mind he thought would make me think he was cool. What he doesnt realize is validating yourself to complete strangers is the least cool thing you can do. Whenever someone I dont know starts bragging to me, in my eyes it makes him or her decidedly less glorious. But still Im intrigued by how this 50something airline pilot not nicknamed Sully, with a far less than ideal physique, greasy hair, and alcoholic sheen is getting 19yearolds. Where do you even find a nineteen year old? I ask. She is a friend of my twentytwo year old exgirlfriend. She asked my ex if it would be okay to call me and it went from there. Gary explains. Wow. I say. Look. Gary takes a cell phone out of his pocket and brings up a picture of a really hot, tanned, brunette wearing only a pink bra and pokeadot panties. This
picture could be legit, or it could be something he stole off the internet. I will never know. The best part is I can go out without her whenever I want because she is too young to go to the bar. Gary finishes. Ha. I laugh nervously. Im afraid this could be my future. I order another scotch. Make his an 18year and put it on my tab. Gary tells the bartender. You dont have to buy me a drink. I say politely. I know I dont have to. I want to, youre a cool kid. Gary responds. Glorious. I reply. The bartender pours my drink and hands it to me, I thank him, and I thank Gary. Gary and I tap glasses. I raise my glass and have a sip. This drink is magical. Some arms mysteriously and suddenly appear around my neck. A kiss on the cheek follows. I slowly turn my head, keeping my eyes wide open as I turn. I am relieved to see its Ashley, who is dressed impeccably. Hey Francis. She says in her sexy Texas drawl, flashing her too perfect smile when she is done. Whats up lady? I want you to meet Gary. I turn to Gary Gary, this is Ashley. I say. He takes her hand and kisses the back of her palm. Youre gorgeous, what are you doing with this jackass? Gary says as he motions to me. I just shake my head and grab her around the waist tightly pulling her body into my own. Im just busting his balls, youre in good hands. Gary tells Ashley.
Ashley orders a French martini, which goes on Garys tab. Her and I, with Gary listening, talk about our respective days after the baseball game. I then tell Ashley about my road trip so far, leaving out the sultry details. She is particularly impressed that I cleaned the environment. I tell a few more stories, order a few more drinks, share a few more laughs and now this girl thinks I am smart, cool, and thoughtful. Youre amazing Francis, why dont you live here? She asks. Ashley looks at me with puppy dog eyes. Her eyes tell a story, the story of hope. Hope for the day that she can find Mr. Right, and that day is today, right here, right now, in this moment. This very moment she thinks the guy of her dreams is right in front of her. In this moment a kiss will be the only confirmation she needs; a kiss that I think to supplyA kiss that will never happen because my hopes, my dreams, my Mrs. Right is somewhere in the desert of Arizona. Its better that I dont. This way we can have a perfect vision of our future
together that in no way would be possible in reality. We can live happily ever after in this vision. You dont have to deal with the pain and heartache that I would eventually bring you in real life. You can avoid all of that and remember me in this moment. And on that note I am going to sleep. It was an absolute pleasure meeting you Ashley and Gary, thanks for the drinks. I say before rising my empty cup towards Gary, and kissing Ashley on the forehead. Wait, do you want me to go upstairs with you? Ashley asks. No. To be honest with you, youve done nothing wrong. Youre amazing and damn sexy. My heart is just somewhere else right now. I say.
We hug one final time before I go upstairs. The journey to my room is a reflective one. I am calm, I am thinking clearly, I am making good decisions, and I realize I have left my credit card at the bar. Going back to the bar is really going to ruin my glorious exit. I ride the elevator back down to the lobby. I take the path just traveled in reverse. When I reenter the lounge I see Ashley and Gary still sitting at the bar making out. Im no hater. I go to the opposite end of the bar and gain the attention of the bartender. I ask him to close out my tab. He asks for the name on the card. Clark. I tell him. The bartender goes to the cash register, shifts though some cars sitting in a glass next to the register, pulls one out, taps some buttons, prints a receipt, places the receipt and my card in a leather sleeve, and transports the package back to me. The one scotch I ended up having to pay for cost me $18. I leave a $10 tip. Gary takes a break from making out and spots me. He has both hands on Ashleys ass. I give him a thumbs up, which he returns. I return to my room. I feel good about my choice and sure about a woman for the first time in awhile. I cant wait to go to sleep so I can drive to Genevieve. I enter my room and empty the contents of my pocket onto the nightstand. I strip down to my boxers. I do some pushups and situps. When I am done I go the bathroom and brush my teeth, floss, rinse with mouthwash, and insert my retainer. I wash my face, dry it and apply moisturizer. I nod at myself in the mirror. I will look amazing for this girl tomorrow.
I settle into bed, but I am having trouble going to sleep. I get up and do a set of fifty pushups and the entire routine from 8minute abs. I return to bed, but still have trouble going to sleep, like a child the night before Christmas. A text message comes in on my phone from Genevieve: So excited to see you tomorrow. Good night Francis, sweet dreams xoxo
Next Chapter.
I am woken up by the excitement, getting an early start on my big day. I pop up out of bed. The world seems a bit better today than it did yesterday. I head to the shower, moving as quickly as possible. In my youth I would attend summer camp in the redwood forest near Bodega Bay in Northern California. CYO Camp Armstrong was the name of the camp, they subsequently dropped Armstrong from the name because Monsignor Armstrong would latter be accused of child molestation. At CYO Camp there was a limited supply of water so showers were limited to two minutes, which may seem gross, but if you get to the business at hand two minutes is plenty of time to bathe properly. I apply that training to this shower. I have places to be, people to see. After my twominute shower I brush my teeth. After finishing that step I shave. Once the removal of my facial hair is complete I apply witch hazel (natures aftershave) and moisturizer. I gather my belongings, do a final inspection to make sure I have everything and bid adieu to the room. Hows it going? I greet the guy working the front desk with more enthusiasm than he probably is used to at this time of the morning. Not bad sir, and yourself? He replies. Fucking Fantastic. I reply, unable to contain my excitement.
I check out of the hotel and sprint over to the parking garage. I throw my bag in the backseat of the Jetta. Now in the drivers seat I turn the car on and pull out of the parking structure. I take Dallas St to Louisiana St, which I take right onto Interstate 10. I am able to beat the rush hour. I see downtown Houston in my rearview mirror disappear into the morning haze. The further I travel west along the 10 the more separated I feel from my playboy lifestyle. As glorious as it may seem to a guy that doesnt get constant and consistent wins, fucking all of these women is exhausting, both mentally and physically. Keeping several women just happy enough to keep fucking me, while staying aggressive enough to have a constant influx of new ones is the equivalent of spinning plates while trying to solve the mysteries of the universe and figure out the meaning of life. Outside of the mental and physical toll this shit is just getting old. How many women can one guy fuck? Yeah, every experience with a new woman is unique, but the similarities far outnumber the differences. Since its all basically the same anyways why am I constantly looking for greener pastures? This journey was a long and important one in my life. Now I believe I am traveling at 115 miles per hour towards someone whom I could spend the rest of my life with, someone who I want to make happy; a true love, a love where my happiness is tied to her happiness, a love where her happiness is easy because she loves me too. Only 13 Hours remain in my journey to Tucson. I receive a phone call from Dave. Whats up bro? I answer.
Dude, when Claudia came over last night she showed up with some huge black guy. Dave says. What? I say. Yeah dude, when I answered the door she was like Dont be scared. Can you believe that? Dont be scared. Thats kind of racist. Dave says. What a typical spiteful exgirlfriend move. Im not even upset, I really just feel bad for her. Silly woman. I say. I would feel bad for her too if she didnt assume I was a pussy. Dont be scared. Guess she doesnt know Im exercising my second amendment rights over here. Dave says. Ha. I laugh. Well she at least left that router. Dave says. What about that beach towel? I question. She left that too. He says. Glorious. I reply. Hey before I go to work I have to ask you something. Dave states. Shoot. I demand. Did you fuck Claudia in the ass? Dave asks. Of course. I answer like I am insulted. But why do you ask? I inquire. Well, I was thinking about it, and I know Adam says a girl isnt your girlfriend unless you are having sex at least 90% of the time you want to have sex, but I think its more than that. I say a girl isnt your girlfriend until you fuck her in
the ass. Words are one thing, but taking it up the butt is a real commitment. Dave states. Hmmm. Internet porn has ruined our societyI agree with you. I think you may go down as one of the great thinkers of our generation. I say. Alright man, Im going to go sell some shit. Talk to you later. Dave says. Only 12 hours left in my journey as I do the speed limit through San Antonio. I attempt to count all of the women I have had sex with in my life. It is a futile attempt. Every time I think I have the number another win comes to mind. Its probably better not to know. Only 10 hours left in my journey to Genevieve. I wish I could fast forward time or better yet just teleport to her. This feels like the biggest day of my life so far. A lifetime worth of courting women has prepared me for this. This is my world series, my NBA finals, my Super Bowl, my sudden death playoff at the US Open. Like the great clutch performers of our time, the Jeters, Jordans, Vinatieris, Woods of the world, I perform best under pressure. (Yes, I mentioned Adam Vinatieri, NFL place kicker, formerly of the New England Patriots, whose right foot contributed the 9 points that were the combined margin of victory in the New England Patriots three Super Bowl wins. Tom Brady while an all time great QB with the heart of a champion didnt lead game winning drives in those Super Bowl victories. In fact, in the Patriots Super Bowl XLII loss to the New York football Giants, needing a touchdown to win the game, the golden boy had an opportunity to lead his team to another Lombardi trophy and couldnt get it done. Full disclosure: I am a Raiders fan and we all know that motherfucker Tom Brady fumbled.)
Only 9 hours left in my journey to Tucson. In my rearview mirror a black dot appears above the horizon. That black dot is coming up quickly and turns into a modern Japanese sports car, which is quickly closing the distance between us. I look down at my speedometer and Im cruising along at 115. What speed is this dude going? What makes him so confident that the law isnt on his ass with a helicopter like hes Ray Liotta? Actually, it would be completely impractical and far too expensive for any local or statewide law enforcement agency to put a helicopter in the air this far in the middle of nowhere, TX. The black car blows by me. I catch a glimpse of the driver and he isnt a guy at all. The driver is an older woman. I look down at the speed trap app on my phone and see that there are no known speed traps for the next 30 miles or so. Im going to catch this chic. I pop my car into fourth gear. The speed jumps from 115 to 120 before the engine hits the 6250 revolutions per minute redline. My car doesnt like to be pushed this hard, but to me, cars are made to be driven. I clutch in and shift into fifth gear. As the speedometer moves clockwise the distance between the sports car and myself closes. I pass her at 137 miles per hour. The driver of the sports car then decides that she wants to be in front. She passes me. I put my foot down to the floor. My poor Jetta doesnt want to go any faster but does as I command. The needle slowly creeps to 144 miles per hour. I dont think the sixcylinder engine that is shoehorned under the hood has anything left. Our two cars travel side by side at these speeds for miles and miles. My car shakes the whole time. I feel as if it is going to disintegrate. That would be pretty epic if it did.
Only 8 hours to go in my journey to Arizona. Im still driving along with my racing buddy at excessive speeds. I look down at my phone. The speed trap app alerts me that there is a known speed trap half a mile ahead. I take my foot off the accelerator. Wind resistance and the effect of engine deceleration slow the car down to 100 miles per hour. I am slightly less than a quarter mile away from the trap. 100 miles per hour isnt slow enough, so I get on the brakes, reducing my speed below the posted speed of 75 miles per hour. The woman driving the sports car realizes I must know something that she doesnt and follows suit. We both pass the waiting Texas State Trooper without incident. After a mile passes we both return to our blatant disregard for the law. Only 7 hours remain in my journey to the desert. Driving at this speed has had negative consequences for the fuel economy of my Volkswagen. My car and my body both need fuel. I spot one of those blue signs so conveniently posted by the department of transportation that tells motorist the available food and fuel options. I am one mile away from sustenance. I put on my blinker and begin to slow down. I exit where the sign says to. The sports car that I have been racing does the same. During my travels I have noticed that the fuel stations furthest from the freeway exit have the lowest prices, even if the distance is only a few yards from the next closes station. This must be some type of gentlemans agreement to keep all of the stations in business, thus incentivizing tanker trucks to journey this far to the middle of nowhere. 4 customers are better than 1. I pull up to the pump, number 4 to be exact. I turn off my car, grab my wallet, and exit the volks. The sports car that I have been speeding with pulls up to the
pump that shares an island with the one that I am using. The woman gets out of the car. I was mistaken earlier, she isnt old at all, unless of course you are 18 and consider someone in their mid to late twenties old. Hey, how did you know to slow down back there, radar detector? She asks. No, there is literally an app for that. I respond. As we both pump gas I tell her about the app and how it works. I tell her the app uses the glorious tool of crowdsourcing to gather its information. Meaning the information comes from users of the app who tell the app when they spot a speed trap. I clean my windows as my gas continues to pump and we continue to chat. I am all too happy to talk about what I think may be true love waiting for me in Tucson. I use the term cautiously optimistic to let her know Im not some desperate fool, but a weary playboy in search of true love. The familiar click sound alerts me that my gas is done pumping. Thats my cue, safe travels. I tell the woman. You too, and good luck in Tucson. She says genuinely. I remove the nozzle from my gas tank and put it back in its home. I screw my gas cap back in and close the fuel door before going inside to take a leak. I locate the bathroom. I take a deep breath before entering so I wont have to breathe in whatever horrors await on the other side of the door. When I enter I am surprised to see the bathroom is spotless, some would say you could eat off of these surfaces. Sure you could, but who would? My bladder was more full than I realized, Im going to have to breathe. The place smells clean. Glorious. I wash my hands and exit the station.
I drive over to a McDonalds not too far away. I pull up to the drive through. I order a number 1 with a sports drink. I pull up and greet the pimplefaced teenager who is working the window. He looks like he hasnt seen someone that looks like me, ever. I pay him and collect my order. Only 6 hours remain in my journey to be reunited with Genevieve. I drive along the US border with Mexico. Yellow signs line the road, which show silhouettes of a family running. I figure out these signs are warnings to drivers to look out for people crossing the freeway who have entered the country illegally. I dont blame people for coming to America for a better life. Thats all the pilgrims were trying to do, and what the founding fathers wanted. The American dream is not only part of our national identity, but also the hope of the world. Only 5 hours remain in my journey to true love. I am still driving along the US border with our drugdealing neighbors to the south. My phone alerts me that I am roaming internationally. I receive a free text message from the Mexican cellular provider controlled by the worlds riches man denoting their exorbitant rates for data, voice and text. Carlos Slim was able to build his telecom empire because in Latin America there is no Sherman Antitrust Act. When it isnt illegal to have a monopoly, capitalist can charge whatever they damn well please for their services, only constrained by what people can pay. When that service is an essential one like communications, people will pay no matter the cost. When that happens you get bad quality service for high prices. This is an obvious flaw in the capitalist system that Mr. Slim has exploited.
Only 4.5 hours remaining until I can feel Genevieves soft touch. I pass through the city of El Paso. I finally have a strong U.S. cell signal. I have run out of music and I am bored. I want to talk to someone. I think to call Jasmine, but her low talking would just piss me off. I think to call Dave, but I already spoke with him earlier, and hell probably want to tell me about his fantasy football draft, and I could care less. I almost call Adam, but I realize he has a real job. And I dont want to talk to Genevieve, since I am going to see her in a few hours anyways, I dont want her thinking she may be the love of my life just yet. I decide to call my sister. Hey, whats up? Connie answers the phone. Nothing much, just driving through West Texas. I answer. You bored? She asks. Of course. I reply. Where is the next stop? Connie inquires. Tucson to go hangout with this girl I may be in love with. I answer. Tell me more, who is she, where did you guys meet, is she pretty? My sister questions. This girl Genevieve who just moved back to the country after completing a ten year modeling career in Asia. We met in Vegas, and of course she is pretty, you see the quality I roll with, except this one girl in New Orleans, but that is a different story. I reply. Vegas, ewww. You dont meet quality people n Vegas. Connie states.
Why do people say that? Everyone that says that has been to Vegas themselves, are they saying they arent quality individuals? You go to Vegas, and so does everyone you know, are you not a quality person? I question. Well, you go to Vegas, and you arent a quality person. Just kidding, your point is valid. She replies before going into a speech about how I hurt our Fathers feelings when I said he provided no real parenting. Connie tells me that he was just doing what he figured was best for us by working hard and building a business so he could give us the advantages in life that he wasnt afforded. Only 4 hours remaining until I can kiss Genevieves supple lips. I am still on the phone with my sister. Our topic of conversation is still our father, but instead of praising his hard work my sister is vilifying him for being a womanizer and the example that it set for me. The traffic is slightly backed up because it is rush hour. I notice that the passing lane is empty so that is where I go. I am traveling at about 90 miles per hour, passing the cars that remain in the right lane of the two heading west. I notice a Texas State Trooper driving in the other direction. I watch him in my rearview mirror. He makes a Uturn and drives towards me. Oh shit. I say into the phone. Whats happening? Connie inquires, concern in her voice. I think I am about to beyep, Im getting pulled over. I tell my sister before getting off the phone. PULL OVER AT THE NEXT EXIT. The state trooper says into his front mounted megaphone. I follow his instructions and take the next exit. I begin to pull
over on the exit ramp. GO ALL THE WAY TO THE END OF THE RAMP AND MAKE A RIGHT. He orders. I go to the end of the ramp and make a right, pulling over there. The officer makes me wait at least five minutes before getting out of his cruiser and walking to my window. I scope him out in my side mirror as he walks to my car. He is a tall, big guy, muscular, not fat. Hes dressed in what I assume is the standard issue tan uniform, his sleeves are short, his pants slightly darker than the shirt. Atop his head sits a cowboy hat, and covering his eyes are dark aviator shades. He is not smiling. I roll down my window when he arrives. The hot Texas air floods into my car. Hows it going officer? I ask with a smile. License and registration please. The State trooper demands. I inform him Im going to reach for my wallet, which I get from the center console. I then tell him Im going to retrieve the registration from my glove compartment. When I open the glove compartment I cant find my registration. I remove all of its contents and I still cant find it. Here is my license, I cant find my registration. I inform the State Trooper. He tells me to just give him my insurance card, since all he needs is my VIN number anyways. I get my insurance information from my stack of documents and hand it to him. Sit tight. He commands, as if I were going anywhere at this point. He returns 10 minutes later. Im going to give you a ticket for going 90 in a 75. He says. If thats what you want to do. I say.
Step out of the car and follow me. Were going to conclude our business in my patrol car. The State trooper orders and informs. Oookay. I reply, confused and nervous. Have I committed any crimes that I dont know about? Is this a case of mistaken identity? I follow the State Trooper to his car. Sit up front with me. He orders. I open the passenger side door and get in. An M4A1 assault rifle (the model used by our armed forces) and a combat shotgun are locked up between the two of us. Have you ever had to use these? I question, pointing to his arsenal. He ignores me. So where are you coming from? The State Trooper asks, coldly. I started my drive in Washington D.C. I state. Today? He asks. I think to make a joke about him needing a geography lesson, referencing the impossibility of completing the drive from D.C. to El Paso in one day, but I think better of it. Houston. I reply. What did you do in Houston? The trooper asks. Watched a baseball game, hung out with a friend, passed on some pussy. I respond. Watch your language. He orders. Sorry I declined an offer to engage in sexual intercourse. I censor. Dont be a smart ass. The trooper commands.
With all due respect, telling me not to be smart ass would be like telling you not to carry a gunrespectfullyofficer. I educate. Where are you headed now? He questions. Tucson. I inform. What are you going to do there? The State trooper inquires. Im going to certainly not pass on anyIm sorry, decline to engage in sexual intercourse there because Im going to visit this girl I am really into. Shes a real sweet heart and really hot, she used to be a model, you would be impressed. So how did you clock me? I inform and ask. Front radar. He replies as he taps a metal box on his dashboard before asking his next question. So why are you nervous? He asks. How can you tell Im nervous? I ask back. Im trained to spot such things, and you havent stopped running your mouth since you came in here. The State Trooper says. Ohwelllets go through it. You have me come sit in your car with you like youre a child molester, you want to play twentyone questions, you have two huge guns sitting between us, which I think is a bit much by the way, you havent laughed at any of my hilarious jokes, and not once have you even thought about smiling. I think it would be strange if I wasnt nervous. I say. He prints out a ticket and gives me instructions on how to pay it, which is done by calling some 800number. Can I just do it online? I ask.
No. Call the number. He snaps. (What year is this?)Alright, Im going to send you on your way, but before I do, I have one last question for you. The State Trooper says. Shoot. I say. Are you, or has anyone asked you to transport drugs or contraband? He asks No, of course not. Does anyone ever say yes to that? I answer and ask. Youd be surprisedso, if I searched your car I wouldnt find anything? The trooper asks. No, you would not, but I respectfully dont consent to search because I have a lovely young lady waiting for me. I say. Ill let you get on your way, but slow it down a bit. He says. As Im about to get out of the car I decide to say one last thing. Can you do me a favor? I ask. Maybe. The hardass State Trooper replies. Can I see you smile just one time? I request. He laughs and complies. Still 4 hours remain in my journey to the sight of Genevieve. I pass the Texas New Mexico border, less than a mile from where I was pulled over. I should have made a run for it. Only 3 hours left in my journey to the warm embrace of Genevieves arms. I am driving through New Mexico with its super boring landscape. I see why I fly over this place typically. I receive a phone call from Genevieve.
Hey handsome. She says once I answer. The sweet sound of her voice makes me feel tingly all over. Hey beautiful I respond. So when do you get here? Genevieve asks. Three hours or so. I reply. Cool, well order some dinner when you get here then. I hope you like pizza. She says all bubbly. Glorious. Hey, can you text me your address? I ask. Sure thing, Ill do it as soon as were off the phone. Genevieve replies. Thank you. You getting excited? I ask Of course, youre awesome and so hot, who wouldnt be excited. But hey, I gotta go. I was just checking in on you. Hurry up and get here. Drive safe Francis. Genevieve concludes. Bye Genevieve, see you soon. I say before getting off the phone. Our brief conversation has given me new energy. Only 2 hours remain in my journey until I am close enough to touch the girl of my dreams. I am in a race against the sunset. I take my attention away from the road in front of me to admire the scene above the road. It is a beautiful display, the sky is filled with blues, purples, and orange, with a few light clouds in between, a range of mountains are visible in the distance. I snap a photo with my phone. The photo is spectacular. I love America. Only 1 hour left in my journey to the girl that is going to save me from myself. I pass a sign that tells me I am only 70 miles away from Tucson, and 560 miles away
from Los Angeles. I realize that Genevieve hasnt sent me the text with her address. I send her a text letting her know; even though texting while driving is the most dangerous thing you can do behind the wheel of a car. She texts back immediately with her address followed by a second text: Im thinking we should get a hotel room>There is a hotel not far from where I live with pretty cheap rates>Because there is something I havent told you> or have I> I live in a travel trailer right now on my moms property>Its nice, but dont know how u feel about it. I respond: You arent poor are you? Just kidding. But to be honest with you, the whole trailer angle intrigues me. Ive never fucked in a trailer before; it would be awesome to enter your beautiful, flawless body while in a venue I have never been to before. Genevieve writes back: Oh, you want to fuck some trailer trash? P.S. No Im not poor, I have over 50k in the bank, saved up from my modeling career. I respond to her response: If that trailer trash is you I sure do. And good for you, saving money like that, a woman with her own money is super sexy. See you soon beautiful. I copy and paste the address Genevieve has sent me into Google maps. Google tells me I will be there in 30 minutes. I always believe Google. The colors in the sky are less diverse as I enter Tucson. It has taken on a crimson tone, as the sun is ready to set. I follow the directions provided by Sergey Brin and Larry Pages school project. I exit at W Ina Rd and make a left. Not wanting
to arrive empty handed I decide to stop by the store. I see a sign for a national drug store chain, which lies at the intersection of Silverbell and Cortaro. I decide this place will do. I pull into the parking lot and park next to a huge raised pickup truck. I change out of my gym clothes and into something more appropriate. I step out of the car and the hot desert air hits me like a blow dryer. I go into the store and review their selection of wines. I notice a familiar label. It is the wine Dave picked out for the dinner the day I last saw Genevieve. Since she didnt get to enjoy this wine that night I take this as a sign. I grab the bottle, which also happens to be the most expensive offering. For this place that is the twentytwo dollar price point. I head to the condom aisle to pick up some protection. I scan through the offerings for what I am looking for. The only condoms I find acceptable are the thin magnums; any other size cuts off the circulation to my dick and if condoms arent thin I cant feel anything so its like not having sex anyways. I decide to get some lube while Im at it just in case this girl wants to be my girlfriend, a man can never be too prepared. I stand in line with my box of a dozen magnum sized condoms, lubricant, and a bottle of wine. I am standing next to a bin filled with bags of socks. The sign above the bin reads Special! 8 pair of socks $2. I cant pass up this deal and you can never have too many pairs of socks since the dryer is always transporting them to another dimension anyways so I grab a bag. I put my box of condoms, bottle of lube, bottle of wine, and bag of socks on the conveyor belt. An older lady gets in line behind me. She looks at my items. I smile at her. The teenage clerk begins ringing up my items. Fun night planned? The clerk asks.
Obvi. I say. I get how the condoms, wine and lube go together, but I have to ask you what the deal is with the socks? She asks. 8 pair for $2 dollars, I couldnt pass up that deal. I respond. I pay for my items and go about my business. I get back into my car and review the directions. I exit the parking lot and take Cotaro Rd back to Ina. I make a right turn onto Ina before going into Tucson Mountain Park. The sun has completely set at this point and there are no streetlights along the freshly paved reflector less road. I follow the next step in the directions and I feel my car drop a bit. I am now on a dirt road. I get a bit nervous. What if this is some type of caper? The cell phone service is spotty at best, but where isnt it if you have an iPhone in 2010. I stop driving for a minute to try and make a phone call to Dave. It takes three attempts before it finally goes through. Dave and I greet each other before I get to the purpose of the phone call. Yo man, Im in the middle of no where in the desert, on some dark dirt roads. Im going to text you the address that this girl gave me. If you dont hear from me tomorrow afternoon, send a rescue party. I request. Are you sure you know what youre doing? Dave questions, concern in his voice. I may be in love over here. Crazier things have been done for that. I say. Alright man, Im seriously going to call the cops if I dont hear from you by 2 tomorrow afternoon. Dave says. Thanks man. If anything happens to me, I love you bro. I say.
Shut up youre so gay. He says. Haha, you love it, later man. I conclude the call. I wait at an intersection. It is as dark as could be outside. The only light comes from my headlights and the reflection of my headlights off of street signs. I turn onto another dirt road. I bounce up and down, nearly hitting my head. The aftermarket racing suspension on Volkswagen was not designed for this. I make the final turn the directions tell me to make. I drive up a long unpaved drive way. As I approach the end my headlights illuminate a white travel trailer.
Next Chapter.
I greet Genevieve by wrapping my arms around her. I hold her close to my body. I take an involuntary deep breath. A rush of goodness descends from the crown of my head, through my brain, down my spine, through my chest and into my stomach where it releases butterflies. Genevieve and I stand under the desert sky. Trillions of stars are above us as we gaze deeply into each others eyes. She attempts to speak, but I dont allow her to ruin the moment. In her eyes I see all of my hopes and dreams for an ever lasting love, someone I could grow old with, that happily ever after ending that we all want. Francis, Im so glad you finally made it. Genevieve proclaims. Me too. I say as I hug her even tighter. I smell her hair, and what a glorious smell, like sugar coated roses. We end our glorious embrace. Well, thats my trailer. Genevieve points to her trailer. But lets go in the house first so you can meet my mom. She says. Lets do it, moms love me. I say.
We walk 20 yards from right outside the trailer to the cool desert house. The house is made from a dark wood and steel. On the walk there are all kinds of interesting art made from recycled materials scattered about. I open the door to the house for Genevieve. She enters first; I follow. The walls of the house are covered in folk art. Hey mom, I want you to come meet my friend. Genevieve calls out. Her mother appears from a back room. She looks shocked to see me, like she was expecting someone else. Mom, this is Francis, Francis this is my mom. Genevieve pseudo introduces us. I walk confidently over to her mom, who extends her hand for handshake, but I ignore it and instead give her a hug. Oh wow, youre tall. Her mother says. So mom, whats your name? I inquire with a smile. Im sorry, how rude of me and my daughter. Im Nancy. Nancy says. Its a pleasure Nancy. I say, shaking hands this time. Nancy asks me about my travels. I tell her all of the cities Ive been to in the past week with particular focus on the few hours I spent cleaning up the beach. She seems impressed. Genevieve tells her mother that shes ordered some pizzas and were going to have dinner when they arrive. Nancy says that she will join us and that someone named Norm may come as well. Can I check out your trailer? I ask Genevieve with the enthusiasm of someone asking to checkout a Ferrari. Sure, lets go. Genevieve says before leading me back to the trailer. We walk out of the house where we are met by a large dog, who is growling at me.
Lilly, stop. Genevieve commands. Come here Lilly. Sit. I command. Lilly obeys, bitches always do. I am Cesar Milan. Wow, she typically hates strangers. Genevieve says while I stand there petting Lilly. Dogs, like moms, love me. They are the same as us, they just want love. I say. Genevieve and I walk towards the trailer, Lilly follows. Genevieve and I enter the trailer, leaving the dog outside. There is more space than you would expect to find in a trailer, but even that isnt much space at all. There is a small couch facing the door. To the left of the entrance is a small kitchen, with a small sink, a small stove, and a small table. Just past that, the space concludes at a small bathroom, which contains a small shower. The other end of the trailer is less packed, only containing a bed and a couple of nightstands. So yea, this is it, its not much. Genevieve says. I pick Genevieve up causing her to scream slightly in surprise. I kiss her before throwing her down on the bed. I get on top of her and start making out. While we kiss each other she snaps off my shirt, and caresses my chest and back. I pause from making out to pull her summer dress over her head. We resume our kiss. Genevieve unbuckles my pants while I unhook her bra. Once unhooked, I take her bra completely off and throw it. Her breasts are revealed and they are much more spectacular than I remember. I let Genevieve know as much.
Your breasts are much more spectacular than I remember. I declare. They are so perfect. Round, full, with erect nipples and proportional areolas. Despite having some weight to them they have the ability to levitate. This beautiful angel does not need a bra. The world would be a better place if she went without. I cant help but put my mouth on her breasts. I tease her at first, moving my tongue in circles around both of her nipples. I finally just take as much of one of them in my mouth as I can. The taste of cotton candy is sensed. She reaches into my pants and grabs a handful of dick. She whispers the words Oh my God. And begins stroking it. I push her down onto her back and pull her panties off. I stand up, grab a condom out of my back pocket and then get completely naked. Hurry up and put your dick inside of me. She commands. I grin at her. I look at her perfect vagina and consider just going in unsheathed. I think better of it and roll the magnum on. I climb between her legs but dont enter her body just yet. Beg me for it. I order. Please give me your dick. Genevieve says seductively, licking her lips. I dont believe you really want it. I tell her. Please Francis, put your huge dick inside of me. She begs. Use my full name. I command. Francis Clark, will you please put your huge dick inside of Before she can finish I enter her body. We both moan simultaneously at the moment of insertion. This is what you wanted? I whisper into her ear. Oh my God, yes. She cries out. I kiss her.
We have sex in the missionary position, our bodies in rhythm with each other. I slide deeper inside of her with each thrust. The sounds of moans fill the air. I reach my arm under her and pull her body tight. I flip her over so she is on top without severing our connection. She does a glorious job of riding. Her breasts bounce majestically as she straddles me. I offer words of encouragement prior to filling my mouth with one of her breast. She rides me faster and faster, slowing down to bend her body seductively then riding fast again. My body goes deeper into hers with each movement. Keep doing that. I whisper. This feels so amazing. Genevieves skin turns flush, a sign she is nearing her orgasm. Seeing her pleasure brings my own orgasm closer as well. I put my hand on the back of her neck and bring her face closer to my own. Her breasts brush my chest as she continues to ride. We look deeply into each others eyes. The intensity level is off the charts. Her vagina clinches and her mouth opens. Genevieve lets out a scream; she has reached her climax. This takes me over the top. Genevieve lays on top of me, completely relaxed, my body still inside of hers. Our slowing deep breaths are perfectly synchronized. No words can describe the feelings we just gave each other so we dont even attempt them. I am happy to be here, happy to be with her. I slowly ease my semierect penis out of her body, being careful not to spill a drop of semen. Genevieve tells me there is something she wants to show me. She lifts her body off of mine and walks over to the small table. She grabs a black binder and returns to the bed, placing her naked body next to mine. She opens the binder and begins to explain its contents. This is my book. Genevieve states. The binder contains photos of her various modeling shoots
throughout the years. She looks stunningly beautiful in every photo. Genevieve was featured in advertisements for everything from wedding dresses to energy drinks. She discusses a few happenings from some specific shoots. How this photographer was trying to fuck her, or how the original model was too coked out to pose. We reach the end of her book where 4 unbound prints wait. Genevieve grabs them. I want you to have these, so you will always remember me. Genevieve says. I stare at her lovingly and reply. I guarantee I will never forget you. Genevieve smiles and kisses me. Her phone begins to ring. She gets up and runs towards the sound. She locates her phone on the small table and answers. You cant find it? Okay, where are you now? Okay, just wait there, Ill come to you. Genevieve says into the phone. She gets off the phone and turn to me. I have to go meet the pizza guy. She says. Ill come with. I state. Before we both get dressed I have to feel her beautiful naked body one more time. I go over to where she is standing and hug her, pressing our flesh together. I cup her butt in my hands and give her a passionate kiss. I pull away before she is ready. Her eyes are still closed and lips still puckered. Lets get going. I tell her to snap her out of her trance. She stands there with a dazed and confused look. She opens her eyes wide, like she is just now coming back to reality. Stars are in her green eyes. She shakes her head and begins to get dressed. I put on the same clothes I was wearing. Genevieve opts for something more comfortable. She puts on a white tank top, underneath the same bra that I removed precoitus. For her bottom half she selects some green workout shorts. We exit the
trailer and go around to the other side where her SUV is parked. I walk her to the drivers side and open the door for her. She smiles at me. I make sure she is all settled in before closing the door and walking around to the passenger side. The radio plays as we pull out. As we drive down the dirt road to collect our dinner the only communication Genevieve and I have with each other is the occasional loving glance and smile. It is a glorious silence. The type shared by two people who are comfortable with each other and dont feel the need to fill the awkward pauses. Genevieve reaches over and places her hand just above my knee. This causes a sensation to flow through my body. I place my hand on top of hers and interlock our fingers. We turn towards each other and smile. We find the pizza guy where he told Genevieve he would be. We pull up behind his 1990s automobile. I offer Genevieve some cash for the meal; she refuses. She gets out of the car and makes the exchange of cash for pizza with the delivery driver. The scene reminds me of a drug deal. Genevieve returns to the vehicle with two large pizza boxes. I take them from her and hold them above my lap. We begin the journey back to her mothers property. Oh my god, I was so excited to see you and you knowsleep with you, I totally forgot to ask how your trip has been. Genevieve says. It was fine, nothing too interesting. Well, I met a cool artist while cleaning the beach in New Orleans. Checked out some of his art, but overall nothing too eventful. Its been good though. I got to do some good thinking. I say. What did you think about? She queries.
You. I say with a smile. She leans over and kisses me before grabbing my hand. We hold hands the remainder of the ride. I feel a special energy moving between us. Back at the desert property Genevieve and I set up a table outside her trailer for dinner. Genevieve lays out the pizza boxes and I contribute my bottle of wine. I notice an old rusty pickup truck parked next to my Jetta. Whose truck is that? I inquire. Oh, thats Norms. He must be inside the house with my mom. Genevieve says. Who is Norm? I ask. Oh, ha, yeah. Hes my moms exboyfriend. He lives in the neighborhood. She informs. I look around the neighborhood and it is pitch black all around, there is nothing. We are in the middle of the desert. Perhaps she meant he lived down the road. Genevieve goes inside the house to get Nancy and Norm. Less than a minute later the three of them come outside. Nancy is carrying a plate of freshdiced tomatoes and freshly chopped basil along with paper plates. Genevieve is carrying wine glasses. The women put their items down on the table. Nancy introduces Norm and I. I get out of my seat and stand to shake hands. I give him a firm handshake and look him in the eye. His grip is tight and his hands are thick and rough, like he is a craftsman. Its a pleasure. I say to Norm while completing our handshake.
We all take our seats. Im at the head of the table facing the house. Nancy sits at the opposite end of the table, facing me. To my left is Genevieve, with her back to the trailer and facing Norm, who is seated to my right. We break bread. I briefly talk to Norm. Norm is a redneck; literally his neck is red. He has dull eyes and weathered skin, signs of too much alcohol and too much sun. He is a carpenter by trade but his real passions arent so Christ like. He lists them as Drinkin and shootin. Hes a good guy but a real desert dweller. I take a huge bite of pizza. Nancy chooses this exact moment to begin her interrogation. So Francis, what do you do for a living? She questions. I put up the universal sign for one second as I finish chewing. I take a sip of wine and then answer. Im a professional gambler. I answer. Like a card player? Nancy asks. Sometimes, but more sports betting. I answer. You win more than you lose? She questions as Genevieve and Norm look on. Thats what it means to be a professional. I answer. Where did you learn to do something like that? She asks. The investing business. I answer. Nancy has a confused look on her face. Let me explain. Investing in stocks, commodities, real estate, derivatives, no matter what it is, is guessing the future, because no one knows the future. You can make an educated guess though through extensive research or by looking at what has happened in the past. Its a bit more complicated than that, but those are the basics. I
learned this while interning at bulge bracket investment bank for a couple of summers, but I decided to apply it to sports betting because I realized the 5:45am to 9pm work days of sales and trading on Wall St. werent for me. I explain. The confused look on Nancys face has changed to intrigue. So what about you Nancy, what do you do? I ask. Im a real estate agent. Nancy says. This spawns 30 to 40 minutes of conversation between the two of us. I tell Nancy my views on the causes of the real estate collapse: People bought more house than they could afford, and since it wasnt their money, the people loaning the money didnt care. I say. Nancy tells me how she is making money in real estate in the worst housing market in 70 years: The short sale opportunities are tremendous. My job now is just convincing people that they wont see the prices we hit in 2006 for another 15 to 20 years. Nancy says. We debate the future direction of mortgage rates: Were at an all time low, so I believe now is the time for people to refinance and those that have the credit to buy should buy because rates arent going any lower. Nancy says. I disagree, they are going to go lower because of the laws of supply and demand. There will always be buyers of mortgage bonds because some money managers are mandated to only buy mortgage bonds. There is no new supply of mortgage bonds though because people arent taking out mortgages right now,
either because they cant, because their credit is destroyed, or because they wont, because they think housing prices are going lower. So all that demand for mortgage bonds hasnt gone anywhere, yet that money is chasing diminished supply, causing prices of mortgage bonds to go up. Price and yield are inversely correlated, so when price goes up rates go down. I explain. I explain how derivatives, the main revenue producer for Wall Street is nothing more than gambling: These derivatives are nothing more than side bets. An option is a side bet on the price direction of a stock or commodity. A Credit Default Swap is a side bet on an entity being able to meet its financial obligations; an interest rate swap is nothing more than a side bet on the future direction of interest rates. Wall Street acts like these things are necessary when they arent at all. Derivatives only make the pie that Wall Street can take points off larger. Global Wealth is only like 200 trillion dollars, yet there is quadrillion dollars in side bets. Thats five times as many side bets as there is wealth, how is that necessary? Thats why the system almost collapsed. I explain. Norm and Genevieve are looking at each other with confused looks. Why dont you guys talk about huntin, or sponge bob. Norm says. We all laugh. So what motivates you? Nancy asks me. Well since for all we know we only live once, I think we should spend that life maximizing happiness as long as it doesnt mess with the happiness of others, but also we should be making the most of our lives, spending everyday bettering
ourselves. That could be done by simple things like working out, reading, meeting new people, traveling, something, anything to be better today than we were yesterday. I say. Wow, you know, we need more young people like you in the world. Nancy says. I guess that means you arent scared anymore. Norm chimes in, darkening the mood of the table. Scared of what? Genevieve asks. I know exactly what Nancy was scared of, but nothing positive can come from that conversation so I change the subject. Nancy, what was your lovely daughter like as a child? I ask. Nancy shares some stories that embarrass Genevieve. The four of us laugh and get drunk together for the next hour or so. After having such a great time we all realize it is getting late. We say goodbye to Norm who gets into his old pickup truck and drives off into the darkness. I help Genevieve and her mother clean the table. I take the garbage and bottles to the trash and recycle bin respectively. I then join the women who have taken the dirty glasses and left overs into the house. I tell Nancy good night and give her a hug. She makes sure to tell me how much of a pleasure it is to meet me. I leave the house to give Genevieve some time to talk to her mom about me. I wait outside back at the dinner table. Lilly joins me. I rub her belly, which she loves. Genevieve comes back outside carrying a bottle of sake and joins me. My mom is like totally in love with you. Genevieve says. Oh yea, what did she say? I ask. She thinks youre so smart and so handsome and so mature. She states.
Glorious. I respond. Genevieve pulls up a chair next to me and we sit together passing the bottle of sake back and forth. I look up to the sky. Amongst billions and billions of stars I see one streak across the sky, a shooting star. I try to think up a wish but right now I want for nothing.
Next Chapter.
Why do you like me? Genevieve asks. The expression on her face is quite
serious. I look at her confused. I wasnt expecting her to ask me this right now. I thought we were having an amazing night together. This is the most important question a woman can ask a romantic interest. If I answer this question incorrectly it will ruin things. Im serious. Why do you like me? I know Im beautiful, but you live in LA there are plenty of beautiful women there, and I know we have some pretty good sex, but I just dont get it. Youre just so smart, like way smarter than me. Like that stuff you were talking to my mom about. I didnt understand half of it. So yea, why do you like me? She asks. Honestly Genevieve, I find you so interesting. Ive never met anyone that just up and moved to the other side of the world, not even knowing the language or anyone there, and not only did you survive, you thrived. That is some impressive shit. And now look, youre back in America and you already have another career that you are going after that Im sure you will rock as well. Youre plenty smart; dont sell yourself short. Also I find you completely refreshing to be around, your calm demeanor, how you go with the flow of life, I love itoh and Pretty good sex dont
marginalize the magic that is the joining of our two bodies. That shit is epic. I say. Genevieve is beaming after this. Oh, I was talking to Izabel earlier and I told her you were coming. She really
liked your friend. Genevieve says. Yeah, he liked her too, what did she say about him? I ask. Well she said he was really sweet, but honestly, she was kind of disappointed. She says. Why? I question. Well, you know shes from Eastern Europe and that was her first time in LA, so she just really wanted to fuck an LA guy. Genevieve says. I burst out laughing and explain to her that I told that to Dave. Genevieve and I sit there talking and drinking. She tells me about her parents divorce and her contentious relationship with her father. She shares with me information about her mother that I in no way would be able to glean from the conversation I shared with Nancy. Nancy wasnt always so responsible. After her divorce from my dad her and I lived in the trailer together and it sucked. She treated me more like a best friend than a daughter. She was more interested in getting drunk and hooking up than she was in me. Thats the real reason I left for Tokyo. I had to get away from her craziness. Genevieve says. I let her know that my father wasnt much better and that the both of us turned out all right so it doesnt matter anyways. Our conversation about bad parenting has made us closer. Sometimes two people from tow completely different places are so similar, all it takes is a
conversation to realize that. When we see there are other people like us we realize we arent alone and that a situation similar to your own can not only be overcome, but at times works as a springboard to success. Do you smoke weed? Genevieve asks. Do I? I went to high school in Berkeley, there wasnt much of a choice. I say. Good, I just got this really good weed. She says. Well lets get high. I say. Genevieve disappears into the trailer. She returns with a glass pipe and a sandwich bag half filled with marijuana. My near decade of experience in such stoner matters tells me that she has about a quarter ounce. She packs a bowl and passes it to me. I fire it up and take a puff. *CoughCoughCough* Shit is harsh. I complain. Yea, the desert air dries it out pretty quickly. Genevieve explains. I take one more puff before passing it to Genevieve. She takes her drags and shoots the piece back my way. I take another hit and blow smoke rings into the still desert air. So how long did you plan on staying for? She asks. Ummm, I dont know. You told me I should stay for a couple of days so Ill stay for a couple of days. I answer. The expression on her face is one of indifference. I dont know what to make of this so I ask. Is that okay? Yeah, of course, thats great. I just have to go to the gym most days around 12 or so. Genevieve says.
Does your gym have guest passes? I ask. Im not sure. She replies. What gym do you go to? I inquire. She tells me the name of her gym. It is a national chain that I previously purchased a guest pass from. Glorious, they for sure have passes. Ive been driving for all these days and in desperate need of the gym, so Ill go with. I say. Genevieve doesnt look happy about this development. It looks like her mind is working hard to come up with something. I have a feeling this girl isnt giving me the complete story. Just tell me whats going on. I order. She stares at me, looking deep into my eyes before speaking. Oh God, youre going to hate me. Genevieve says. I dont have the energy to hate anyone. I calmly say. Okay. She says before pausing to take a deep breath, while I wait anxiously for her revelation. Well since I last saw you I have been spending a lot of time with this guy here, and things have gotten pretty serious, and him and I go to the gym together. She confesses. Like how serious? I ask, with a confused look on my face. I think he may be the one. Genevieve says. Her words feel like a punch to the stomach. The air is sucked out of me. My mind goes blank, then into chaos. I try to process what is happening. All of those feelings I had for this girl. The emotions I felt. The release of dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin my brain executed. Was any of it real? Does it matter if it was real or not? The illusion is just as good as reality. I felt that love, that
electricity, that connection with this girl. Did she feel it too or was that fake? The emotions Im feeling, anger, no, jealousy, no, heartache, no. How could I be so stupid, so foolish, so nave? Get control of your emotions. CLARK! You are a man, youre smarter than this, be rational. Thats what separates men from the animals, and to a lesser extent, women. Shes in love with someone else, accept it. It is what it is. It is what it was always going to be. You are no saint; you are the opposite. Youve been fucking girls all week, all month, all year. You had a girlfriend when you met this girl. She isnt doing anything you havent done. She isnt doing anything you wouldnt do. You two are no different from one another, you two are similar, you two are the same.
Next Chapter.
Are you okay? Genevieve asks. Of course, why wouldnt I be? We dont even live in the same place. I say. Are you sure? I mean, I still really, really like you, but like you said, we dont live in the same place. She says So tell me about this guy. I say. Genevieve tells me how this guy has been her friend since childhood and that they started spending a lot of time together once she moved home from Asia. She smiles as she discusses the guy. She seems genuinely happy and he sounds like a decent guy. But that doesnt mean I am done sticking my dick inside of her. I believe her love for this guy and what her and I are doing are completely independent, and besides, me not fucking her and him not finding out are the same reality to him.
I get up and grab her hand, leading her into the trailer. I close the door behind us and start taking her clothes off. Not much has changed, yes the feelings that I felt are completely gone, but she is just as hot as she was before. I grab the back of her neck and begin kissing her aggressively, shoving my tongue down her throat. She bites my lip. I push her down to her knees. She looks up at me while I unbuckle my pants and take out my dick. She opens her mouth wide and I stick it in. She continues to look up at me while I take off my shirt. I grope her breasts while she goes to work. I poke her in the back of her throat a few times; she gags. Once my dick is at full mass I stand her up, turn her around, and bend her over. I nearly forget to put on a condom. An unforgiveable sin, especially now that I know she has a boyfriend. Wait hereactuallyplay with yourself. I command. She does as she is told. I get a condom out of the new box I purchased earlier. I rip open the gold wrapper and put the latex on my dick. She is still rubbing her clit when I slide into her. She moans as I enter. I immediately go balls deep. The sex is less spectacular than it was earlier, but thats to be expected. Sex is always better when there is a more meaningful connection. This sex is still a ton of filthy fucking fun, hitting it from the back always is. I grab her waist, gripping it tightly with both hands and pull her into me, while I continue to thrust. That skin on skin slapping sound bounces off the walls of trailer. I smack her ass, leaving a red palm sized print. As I pound away I move my hands from her waist to her tits, holding onto them as my dick moves in and out of her body. I move my right hand from that breast to her hair, I grab a handful, wrapping it around my wrist for a good grip and pull. This takes her over
the top. She cries out louder than I have heard her yell. I fuck her harder and harder, the sounds echoing louder and louder, she cums again letting out another aggressive yell. I keep going, faster, deeper, and harder into her pussy until I cum. There is no after sex cuddling, or photo showings this time around. I dont feel shit for this girl any longer. Thats not entirely true, I am still sexually attracted to her and I think shes kind of cool, but thats it. We will never be romantic together, we will never be in a relationship, all we will be is sexual partners and at best, friends. Where is that weed? I ask. She gathers herself and grabs the pipe and bag of weed. She packs a bowl, which she hits first. When she is done she passes it my way. We pass it back and forth until the weed is nothing but ashes. I get higher, which causes my dick to come back to life. We spend the next two hours pleasuring each other. My dick alternates between occupying her vagina and taking up space in her mouth. I fuck her in every position I can dream up. I fuck her standing while I suspend her body in the air. I fuck her in the missionary position. I fuck her in reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, doggy, froggy, lotus, from the front, from the back, from the side, I fuck her mouth, I fuck her pussy, and I think to fuck her ass. We fuck until we run out of orgasms and bodily fluids. We fuck until both her vagina and my dick are in pain. Even then I wanted to fuck some more. Lets go again. I say. If youre going to fuck me again youre going to have to go down on me. My pussy hurts. She complains.
Typically I would just go down there, I actually enjoy going down there, would have a long time ago, but Im certain her boyfriend had his dick in there earlier today. Instead I just roll over and fall asleep.
Next Chapter.
I am awoken by the faint sound of yelling. I realize Genevieve is no longer in bed. I try to go back to sleep but the yelling continues. It is coming from right outside the trailer. I listen closely and realize it is a language I do not understand but recognize. That semester spent pretending to learn Japanese wasnt a complete waste after all. Genevieve is outside the trailer yelling in Japanese. Sayonara! She screams before coming back into the trailer. She has the look of pure frustration on her face. Genevieve notices that I am awake, staring at her all groggy eyed. Oh sorry, did I wake you? She asks. Yea, no worries. What time is it? I ask. Like seven. Genevieve answers. Ahh, so what was all that about? I question. I dont think you want to know. She declares. I already know about your boyfriend and Im not only not judging you, Im still here with you, so obviously you can tell me whatever. I explain. Alright. She takes a deep breath before continuing. Well, I was arguing with this guy that is kind of still my fianc in Tokyo. Genevieve confesses. I take this latest bombshell without so much as flinching. What does that even mean, how can someone kind of be your fianc? I ask.
Well I tried to break it off before I left, but he wouldnt let me. She answers. What does that mean? I question. I told him we were done, and he wouldnt accept it. He calls me everyday. He keeps telling me hes moving here to be together. That is what we were arguing about. Genevieve explains. I can barely contain my laughter. What? Is this real? So let me ask you; how long were you engaged? I inquire. A grin rests on my face. Two year. She answers. Welltwo years and countingdid you give him the ring back? I ask, still smiling. No, I didnt give the ring back, but thats only because he owes me money. She says. So let me get this straight, you have a fianc, a boyfriend, and me here visiting? I ask. Yes. She says, with a look of distress on her face. Does your boyfriend know about your fianc or that Im here? I question. No about my fianc and yes about you. She answers. hahaha, I couldnt even make this shit up. I cant believe Im good with all of this, hell it makes my trip way more entertaining. I say, still laughing. Im glad you find my life entertaining. Genevieve angrily says. Well who wouldnt. I quip. I get out of bed still laughing to myself. It was just half a day ago I thought I could spend the rest of my life with this girl. Ha. Not that I feel she is a bad person,
or even a slut. She is just caught living in a web of lies; her only crime is she loves too much. I can relate. Genevieve tells me I can shower in the trailer or in the house. I opt for the house. I gather some clothes and my bathroom bag. I exit the trailer. As soon as I step outside the desert sun immediately blasts me. Damn this shit is hot. The 25 yards from Genevieves trailer to Nancys house kicks my ass. I enter the house and the relief provided by the air conditioning. Nancy is working on breakfast in the kitchen when I enter. Good morning Nancy. I greet her. Good morning Francis, you sleep well? Yes maam. I answer. Nancy makes sure I am joining her for breakfast and that I eat what she is making. I let her know that if shes making it Im eating it. She then gives me directions to the shower. She offers advice on how to make the shower work, but I assure her I am smart enough to figure it out. I enter the washroom, which is just as desert like as the rest of the house. I take my clothes off and have a seat on the porcelain alter. After dropping a solid deuce and completing the rest of that process I turn on the shower and hop in. While showering I laugh to myself some more and think about who I can share this story with. I finish cleaning myself and turn off the water. I get out of the shower, dry off and get dressed. I wear a black and yellow shirt and camouflage cargo shorts. My shoes match my shirt.
When I exit the bathroom, breakfast is laid out on the kitchen table. Coffee, orange juice, potatoes obrien, an assortment of fresh cut fruit, and a frittata are the offerings. I tell Nancy how great it all looks and smells before joining her at the table. Should we wait for Genevieve? I ask Nancy. No, shes always late for breakfast, shell be in soon. Nancy replies. I put a small amount of each item on my plate. Despite my voracious appetite I have trouble eating a lot of food during my first meal. I begin eating the food on my plate, slowly. It isnt bad at all, not the greatest breakfast of all time, but still pretty good. I notice Nancy is watching my every bite. She may suspect that I dont like her cooking. To assuage her concern I tell her that I always eat a small amount of food for breakfast in addition to eating it slowly because my metabolism hasnt gathered any momentum yet. Genevieve enters the house and joins us at the table. The three of us sit together eating breakfast. Nancy gives Genevieve suggestions on where to take me today. She keeps mentioning the Desert Museum. Genevieve doesnt seem interested in that. We finish breakfast. Genevieve clears the table; I help her. I go over to the sink and begin washing the dishes. Oh, youre a guest, you dont have to do that. Nancy says. Dont worry about it, you made this delicious meal for me, let me stay on your property, and birthed this lovely daughter of yours, its the least I can do. I reply. You are just so well mannered, tell your parents they did a great job for me, will you? Nancy replies.
Genevieve joins me at the counter to dry the dishes. We make a solid team. Once all of the dishes are washed and dried Nancy goes to work in her home office while I do some work on my laptop, and place some bets betting the Diamondbacks at +150 and the Reds at 240, I also bet on a world cup match getting ready to start. When I am done placing bets I complete the final step in any break up by changing my relationship status on Facebook. Genevieve sits on the couch and watches a local morning show. During the commercial break an advertisement for Senator John McCain comes on. I have never seen McCain like this, dressed in a hat that displays the Naval Aviator logo on the front, bomber jacket, and dark aviator shades. He looks cool as fuck. Whether you agree with his politics or not, John McCain more than anyone deserved to be POTUS, if there is such a thing as deserving to be elected to office. Im not saying he was a better choice than the Kenyan born Muslim (kidding) that was elected, but John McCain spent his entire adult life in service to this great nation. He entered the Naval academy, fought for his country as a Naval aviator, and spent over five years as a prisoner of war being tortured, including a stay at the Hanoi Hilton where the hospitality was less than hospitable. John McCain is so honorable that despite the constant torture at the hands of Charlie, he refused an early release, because he would only accept repatriation if all of his fellow countrymen taken before him were released first. He followed that up with a distinguished career in the US Congress, followed by the Senate where he worked on landmark campaign finance reform, trying to clean the corruption out of politics. Long story short, that old ass man is THE man.
Genevieve and I decide to go sit outside. Before going outside I thank Nancy one final time for the amazing breakfast. I look up at a clock; it is 10am. Genevieve and I sit outside in the baking sun. So what are we doing today? I ask. I still have to go to the gym at noon. Genevieve reminds me. Right, well I need new tires for my car so Ill go take care of that then. I tell her. Cool. She replies. The two of us sit there in an awkward silence for a few minutes when I decide to break it. You want to go fuck? I ask. Not really. Genevieve replies. Cool. I reply to her reply. The two of us sit there in an awkward silence for a few minutes when she decides to break it. Alright lets go. We go into the trailer where I get my dick sucked and we have sex. We go two rounds, the second of which I finish in her mouth. She swallows all of it without hesitation. Genevieve goes into her little bathroom and rinses her mouth out. I start to feel bad for her boyfriend. Not because I am fucking his girl, I could care less, you cant own someone anyways, but because she is going to go kiss that guy with that mouth in a couple of hours. Then I start feeling bad for myself because I was the one
kissing her mouth after her boyfriend may have came in there yesterday. Gross. I shake my head. I decide it is best not to think about it. Genevieve and I spend the next hour reviewing the lies that she has decided to tell her boyfriend. She settles on some nonsense about me traveling with a friend who had to leave early in the morning to catch a flight back to Los Angeles. She is going to tell her boyfriend that my friend and I slept in the trailer together while she slept in her mothers house. She isnt very good at this, but I am. I tell her about my experience with Claudia and how despite all evidence to the contrary she believed and still believes I wasnt cheating on her. Using that example as my basis I tell Genevieve it probably doesnt matter what she says because if this guy is really into her, hell probably believe whatever lies she tells him anyways. It is time for her to go meet up with her man. Genevieve tells me where the nearest tire shop is and provides me with directions. We part ways. I follow Genevieves directions and arrive at the shop with no hassles. I go inside and tell the guy working the front counter exactly what I want. He tells me the price, which I agree to. I give him my keys and go have a seat in the waiting area, where I make some phone calls and send a text. The first text is to Jasmine: You miss me yet? She replies back: Of course poobear, hurry back to me!!! Then I text Alexandra: You miss me yet? She replies back:
Yes stnos, I hope you come back before I go home to Sweden. Then I text Ingrid: You miss me yet? She replies back: Fuck no!!! I miss women, never men. But call (Yes CALL, not this text bullshit that is the lowest form of communication) me when youre ready to get girls together. Then I call Dave to let him know I am alive and to discuss the situation. He cant believe what he is hearing. He enjoys the fact that I fucked some other guys girlfriend a bit too much. People like what they like and Daves fetish is fucking other guys girls, like hes a rapper or something. Dave and I discuss the philosophical aspects of this situation, concluding that someone cheating and their partner not knowing about it is the same reality to them as not cheating at all, because as human beings we can only experience the reality that we can perceive with our five senses. If this experience has taught me anything it is that people, especially women, are going to do what they want to do, there is no controlling them, and even if you could control someone, why would you want to? Dave and I wrap up our conversation. Next I call Adam. I catch him up on the events from New Orleans to Tucson. He also cant believe this girl Genevieve. He says the word What at least 30 times. He then takes the time to make fun of me for kissing Genevieves cum stained mouth. I tell him that since there is no way to know for sure I choose to believe in the reality where she had no semen in her mouth before I arrived. I have a call on the other line. It is Genevieve, so I tell Adam to hold on. I switch over.
Genevieve tells me her boyfriend really wants to meet me and she doesnt know what to do. She then asks what time I will be done buying these tires. I ask the guy working behind the counter, he tells me less than 10 minutes. I relay this information to Genevieve. Well him and I are going to get lunch, should I just tell him youre busy? She asks. Well Im hungry too, maybe I better go to lunch. I reply. Wont that be weird? Genevieve asks. For you maybe, Im no hater. Besides he may become suspicious if you dont allow him to meet me. I advise. Alright, were going to stick to the same story, Ill text you the address where we are going to eat. She says before hanging up the phone. I click back over to Adam. So Im going to lunch with her and her boyfriend. I inform my friend. Daaamn, hoes are grimy. Adam says. It is what it is. I just wish she hadnt come up with such a stupid ass story. Too late now. I say. Try not to get your ass kicked. Adam advises. Well I probably deserve it. I say. No one is disputing that, but still be careful. You dont want to go down over some biatch. He says. Adam and I wrap up our conversation just as I see my car being pulled out. I go and talk to the technician who worked on my car. He tells me that the tire I lost at
the start of my road trip was still structurally intact and has no holes in it, so he concludes that the tire was probably put on incorrectly. I inspect his work and notice that he has put the wrong size tires on the car. I let him know of his error and give him my keys back as he apologizes profusely. Guess they are fucking up the tires on my car no matter what city Im in. I call Genevieve and let her know the situation. She tells me her and her boyfriend will come pick me up. Five minutes later they pull into the parking lot. I walk over to her SUV and get in the back seat, scooting over to the middle so I can talk with both of them. Whats up man, Im Francis. I say enthusiastically, extending my hand for a handshake. Bo. Its nice to meet you. He says while shaking my hand. Likewise dude. Genevieve, you didnt tell me he was so good looking. I say. Well you get to see for yourself. She replies. I notice Bo looking at me strangely in the rearview mirror. Are you gay? Bo asks. Me? Oh, no dude, far from it. Im just comfortable enough with my sexuality to know and acknowledge when I see a good looking man. I respond. Thats cool I guess. He says. Genevieve continues to drive to wherever it is that we are going. We pull into a small shopping center and all get out of the vehicle. Genevieve clearly has a type, as Bo is a tall, dark and handsome gentleman like myself, except he isnt quite as tall,
or quite as dark, or quite as handsome as me. I follow them into a Mexican restaurant. The three of us stand in line together. The lovely couple stand in front of me, side by side, arm in arm, as I stand behind them alone. I am their third wheel. Dude, youre tall Bo turns around and says to me. So are you, what are you, about 63? I ask. Yea, so I guess that makes you about 65. He says. I nod my head. I ask them whats good at this place. They recommend fish tacos. When it is my turn to order I order six of them. The two of them get four combined. We are handed sticks with numbers on them so our food can be delivered. We pick a table and have a seat. As we wait for our food to be delivered I tell Bo about my trip. I include some highlights like blowing a tire 50 miles in, eating great food in Nashville and New Orleans, going to a baseball game in Houston, and my speeding ticket in West Texas. Before we can move to the next subject our food arrives. Bo gets up and goes to the salsa bar. So what do you think? Genevieve asks. I think you picked a good guy, I hope it works out for you. I say genuinely. Thank you Francis, I hope so too. She replies. By the time Bo returns with his selection of salsa I have inhaled half of my food. He sits down while I am still chewing and notices I only have three tacos in front of me. Didnt you order six tacos? He asks. I nod my head. Once I swallow what is in my mouth I explain.
If I dont eat a ton of food Ill be a skinny guy. I have a crazy metabolism that needs constant calories. I state. What size do you think you would be? Bo asks. Im not sure. I was this this same height but 45 pounds less like twoanda half years ago. I looked like a starving African child. I answer. So how did you put on so much weight? He asks. I went with the Michael Phelps diet. Crushing over 6,000 calories a day, and hitting the gym really hard, lifting really heavy weights, now Im big and strong as fuck, chics dig it. I say, leaving out a key detail. Wow, thats crazy. Bo says. He then asks about life in Los Angeles. Well LA is crazy because every beautiful woman in the country comes there to make it from being good looking, so it is crazy competition. They really have to work hard to compete, some of them work out really hard, and others are on the coke diet. I explain. You mean diet coke. Bo corrects. No, I mean coke. I say, tapping my nose. Well it must be amazing to be a man there. Bo says. Absolutely, I do alright. You should come out sometime. I say. Well I hope you are using protection, you dont want to get a disease. Genevieve says, in a slightly jealous tone. Disease is a myth. I say with a straight face, although I am partially joking. No its not, Izabel got an STD. Genevieve informs.
What, wasnt she trying to fuck my friend, you were going to let him go down like that? I ask. No, she had one of the curable ones, its like having strep throat, they gave her some medicine; she was fine in a week. Genevieve says. Genevieve for some reason starts talking about her ex in Tokyo. We make slight eye contact acknowledging, that her and I are the only two at the table that know the truth. I get a phone call from the tire shop letting me know my car is ready. We finish eating and head back that way. They drop me off and tell me to meet them back at the trailer. They drive off as I talk with the technician and inspect his work. He has put the proper rubbers on my car this time. I bid him goodbye and a good life and head up to Nancys property. When I arrive I go into the trailer where Bo and Genevieve are waiting for me. I go over to my backpack, which is near the bed. I spot a condom wrapper and used condom on the side of the bed that I slyly pick up and throw into my backpack. I get my ipad and join them in the kitchen area of the trailer. I let Bo play angry birds on my ipad while we figure out what to do with the remainder of our day. Genevieve disappears into the bathroom, to fix her hair. So what was your friends name that was here earlier? Bo asks. I dont like this line of questioning but I am smarter than this guy, he wont catch me slipping. Oh, youre talking about my boy Dave, that is like my best friend from high school, we kind of grew up together. I wish he was still here, you would love him,
that fucking guy is hilarious. I say without hesitation. This seems to assuage his suspicions. Genevieve returns from the bathroom with an idea on how to spend our afternoon. She suggests we go shoot guns in the desert. Being a lover of the United States Constitution, and of my second amendment rights, I jump at the idea. So does Bo. I dont think my mom has enough guns or bullets, but I can have her call Norm to borrow some. Lets go inside the house and see. Genevieve says. The three of us walk over to the house. We enter and greet Nancy. She looks appalled at the audacity of her daughter, but quickly shakes it off and greets Bo with a hug. Nancy is no hater. Genevieve explains our plan to her mother. Nancy gets on the phone and calls Norm who agrees to come right away with some pistols, bullets and shotgun shells. The four of us make small talk until Norm arrives with two pistols, a box of bullets, and a box of shells. Before we leave, Nancy gives us a pistol and her shotgun, and tells us to be careful and to watch out for rattlesnakes. I wonder what conversation Nancy and Norm are going to have regarding this situation. Once outside the house we fill a wheelbarrow with water, our arsenal, ammo supply, and glass bottles, which we will use as targets. We have to go 500 yards in that direction. Genevieve says, as she points out into the desert. We begin our trek with Nancys dog, Lilly, tagging along. Bo and I take turns pushing the wheelbarrow. This task is made more difficult due to the desert sun
beaming down on us. We take a couple of breaks along the way, to rehydrate Lilly and ourselves. Once we are deep enough into the desert we come across a rock formation where we set up some bottles on a 4foot tall boulder. I start the target practice off with the shotgun. I take my shot from 15 yards away. I pull back the hammer, take aim, and squeeze the trigger. The sound booms out, and the kick back is more than I expected. I look at the bottles and I didnt hit shit. Bo and Genevieve laugh at me. Let me show you. Genevieve says, taking the shotgun from my hands. She reloads the weapon and takes aim. Two bottles are blown to bits when she takes her shot. Bo and I give a round of applause. Genevieve turns around and takes a bow. The three of us line up a bunch of bottles. We each grab a pistol, load them up and take aim. The group blasts away at the targets. Bo proves to be the most accurate of us. I exhaust my clip before either of them, because I watch too many Bond films, I think I have infinite ammo. (Ammo is rarely a problem for 007, with the exception of The Man With the Golden Gun, where the capacity of James Bonds Walther PPK is a key plot device) I go back to the wheelbarrow, which rest about ten feet behind where we are shooting. Lilly is there drinking water out of her bowl. I pet her before grabbing some bullets and loading them into my magazine. Genevieve runs out of ammo as well so she joins me at the weapons cache. Do you think he knows? She whispers to me. I subtly shake my head and go back to focusing on pushing ammunition into my clip. Bo finally runs out of ammo and joins us. I look down range and see that we have destroyed all of our targets.
Ill go set up more targets. I inform the happy couple. I engage the safety on my pistol and place it in the side pocket of my camo shorts. I grab as many bottles as I can, stuffing some into my multitude of pockets, and carrying others. I return to the scene of the crime where I use one of the bottles in my hands to clear the surface of the boulder of debris. I begin setting up our targets, from right to left in a straight line. I turn around to see Bo and Genevieve still at the wheelbarrow, having a discussion. I turn back around and focus on placing the last two bottles in the perfect spot when I hear a gunshot followed a split second later by the bottle closes to me shattering. OH SHIT. My mind becomes alert, my heart speeds up and adrenaline courses through my veins. I turn around and see Bo taking aim in my direction. I begin running for cover. I hear another shot, followed by the sound of glass shattering, and another, and another. Lilly barks uncontrollably and Genevieve yells at the top of her lungs for Bo to stop. SHUT UP WHORE! He yells at her. She obeys. I turn on a dime and dive behind the boulder, cutting my arm on some shattered glass. I reach for my pistol but it isnt in my pocket. I deduce that it has fallen out during my escape. Fuck my life. I then pull out my cell phone, no service, I wish I had Verizon. I immediately regret going to shoot guns with this guy. This is going to ruin my trip. What a lack of foresight on my part. Bo lets off a couple more shots. Bullets wiz over my head and shatter some more bottles. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM DUDE, THIS SHIT ISNT FUNNY! I yell. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM? He lets off another shot. YOURE MY FUCKING PROBLEM! He lets off another round. YOU COME HERE, SMILE IN MY FUCKING
FACE, WHEN THE WHOLE TIME YOU HAVE BEEN FUCKING MY GIRL! He yells before firing off another. I NEVER FUCKED YOUR GIRL! I yell from behind my geological shield. NOW YOURE GOING TO LIE TO ME! He screams, angrier than he was before. The sound of another round being fired fills the air along with the dog still barking, and Genevieve sobbing. Another shot is fired. Is this really how my life is going to end? Is this the end of the sequence of events going back to the beginning of time that end my existence? This is how Im going to fucking die. Shot in the desert by some lunatic, over a fucking woman. Thats some pathetic shit. I havent even made my first million dollars, or written my memoirs, or gotten married, or raised kids, or seen my grandkids. What is happening was what was always going to happen, and if Im going to die here over this bullshit Im going to go out being myself. HEY BO, YOUR INVITATION TO HANGOUT IN LA IS SO RESCINDED. YOU SEEMED LIKE AN AWESOME GUY BEFORE, BUT NOW, YOU ARE ACTING LIKE A PUSSY! I yell. IM A PUSSY HUH? Bo yells while he lets off a few shots in quick succession. IM JUST SAYING DUDE, YOURE A GOOD LOOKING DUDE, YOU CAN ALWAYS GET ANOTHER GIRL, BUT IF YOU KILL ME OVER THIS ONE YOURE GOING TO END UP SOMEONES GIRL. I call out. GENEVIEVE IS MY GIRL, DOES IT SEEM LIKE A GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT GOING TO JAIL? He yells and then shoots at me again.
There is no negotiating with someone that has lost their mind and feels like they have nothing to lose. Why hasnt he just come over here and shot me up close? Bo must believe he is in what is mistakenly referred to as a Mexican standoff. He has no idea that I dropped my gun. It is only a matter of time before he figures it out. I figure, with my level of physical fitness, the distance that already lies between us, and the caliber of handgun Bo is shooting at me with, it would be an extremely difficult shot for him to make against a moving target. My only chance at survival is to make a run for it. But I cant sure physically I can but I cant leave Genevieve with this psychopath. Yes, she created this situation, yes she came up with that stupid story, and yes, she is in love with a gun nut, but I definitely had a hand in it as well. I am not without fault. If something were to happen to her when I could have tried to prevent it I wouldnt be able to live with that on my mind. To me, death would be betterdumberbut nobler. Another shot is fired, another bottle shatters in the distance. How many was that? If I knew I could rush this asshole when he runs out of bullets, but I have no idea. Action heroes always know. I wish I were an action hero. Francis! A female voice calls out. Is it an angel here to rescue me? What? I call back. Its safe to come out. The voice tells me. Genevieve? I ask. Yes, its me. She says, voice trembling. Did you kill him? I query. God no, I just knocked him out. She says, sobbing between words.
I peak around the boulder. I see Genevieve standing over Bo, who is laid out. He doesnt appear to be moving. I cautiously stand up and begin walking towards them. I am trembling. I pick up the pistol that I previously fumbled. My hands shake uncontrollably. I take several deep breaths to try and calm my nerves. I finally just hold my breath while I focus on disengaging the safety and charging the pistol. Im still trembling as I slowly walk over to Genevieve. My pistol is still in hand, ready to put an end to Bo if this is a trick. I get to where Genevieve is standing. I look down at Bo, keeping my gun trained on him. He is breathing but still unconscious. I kick him mildly in the stomach to make sure he is still out. He doesnt respond. How did you knock him out? I ask. Genevieve points down to a shattered wine bottle. The label is torn to shreds, fractured along the glass, only a small portion, perhaps a tenth the original size, barely legible, and what remains is a drawing, a drawing of a complete Sierpinski Triangle. I now understand. The beginning is a matter of perspective. Endings can be beginnings, and beginnings can be endings, since it is all similar it is up to us to choose where our beginnings are. Lets go back to your house so we can call the cops, and maybe an ambulance for this guy. I suggest. But I dont want him to get in trouble. Genevieve says without looking at me. Her attention focused on her unconscious boyfriend. She kneels down and cradles his head. He just tried to kill me! I snap.
I know, but its only because he loves me so much. Genevieve says, still looking at her boyfriend, stroking his hair. I cant believe what she is saying, but she is obviously in love. Well Im going to go, are you coming? I ask. I cant leave him here. She says voice cracking, tears streaking down her cheeks as she continues to stroke his head. You really are in love arent you? I ask sympathetically. How could I not be? Look what he was willing to do for me. She explains. I hand Genevieve my pistol. Right on. I say. I begin my walk into the desert back towards Nancys house. Lilly follows me. During the walk I think about how I just survived. Then I think about love. The love I just witnessed. The crazy shit that love makes people do. I think about human nature, about people, about how no one is perfect, but some people are perfect for each other. Genevieve and Bo are clearly perfect for each other. I think about how it is important to find that person that is perfect for me. I also think about how it is important to enjoy the people I get to know along the journey for that perfect person. Whether I have a glorious time with someone for 5 minutes, 5 hours, 5 days, or 5 decades, a glorious time, regardless of length, is still a glorious time.
Next Chapter.
Lilly and I get back to Nancys property. I go into the trailer and gather myself, cleaning the blood off of my arm and dusting off my clothing before packing up my belongings. Before I exit the trailer I look at the small table and see the prints
that Genevieve wanted me to have so I would remember her. I think to grab them, but for some reason I dont, not like I will be forgetting her anyways. I exit the trailer and throw my belongings in the trunk of my Jetta. I walk over to the house. I walk into the home and see Nancy sitting in the kitchen working on her notebook. Hey Nancy. I greet her. Hey Francis, you kids done already? She asks. Oh no, Bo and Genevieve are still out there playing around, I just realized I have to get back to LA tonight, because I have some concert tickets for a show at the Hollywood Bowl. I explain. Oh, wow, but you just got here. Nancy says. She gets up out of her chair and walks over to me. I know, but plans are plans. I just wanted to come in here and thank you for your hospitality and say a proper goodbye. I say. Oh, anytime sweetie. It was such a pleasure meeting you. She says. Likewise. I say before giving her a hug. I walk out of the home and say goodbye to the dog before getting into my Volkswagen. I turn the car on and pop it into gear. I make my way down the dirt road back to the paved one ending up on Ina Rd. I take Ina until I see Interstate 10. I enter the 10 and head west into the sun. As I drive home towards Los Angeles I look at myself in the mirror. I look deep into my own eyes, searching for something, anything. I look more closely. I see something. In my own eyes I see the reflection of my reflection. The End
Dear Reader, I appreciate you making it to the end of my novel. Writing this piece took a long time, but it was a labor of love. If you enjoyed this book, help me get published by a big house by spreading the word to your friends and family, following me on twitter @realftucker, liking my Facebook Page (Frank Tucker, Author) and visiting my tumblr to leave feedback. That address is interstate10andother.tumblr.com I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you once again for purchasing and reading my material, and hopefully we will have the opportunity to meet some day. Thank you, Frank Tucker

Interstate 10 and Other Modes of Transportation

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Frank Tucker Interstate 10 and Other Modes of Transportation, 2012

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