CAUTION, THIS IS UNFINISHED, BUT IS A COMPLETE EXCERPT FROM MY JOURNAL FROM BACK IN THE DAY. IT MAKES ME LAUGH, I THOUGHT IT MIGHT MAKE YOU LAUGH TOO...
5
/ 7 / 09
“What?”
Rob says to his roommate, Andrew.
“What?”
“Up
your butt!”
“Thank you for ironing my pants, Rob!”
“No
problem –you know I’m freaky like ‘dat!”
I
giggle at their exchange.
* *
*
After work yesterday I met my friend, Awesome Rob for
drinks Downtown at (Musashi) the upscale sushi establishment located
a couple floors below his office.
They have a valet service which
I am not used to.
I drove my rusty, battered Buick Century
in the garage thinking to myself that my car will most likely be the
beater of the day for these young brown fellows.
“Careful,” I
tell the poor red-vested sap who takes my keys, “This car is
cherry!”
After
getting a shit-load of free adult beverages from the bartenders
Awesome Rob has befriended during his after work commute ritual, we
wandered over to Sex World -the largest sex shop in the city. Three
full floors of circus-themed fun. [DESCRIBE
SEX WORLD HERE!]Rob
commented how different the daytime crowd is considering he usually
frequents the establishment at suspect times under suspicious
circumstances. Or as he puts it: "at suspicious
times on suspect substances".)
Upon
entering, we immediately went our separate ways. Twenty minutes went
by and I found myself in the naughty bondage section located in the
back of the store. I was busy staring at an overwhelming section of
restrictive devices when I spotted a man in my peripherals who came
over and stood next to me. My perv meter went off immediately. After
a casual twenty or thirty seconds pass he initiates unwanted
conversation, “You know I never understood this whole bondage
thing….can you explain it to me?”
WHAT
THE FUCK!?
This
was, of course, one of those special circumstances when a
person or event catches you so off guard you become flustered and
have a subsequent lack of all witty comebacks and/or general replies.
*
* *
Later,
while at a safe distance from the establishment [porn-emporium], Rob
said,
“Amy
missing in the sex store….not good! I searched for you and
when I finally found you I could just tell automatically that you
were in trouble –especially when you called me over by my name! It
reminded me of a time when some deaf guy tried to talk to me.”
The
woman who provided my pre-preschool day care was deaf and spoke
funny. Needless to say, I learned how to properly impersonate deaf
people at a very young age (Even though I knew it would buy me a
first class ticket to straight to Hell). So in my best deaf voice I
asked,
“Way new meang yew can underta’nt hih de’h
voy?”
“It wasn’t so much that he was talking but pawing
at my arm and gesturing and stuff.” He explained.
“What
the fuck? First of all you don’t talk to people shopping in a sex
store –especially when they are trying to purchase something kinky!
And you sure as hell don’t ask questions about it! Ask the poor
tattooed dude working behind the counter that’s what they’re
there for! Or buy a fucking book!”
Anyway, I didn’t even
know what to say to this pervert he caught me so off guard. I
answered his Q in some stupid, vague way:
“I mean… is it
a power issue or something?”
“For some people I
guess… but some people like it both ways.”
“What do you
mean…like guys and girls?” he pressed.
“No, I meant dom
and sub.”
“So how do you
go about it?”
(What
a vague fucking Q!)
“I
don’t know…. It depends.” I said reluctantly, feeling slightly
molested.
“On what?” he pried.
“Who you’re
with and what they like.”
“Let’s say I was with you…”
('NO!')
“I don’t know…,” I said distractedly as Rob passed
by, “different people like different things, right Rob?!?” I said
a little louder with my eyeballs open as wide as possible sending a
secret distress signal that said, ‘HELP!
PLEASE! I am being mentally molested by a desperate, stupid man (who
vaguely resembles my personal hero Bill Hicks)’.
“Right”
Rob said standing protectively by my side.
“Well,” the
mental molester continues casually, (in a manner most people use to
describe their enthusiasm for foosball.) “I like to see my girl get
fucked by a guy.” He said leaving abruptly.
Rob and I look
at each other completely dumbfounded, both of us thinking the same
thing: What
the fuck are we even suppose to say to that?
Shortly
after, I glanced down an isle and guess who? Scary leather jacket guy
standing in the lube isle simultaneously grabbing his crotch and
glaring at me. -A look that was quite possibly a failed attempt to
appear seductive.
“Creepy! Was he doing what I think
he was doing?” I ask horrified.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Was
that suppose to be directed at me!?”
“It appears to be
so.”
“CREEPY!
What a fucking serial killer!” I said.
By
now we were one isle over looking at the assorted selection of cock
rings while dude was right behind us in another isle still watching
me with the intensity of the rapist he probably is.
“I’m
scared, Rob!”
“Don’t be, if anything I’m more worried
about Preppy Boy over there!” Referring to a trim, tan,
clean-cut man wearing an outfit that might suggest he had a history
as a fraternity date rapist. ‘Could he be the “Cumlicker”
Diablo Cody described in her book Candy Girl? -An encounter that
frequently took place during her short employment in the Dollhouse?'
I wondered. He struck me as the type of fucked up individual
who might possibly have an insatiable thirst for licking dirty,
congealed, disease-ridden semen from the floors of the jack-off
booths.
I pondered this as I made my way to the counter
to purchase my items. A sloppy man in a motorized wheelchair
buzzed/puttered out of the dollhouse.
“Sir!” He slurred
with his slant mouth.
((His
slurred word sliding out a slanted, bearded mouth.))
“I’ll
be with you in a second.” The poor asshole behind the counter
replied.
“I need somebody to help me close the door in [jack
off] booth number five!”
“I’ll be there in a minute; I’m
the only one here.” Dude said more annoyed.
I shuddered.
No amount of money could keep me tethered to a place that attracted
and held several perverts and derelicts [un-captured criminals] at a
time.
Maybe my job isn’t that bad I told myself.
