The time was about 11:00 p.m. I had just left Central Park with Abandon and was heading home when she passed me. She was tall, blonde, wearing very high heals and looking a little tipsy. I wasn’t really attracted to her but thought that if she were both blonde and drunk that I could easily convince her that my cock was a martini and that she should have it shaken and not stirred. So I turned around.
I really just did it because my creativity ran out like The Divinyls after “I Touch Myself” and I was willing to do anything for one more hit from the Creativity crack pipe. It had started to barely, if at all, drizzle and because my mind is like my women–fast–I opened up my mouth and this is what came out:
“Hi. I have curly hair and if I don’t get under your umbrella right away, I’m liable to get the frizzies.” It wasn’t the best line I’ve ever uttered but it was a nice change from my usual, “Speaking of the Catholic Church–how would you like to stick a finger in my ass?”
She smiled, but less in a, “That’s cute” way and more as a form of dementia as she indicated that monkeys would have to fly out of Wayne’s ass before I would be allowed under her umbrella. Because I not only don’t like taking no for an answer but also have no shame as well, I continued. “Have you no mercy for the possibility that this could cause a really bad hair day for me?” At this she avoided all eye contact, the same way I tend to avoid contact with the guy sitting across from me on the subway jerking-off until he blows his load on me to which I usually stare him straight in the face and say, “That was incredible distance you got! You should be a porn star!”
Now at this point I was in a quandary. While she did attract one’s eye, she was really nothing special; if we were to get intimate, I would probably have to think of little boys in order to get it up. Should I accept a diss from a woman who didn’t even deserve to clean my jockstrap, which does need cleaning by the way, after the unfortunate incident of the, “I thought it was just a penile fart” incident?
“Is it really that hard for you to make eye-contact?” I asked facetiously. I felt like a loser in a bar trying to hook up with a girl in the following progression:
“Hey baby, what do you say you and me–?”
“Fuck off.”
“Well you’re a fat, ugly pig anyway!”
I walked away after this, pausing just a minute to consider whether I should ask, “Does this mean a blowjob is out of the question?” or let it ride. I considered how flustered I would be if she answered, “Not necessarily” and so I just left.