Average American Male (16 page)

I say, “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“Nothing.”

The game starts and she hops in a warthog on the beach. I get on the turret.

She says, “Why?”

“I don’t know, I was just wondering.”

I take out a few players with a round of machine-gun fire.

She says, “Do you want to do something with me today?”

“If you want to . . . I mean, I don’t want to . . .”

“Rush things?”

“Yeah.”

She drives up a ramp and deposits us on the opposite side of a wall, where there are three enemy players waiting, one with a power sword.

She runs him over and I take out the other two with the machine gun.

She says, “I don’t want to rush things either, but if we both want to hang out with each other, then nobody’s rushing anything, right?”

She spins the warthog around and we’re staring down the sights of a guy with a rocket launcher.

I say, “I guess not.”

We both jump off the warthog just in time to see a rocket blow it apart and both of our shields go down to half. We both whip out battle rifles and deliver a few short bursts to the rocket launcher guy’s head.

He goes down.

She says, “I think we should just do what feels right.”

“Me too.”

“Besides, I’m going to be out of town this weekend so we’ll have plenty of time to not see each other.”

“Where you going?”

She picks up the guy’s rocket launcher and blows up an enemy player who’s at a turret in the main base, then says, “I’m going back home. I haven’t seen my parents at all this semester and they said they’d fly me back for a weekend because they miss me so much.”

“You need a ride to the airport or anything?”

She runs out of rockets and trades her rocket launcher for a sniper rifle she finds on the ground. I slightly regret the airport offer. I don’t want her to think it means more than it does.

Alyna says, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’d like to do it.” I have to back up my original offer.

“Okay, then yeah, I guess I need a ride.”

She crouches behind a rock and waits for her shield to get back to full. I run over beside her and my cell phone starts ringing.

I say, “Dammit. Why do people always call right in the middle of a good game?”

She says, “Get it. I’ll protect you.” Alyna keeps playing while I answer it in the bedroom.

It’s Casey. She demands that I have coffee with her as I promised and wants to know if I was ever going to call her to set it up. I explain that I’ve been busy and ultimately schedule our coffee date for the upcoming weekend before hanging up.

When I get back I see that Alyna’s been trying to fend off enemy players from our position and my controller’s vibration is evidence of this task’s difficulty.

She says, “Who was it?”

“L.A. Times trying to sell me a newspaper subscription.”

As soon as I pick my controller back up, the vibrations are replaced with stillness and my character’s accompanying death grunt.

Jenna’s Picture

I’m looking through some old boxes for the Nintendo Power Glove that I got for my seventh birthday. As I take some old books from college out of a box, a picture of my old girlfriend Jenna falls out of one.

It’s a picture that I took of her on the beach when we went to Martha’s Vineyard one summer.

I am surprised that seeing this picture makes me stop looking for the Power Glove and sit down to think about that summer and about Jenna, who I realize is now married to the shark-toothed manager of NASCAR Superstore and possibly has given birth to his shark-toothed child.

I remember that she liked to fuck outside and we fucked that summer on the beach, not far from the exact location she’s standing on in the picture. I wonder if her shark-toothed husband fucks her outside.

I wonder if she likes it when he jerks off in front of her. I wonder what my life would be like if she had stuck to her plan of moving to Los Angeles when she graduated. I wonder if she’s fat.

In the picture she’s far from it. She’s wearing a bikini that accentu-ates her already ample C-cup tits. She’s standing at an angle so her ass, which was always a little too flat for my taste, but still a great ass, looks better than I remember it. Her stomach is defined but not overly muscular.

I try to remember our first few dates and can’t. For some reason I remember a specific date we had sometime in the middle of our relationship when she dragged me to a Renaissance fair and paid a fat ugly high school girl in a wench costume two dollars to kiss me.

I remember her rubbing my back once when I was sick. I remember renting The Natural with her because she had never seen it. I remember her telling me that when she was a little kid she thought Frisbees were gas-powered.

I put the picture back in the book and put the book back in the box.

When I try to jerk off to memories of fucking Jenna I can’t cum, so I spend ten minutes downloading some Internet porn and end up blowing my load to the image of a skinny, pale girl with smaller than average tits and a mole right above her pussy taking it up the ass and saying, “That’s it—clean it out, clean it out.”

Coffee with Casey

I’ve spent almost every night with Alyna for the past week, but it surprises me that I feel something close to real sadness as I get her bag out of the back of my car and hand it to her outside the American Airlines terminal at LAX.

She kisses me. Then she hugs me and says, “Thanks for the ride, mister.”

“No problem.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

She hugs me again, tighter this time. I feel her rock-hard tits press against me.

She says, “This is stupid. I’m only leaving for the weekend. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Okay.”

She gives me one more tight hug and then squeezes my ass before she says, “I’ll call you from my parents’ house.”

“Okay.”

As she walks into the terminal she blows me a kiss. I genuinely wish she was staying. I watch her ass as she walks through the sliding doors into the check-in area, then I get back in my car and leave.

I meet Casey about forty-five minutes later at the coffee shop she demanded I go to in order to prevent her from showing up at my place every night at two a.m. I’m fully prepared for a psychotic outburst.

When I walk in, she’s already sitting down trying not to look too eager. She’s wearing a tight shirt that shows off how decent her tits are, and since she’s already sitting down, I don’t get a glance at her big ass, which makes me wonder if she’s somehow miraculously slimmed her ass to a normal size since we broke up. I decide to go with the odds and believe that her ass is the same size if not bigger due to dealing with the emotional stress I must have caused her.

I sit down at the table with her.

She says, “I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

“I said I would.”

“I know.”

She takes a drink of her coffee. A group of ten or so college-age girls all wearing UCLA women’s soccer sweat suits walk in. Casey notices me checking them out. I don’t care.

She says, “So like let’s talk.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She takes another drink of coffee, wanting me to say something.

I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to be sitting here. I want to be back at my apartment fucking Alyna up against my bedroom wall.

Casey says, “So . . . do you miss me at all?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you don’t think so?”

“I mean no.”

“You don’t miss me at all?”

“No.”

She starts to tear up and I want her to cry in this coffee shop. I want to be the guy sitting across from her as she’s sobbing like a stupid fucking kid right in front of the UCLA women’s soccer team.

Casey says, “We were together for a year and a half and you don’t miss me even a little?”

I give a little pause for impact. “Not at all.”

“Are you happy?”

Even when I was with Casey, I never considered myself unhappy, but the marked difference in the amount of enjoyment that I get from my life without her in it is undeniable.

I say, “Yeah.”

She says, “Happier than when you were with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

The answer is clear and simple: Alyna. Alyna fucks better and more, she has an amazing ass, and she genuinely seems to like me more than the idea of being married by twenty-eight no matter what.

Even though I want Casey to self-destruct right in front of me and I know telling her about Alyna will snap her like a twig, I don’t.

Instead I say, “I don’t know. I just am.”

“Well, I don’t like understand that.”

“Neither do I.”

“Well, if you don’t understand it, then why did you break up with me?”

Casey’s voice has risen loudly enough by this point in the conversation to get the attention of the soccer team, who are now poorly disguising the fact that they’re listening to every word we say.

“I just had to.”

“You had to?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I told you I don’t know.”

“Can’t you give us another chance?”

“No.”

“I think I deserve another chance.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why can’t you? Like what’s so bad about seeing if we can work through this?”

“There’s nothing so bad about it. It’s just not going to happen.”

“You wouldn’t go out on a date with me?”

The thought of going on a date with Casey and trying to see how many holes I could put my cock in before the night ended does pique my interest, but my unyielding urge to run out the front doors of the coffee shop and never see Casey again for the rest of my life holds more weight.

I say, “No.”

Casey’s close to losing it. She slows down and takes a long swig of her coffee. I look at the UCLA women’s soccer team and they all quickly try to look at something else. Casey also notices that they’ve been watching us.

She says, “Can we go back to your apartment and talk about this?”

“Why?”

“Because this is like a private conversation and I don’t really want to be having it in public.”

“I think we should stay here.”

“Why?”

“It’s better that way.”

She drinks more coffee.

She says, “You know, my mom always told me she never liked you.”

“You should have listened to her.”

“I just can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“It’s already done.”

“How can you just stop loving me?”

In possibly one of the most honest moments of my life I say, “I don’t think I ever really did.”

And that’s the end of Casey’s emotional fortitude. She starts bawl-ing like a baby. The UCLA women’s soccer team doesn’t even try to conceal their voyeuristic interest in what’s going on or their apparent contempt for me, judging by the scowls on their faces.

I offer nothing to Casey, no words, no hug, nothing. Instead I get up out of my chair and turn to leave. As I take my first step away from the table I decide to get in my car, which is parked across the street, and sit for the next ten minutes to watch Casey cry. But I don’t get to my car. I don’t even take another step before Casey pukes out the following sledgehammer to my nuts:

“I’m pregnant.”

My asshole clenches so tight that I’m pretty sure I tear my sphincter.

Milla Jovovich

She’s standing right in front of me in the bread aisle at Ralph’s on Sunset holding a basket half full of fingernail polish, and I watch her fill up the other side with five bags of powdered donuts. I wonder if I knocked up Milla Jovovich if she would have an abortion, but I would probably be okay with whatever Milla decided to do.

I lose any memory of the purpose of my visit to the grocery store.

I’m holding a packet of superglue and a can of beef stew, both of which I reason I must have had some need for or I wouldn’t have been holding them. All I can think about is jerking off to Milla Jovovich’s nude scenes in Return to the Blue Lagoon as a teenager. I can also think about seeing her tits and cunt in The Fifth Element and Resident Evil, which I promptly do when she squats down to get another bag of powdered donuts off the bottom shelf.

I specifically key in on the scene in Resident Evil when she wakes up strapped to a medical examination table wearing only a piece of paper and her pussy is clearly visible. I follow her into a checkout line.

As she checks out, she uses a Ralph’s card, which the computer says yields her no savings on the brands of fingernail polish and powdered donuts she chose to purchase. She pays with a credit card and asks to have her items put in a plastic bag.

I watch her ass as she walks away from the checkout counter. It’s fucking perfect beyond belief.

I rush the cashier through my checkout procedure and pay in cash, carrying my beef stew and superglue out of the store without a bag to expedite my departure. I’m not sure exactly why I’m in such a hurry to watch Milla Jovovich walk to her car but I am.

I see her get into a black Escalade. I get in my own car and fail to resist the urge to follow her, which I do until I see her pull into a driveway at a house in the Hollywood Hills that looks like it must cost more than it’s worth.

That night at home, I eat the beef stew and imagine what it would be like to fuck Milla Jovovich. I wonder what my unfounded odds of ever fucking her are. I give myself a 1.33 percent chance based on the following criteria: (1) I live in Los Angeles, where she must spend a significant amount of time, increasing my chance of running into her randomly; (2) she married the guy who directed The Fifth Element, who is a fucking toad; and (3) she is a supermodel/actress, and all of those types love to party and love to fuck.

Satisfied with my odds, I put on my Resident Evil DVD and jerk off to any scene that features her in little or no clothing. I blow a load but still can’t remember what I bought the superglue for.

It’s Official

Over the course of about a month and a half Alyna and I have fucked enough for me to know the following things: She likes it when I spread her ass cheeks apart in doggie style and press my thumb on her asshole; she can’t cum unless I talk dirty or spank her; and she loves to have me stick my cock halfway in, then jerk me off so I shoot a load in her pussy.