Average American Male (4 page)

I grab her tits much more than I normally would that night as we fuck in an attempt to feel any kind of progress at all. She says, “Hey, calm down, they’ll last longer if you don’t rip them off.” I’m surprised at how genuinely funny I think this is while my dick’s buried in her pussy. But the distraction’s not enough to keep me from thinking that at her current increased dosage, I only have enough Bloussant left for about a week and a half. If I don’t see better results by then, I’ll have to buy two more shipments and further increase her intake. This may mean I’ll be forced to take up cooking to learn how to mask the taste.

Communication Is the Foundation of Any Good Relationship

In Casey’s car on the way to the beach I’m staring out the window wondering if Alyna knows how to suck cock when Casey starts the following conversation with me:

Casey says, “Yesterday I get this e-mail from Lem. He asks me if I was invited to Eliza’s party. And, of course, I was, but he wasn’t. So I e-mail him back that I was. Then he e-mails me back and asks if I can forward him the invitation just so he can see who was invited. I mean, what is he thinking? So I e-mail back that I’d forward it to him, but I told him if he doesn’t get invited he can’t go. You know, like don’t use this e-mail that I’m about to forward you as an invitation if you don’t get one yourself. Then he e-mails me back that he’s all pissed off at me because how dare I think that he would try to come to a party that he wasn’t invited to and blah, blah, blah—and I’m trying to IM with Nancy at the same time to see what she’s wearing to the party, but his e-mails keep popping up. I was so afraid I was accidentally going to send him an e-mail about what he’s wearing to the party after I pretty much already told him not to come. I couldn’t believe he got so mad when I told him not to show up unless he got his own invitation. Who does that? Who comes to a party without an invitation? I mean, he shouldn’t be surprised that he doesn’t get invited to things. He just doesn’t know what it’s all about, you know? I mean, can you believe that?”

I say, “Huh-uh.”

She says, “Then he sends me another e-mail where he’s mad because Joan got invited and he didn’t. I mean, of course Joan’s going to get invited. That doesn’t mean he is. You know, it’s like he thinks Greg still owes him something or something. If he wasn’t so socially retarded he might get invited to more parties. And plenty of people think that, but it’s like, who’s going to be the one to tell him? So anyway, the last e-mail he sends me is all like crazy and pissed off about the fact that he hasn’t been invited to the last two parties and he asked me to e-mail Eliza and ask her to e-mail him an invitation. Can you believe that?”

I say, “Huh-uh.”

She says, “I didn’t even write him one back. If he’s that desperate to go to her party, then he can ask her himself. Can you imagine me e-mailing her to ask if she’ll invite Lem to her party? Oh, yeah, and he asks me if I have Shawna’s phone number. Hello, Shawna moved to New York like four months ago. If you don’t have her number, it’s because she doesn’t want you to have it. I mean, seriously, learn to take a hint. And he sends me this thing that he sent to like thirty other people about his stupid jazz trio playing somewhere in North Hollywood. North Hollywood, can you believe that?”

I say, “Huh-uh.”

She says, “Who plays in North Hollywood? Nobody good. I’m sure nobody’ll go. I kind of feel sorry for him. But it’s like it’s his own fault, you know. He just doesn’t get the whole thing. So then I send Eliza an e-mail saying basically watch out for an e-mail from Lem inviting himself to her party. He’s been asking around about why he wasn’t invited. Then she e-mails me back saying that Lem already called her at work and wanted to know what the deal was—if Eliza had lost his e-mail address or something. She told him that she was sorry and she must have lost his e-mail otherwise he would have been invited, but the party was only open to the first fifty people who RSVPed because her place is kind of small. Then she told him that she’d definitely make sure he was on the list for her next party, but there’s no way. Now he’ll never get invited to anything again because everybody knows that he tried to invite himself to this party. I just—I mean, can you imagine being like that?”

I say, “Huh-uh.”

An old No Doubt song comes on the radio. She doesn’t say anything while it plays. I think about Alyna’s ass and what she’s like after sex. When the song’s over Casey says, “Oh, yeah, my sister had her baby yesterday and my parents bought me a ticket to go home and see her. So I’ll be gone for a few days next week.”

I say, “That’s great.”

Burbank Strip Club

I’m at Todd’s house in Toluca Lake. We’ve been playing Madden for a few hours and drinking heavily. After his fourth defeat he says, “Dude, let’s go see some titties.”

Twenty minutes later we’re driving over some train tracks at a non-descript location in Burbank and pulling into the parking lot of a strip club I never knew existed.

We sit down, order the first of our two-drink minimum and look to stage one, where a moderately attractive girl with no ass grinds her crotch in the air to the beat of a far-past-its-prime Limp Bizkit song.

I say, “I think I’m going to ask that girl out.”

“That girl from the record store?”

“Yeah.”

“Like on a date?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I think about her constantly.”

“Do what you gotta do.”

Two strippers, both far below par as strippers go, approach us about some lap dances. I’m hesitant, but then they explain their rates.

This pudgy Asian stripper says, “You get three songs for twenty dollars.”

I say, “Why so cheap?”

Her partner, a pock-faced white girl with some kind of Scandinavian accent, says, “It’s three-for-one night.” Then she leans in and licks my ear. I’m almost repulsed by the idea of a three-for-one rate on lap dances, but the bitch is already sitting in my lap. Fuck it.

The pock-faced white girl has her ass in my face while the chubby Asian girl rubs her tits on Todd’s head.

Todd comes out from under her tits, looks at me, and says, “Dude, what about Casey?”

I stop staring at this stripper’s asshole long enough to look at Todd and say, “What about Casey?”

“How’re you gonna take that record store girl on a date without Casey finding out?”

My stripper flips around and mashes her little hard tits in my face.

I say, “Casey’s leaving town for a few days.”

The Asian bitch rolls her head around in Todd’s crotch. He says,

“Lucky.”

The pock-faced bitch breathes on my cock through my pants. I say, “Yeah, I know. But I don’t even know this girl’s phone number or anything.”

The Asian bitch takes Todd’s hands and puts them on her slightly dimpled ass. He says, “Dude, you know where she works.”

The pock-faced bitch starts semi–jerking me off through my pants.

I say, “But I don’t know when she works. I can’t just hang out in the store all day.”

The Asian bitch does this crab-type maneuver that has her crotch gyrating right under Todd’s nose. He says, “Dude, just ask somebody who works there when she works.”

The pock-faced bitch matches her partner. I try to sniff her cunt, but it’s masked by the stripper smell. I say, “Good idea.”

The Asian bitch puts her hands under Todd’s shirt and presses her face into his cock. He says, “No shit.”

Our conversation ends and our drinks come. The strippers get off us for a few seconds so we can dig our money out of the pockets they’ve been rubbing their asses all over. I feel a little ripped off by the convenient hiatus created by the waitress’s arrival. The waitress leaves and the bitches get back to work.

Some Tool song and a Linkin Park song finish out my three-for-the-price-of-one session. The highlight is when the pock-faced stripper accidentally slips off the side of the chair, hits the ground, and says,

“Fuck, I hate these fucking shoes,” with no trace of the Scandinavian accent.

Stevie

I’m at the Gap in Westwood with Casey watching her look at clothes.

She says, “Do you think I should get a Gap credit card?”

“Sure.”

“I mean, I think you get ten percent off and you can use it like a normal credit card. Should I get one?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I should though. Should I?”

“Do it.”

“I’ll think about it. I need to look around some more. If I find something that I like, I might get the card, too. I’m going to try some things on.”

I wait until she takes an armload of clothes into the dressing room and then walk across the street to the record store where Alyna works.

She’s not in the store, but a kind of overweight middle-aged guy with glasses and a crew cut is. His name tag reads Stevie—Manager.

I say, “Excuse me.”

“How can I help you?”

“Do you know Alyna?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you know when she works next?”

“Yes, I do.” He points at his name badge. “I am the manager.” He laughs.

“Right. So when is she supposed to work next?”

“Are you a family member?”

“No, I’m—a friend.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

He points to his name badge again. “Like I said, I am the manager, and as the manager I have a duty to my employees. I can’t just go around giving out their personal information to every stranger who asks for it, now can I?” He laughs again.

“It’s not personal information.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Well, can I leave a message for her?”

He thinks about it. “I suppose that would be all right.”

“Do you have a piece of paper?”

He gives me a promotional flyer for Justin Timberlake’s new record.

“And a pen?”

He gives me one.

I write down something short, and put my phone number next to it. I fold it up, write Alyna’s name on the outside, and hand it back to Stevie.

He unfolds it and starts reading it out loud. “Alyna, I bought the Tori Amos record from you a few days ago. We kind of had a conversation about it. I was wondering if you might want to get dinner sometime. Call me.”

Stevie looks at me, then rips the paper in half and tosses it in the trash.

“What’re you doing?”

“You said you were her friend, which is clearly not the case. I try to create a safe and comfortable work environment here and I will not have my employees harassed during the course of their workday.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Sir, if you do not wish to make a purchase, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave my store.”

“It’s not your store, Stevie.”

I leave without incident, pissed.

I slip back into the Gap just in time to wait for another thirty minutes before Casey comes out of the dressing room and buys a sweater with her new Gap card.

As we walk out of the Gap, Casey says, “Hey, let’s go in that music store. My No Doubt CD got stuck in Jen’s CD player and she scratched it trying to get it out. I need a new one.”

“You go ahead. I’ll be next door looking at video games.”

I browse the used section while I’m positive Stevie is next door drooling over my girlfriend’s tits and taking way too long to help her find her No Doubt CD.

That night as Casey and I are in the sixty-nine and I’m staring into her asshole, I wonder if Alyna will be working at the record store tomorrow. I wonder if my ripped-up note will still be in the trash can by the front desk. I wonder if she might see her name on it and pull it out. I wonder if she’d even remember who I was anyway.

Scarface Part 1

I’m sitting in a bar called Goldfinger after getting a phone call from Todd promising me that at least three hot bitches he knows from college who are all horny and drunk will be there. After my third beer and Todd’s sixth assurance that they must be on their way, I’m pretty sure there might never have been any hot bitches, and I’m positive if they do exist they’re not showing up here tonight.

I get up to go get another drink, and when I come back Todd has somehow managed to fill our booth with not the promised three hot bitches, but four average-looking bitches. I conclude that these are not the girls he was originally talking about, but I don’t really care. I sit down and learn the following:

The taller bitch with reddish hair is named Leslie Leonard and she’s visiting from Virginia. Two of the brunettes’ names make no impression on me and I don’t remember them even as they tell me, but I do latch on to the fact that they’re sisters and Leslie is their cousin.

The third brunette is Asian and semi-hot from what I can see, until the candle flicker at our table bounces off a nasty fucking hairlip. I think she gives her name as Amy, but I immediately give her the name Scarface in my head.

After they’re done telling us whatever their stories are, Scarface says with a lisp that isn’t altogether unattractive, “Do you guys have girlfriends?”

It’s a weird question. Todd says, “No.” I don’t say anything. Scarface says, “Cool.”

I’m strangely attracted to her weird lip. I wonder if she’s had to develop some super cocksucking technique to compensate for her deformity. I wonder if she can even suck cock at all. Maybe she can’t suck cock so she’s had to expand her sexual repertoire to keep men interested. I picture myself fucking her in the ass and her genuinely enjoying it because she has to, because she knows that her openness to things other women aren’t is the most and only attractive quality she has.

Leslie Leonard says, “So have you guys seen any good movies lately?”

Todd says, “Movies are pretty gay right now. I saw the last UFC though.”

One of the sisters says, “What’s UFC?”

Todd says, “Ultimate Fighting Championship.”

The conversation is dead until Scarface says, “Is that like boxing?”

I wish the beer I’m drinking was Scotch.

Scarface keeps on talking, “Boxing is pretty cool. I don’t mind watching that.”

Scarface keeps going on about how much she can tolerate boxing, even more than watching football, and I keep watching her mouth move and wondering if there’s any way I could actually get her to suck my cock tonight. She seems kind of stupid but that doesn’t give me enough of a read to devise a game plan. I decide to wait it out, let her talk, let her get comfortable with me, and see where it goes.