With Charlotte, it never felt like cheating because it never felt like love. It always felt like what it was supposed to be in the first place; an overpowering, unadulterated hunger for flesh with a genuine sadistic regard towards dignity that would spiral itself into an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of self-respect and warm body fluids; otherwise known as hot, throbbing lust.
She never played hard to get and she would never make him pay. She was the All-American whore next door. She was one thousand Penthouse Forum stories rolled into one rapturous page-turning novel. She was an unsuspecting, upper-class nymphomaniac who knew how to scratch an itch. (more…)
“Okay, okay…sit down.” As Pumpkinhead sat down at a corner table in the coffee shop, Captain H threw his sandwich on the plastic tray and continued, “How do I communicate with the little green men?”
“Little green men?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey dude, did Jezebel sell you some of that liquid acid? That’s to be taken in small doses, you know. I hope you didn’t slurp that down.”
“Don’t be coy.”
“Coy?” Pumpkinhead picked at his hash browns. “You sure you mean coy?”
“Yeah I mean coy; you know like a wise-ass.” He took another bite of his sandwich.
“A wise-ass is just a wise-ass. If you’re coy, then you’re a bashful, or a shy wise-ass.”
“But you’re still a wise-ass!”
“Only if you use that particular adjective in there, otherwise you’re just a demure person.”
“Stupid?”
“Huh?”
“Stupid….a stupid person. Like, ‘that guy skipping across the street is acting a bit demurely’.”
“Because he’s demure, he’s stupid?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Being demure has nothing to do with stupidity. Did we go to school in the same country?”
“Demure means stupid.”
“Demure means coy!”
“Not all stupid people are necessarily wise-asses, Pumpkinhead! Like the jerk off skipping across the street, he’s just a stupid ass – not a wise-ass.”
Pumpkinhead stared at him as he chewed his food, “How do you find your way home at night, anyway?”
“Let’s get back to the little green people.”
“Leprechauns? They’re not real.”
“The Martians!”
“Oh…the aliens.”
“Yeah, whatever you wanna call them.”
“Aliens. Yeah, now they’re real. I know because I’ve seen them.”
“I know you have. That’s why I need to talk to you. You see, Muffin Man told me that Rad told him he was talking with Mahdakis, who told him that Floyd had just told him that he and Pumpkinhead, that’s you, had seen Squid. Is this true?”
“I’m not sure what you just said. I got lost after Rad…But I have seen Squid recently, if that’s what this is about.”
“That’s what this is about.”
“Yeah, he said he’s not of this Earth anymore, dude.”
Captain H grabbed Pumpkinhead’s wrist, “What does that mean? What did he mean by that? Not of this Earth? Is he a ghost? Is he gonna come after us and kill our families and rape our house pets?!”
“Calm down dude, will ya? Get a hold of yourself man!”
Captain H took a skeptical bite of his soggy hash brown, “What are they about, Pumpkinhead? Why are they here, and what do they have to do with us?”
“Dude! Are you serious, man? The aliens brought us here millions of years ago; they dumped our ancestors off on this once desolate planet like bags of outgrown clothes.”
“What are you saying?”
“Dude, the first people who arrived here were criminals from outer space somewhere and no longer any good to their communities, and therefore were dumped off here with no feasible way to return; they were prisoners.”
“What about Adam and Eve? Prisoners too?”
“Oh come off it, will ya? For that mater, what about Santa Claus?”
“Hey! Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, Pumpkinhead! Don’t speak ill of good people like him and Moses and so fourth.”
“Well which is it? You’re talking about two different books now.”
“Society as we know it starts with Jesus Christ, everyone knows that. We are his children; not some filthy, slimy Martian people’s. That’s why when Jesus was born, the calendar date starts on zero; we build from there. That is the origin of our existence.”
“What about Adam and Eve, then, all those years ago?”
“Okay, good point.”
“Mm-hm,” Pumpkinhead took a sip of his ice coffee, “And what about all the other shit that happened before him?”
“It wasn’t done properly; it doesn’t count because it didn’t work; it’s like we got a do-over when he was born.”
“More like the Romans forced some shit on the world because they were paranoid about their own existence and survival.”
“Hey! Don’t knock the Romans!”
“Aren’t you like Indian, or Black, or something?”
“A little of each; but I still respect the good book.”
“You know that ‘good book’ is what drove the Europeans over here to slaughter the fuck out of your Cherokee ancestors, who by the way, put stock into the belief in alien life form.”
“They did?”
“Oh yeah, it’s well documented. And, that ‘good book’ is also what the Europeans thought entitled them to go to Africa and make slaves of your other ancestors, because the followers of that ‘good book’ believed that anyone else, or any other race of people who didn’t believe in it, were inferior and therefore, they should be conquered and converted. And if memory serves correct, back in those dark ages, most of that African continent had very different beliefs….and still does! So pardon my confusion about your love for Whitey and the ‘good book’.”
Captain H gave consideration and said in a rather hushed tone, “Fuckin’ European scumbag bastards; I got to start reading more stuff.” Then, opening his arms as wide as possible, he focused an obsessed stare up towards the ceiling and, with veins bulging out of his neck and forehead, he yelled on the top of his lungs, “KILL ALL THE WHITE PEOPLE!”
“Jesus Christ Frank; what the hell happened to you?”
The large group of friends turned and stared at Frank Slates black and blue face with cut marks, as he started to explain, “Well I…”
“Did you get into a fight?”
“No, I…”
“You walked into a train?”
“Or an industrial sized fan?”
“Th…the power went off abruptly a-as you were going down an escalator?”
“Imaginative Jack, but no.”
“I have a guess!”
“Calm down, Rizzo!”
“I know what happened,” said the silhouette of a leather capped young man, standing confidently with one foot on The Rock, and lighting a Tijuana Small cigar, looking away, out onto the Brandywine River. “You paid a hooker for some rough sex. She tied you up to the bed, pulled your shirt up, your pants down, then circled the bed like a shark while pounding your body with a soap on a rope. The soap finally broke off and flew across the room; she sat on top of your ankles and went down for a while, bringing you to the brink of orgasm.”
“So far, you’re pretty close.”
“She stopped, stared at you, and laughed sadistically. You wanted to come but you were tied up and there was nothing you could do. She sat on your stomach and slapped you silly on either side of the face with rough open hands. It was then it hit you just how very strong she was for a woman. Then, as if confirming your anxious suspicion, she stood up and pulled her pants down, revealing the largest cock you’d ever seen, and dangled it tauntingly above your head.”
“Ahh, no……that didn’t happen.”
“Yes it did, and furthermore, you still wanted to come; you didn’t care how. So you focused only on her…his…..its…long beautiful blonde hair and smooth tan complexion, an angel from the neck up. You were mesmerized by its beauty to the point where you didn’t even mind the cock now jamming in and out of your mouth. That’s right, you sucked the monstrosity in total bewildering admiration, but you were not sure why.”
“I’m not sure why you’re saying all this.”
“Maybe it was the irresistible cleavage, the smooth hairless legs and firm buttocks, or, perhaps it was just about it all being the largest cock you had ever seen, and you didn’t mind…didn’t mind at all…She….it…did the work for you as it stood on the bed with its hands on its sides thrusting its pelvis, shoving itself in and out of your mouth as the back of your head hit the wall violently, over and over and over again until the thing laughed hysterically and came on your face.”
“Hee-hee-hee-hee!”
“Yes, just like that ……………..you were confused…”
“You’re confused; you know that?”
“…humiliated. He ….she…..got up to leave, but you were angry, and, finally managing to break free of the Hoover vacuum belts that had you bound to the bed, you lunged at it with intent to kill…her…him…it….whatever….but you forgot that your pants were still on, down by your ankles at this point, and you tripped and fell, smashing your head through the glass coffee table.”
“Now that part really happened, sort of.”
“Eeeww. Frank, you’re disgusting.”
“You lay on the floor helpless, as the thing looked down on you in seductive victory.” Mahdakis took a drag off his Tijuana. “Then it got weird.”
“Then?”
(inhale-exhale) “Here we go.”
“The beautiful transvestite walked over to the bed-stand and, with all its brute strength, ripped the clock radio out of the wall and tore the cord out from the insides of the device. It then began to whip you with the electrical cord, laughing sardonically as it pulled out a copy of Gideon’s’ Bible and recited passages from Leviticus 18. It finally dawned on you that coming here was probably a bad idea……You defecated yourself and began crying for your mother, and then…..like a phantom, she exited the room, presumably leaving you for dead…or worse………. alone…to die in your own excrement, blood, and semen.”
“None of that ever happened! This isn’t true,” Frank pleaded for a moment of sanity.
“Then…..” the silhouetted figure continued.
“There’s even more?” –Bobble-bobble-bobble “Someone shut him the fuck up, will ya.”
“The chamber maid came in.”
“Now we’re talkin’. Ha-ha.”
“Goiter, shut up and stop rubbing your palms together,” a voice said. “That’s very disturbing.”
“Shut up! I wanna hear how it ends.”
“….But it wasn’t really a chamber maid. It was an FBI agent who had been working undercover as a chamber maid for the better part of six months, trying to bust up a heroin ring, headed by the owner of the hotel. Frank wasn’t part of the plan, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I wasn’t at any place at any time. Where you getting’ all this from?”
“….And the FBI agent, well, he was just being a chamber maid.”
“He?”
“Yes…he was undercover as a she, and he saw you lying there, Frank; bleeding and helpless. But there was no time. The agent had just been made by one of the dealers. He needed to get out of the building…..and fast! So he swapped clothes with you, taking his wig off his head and putting it on yours, then he boogied out of the room, and ultimately, the building.”
“Is that it?”
“Then.…”
“Christ.”
“The dealer busted into the room and saw you lying on the floor in a wig and a chamber maid outfit and smashed the butt end of his rifle against your ear before realizing that he had the wrong cross-dresser……
“I’m not a cross-dresser.”
“….But, being one to always seize the moment, the drug dealer eagerly unbuttoned his pants. He pulled out his…….”
“Alright….we get it!”
“Fuckin’ aye, dude. Take a valium.”
“And THAT is what happened to Frank.” Mahdakis puffed on his cigar.
“That was my guess,” Rizzo said, “I was going to say the same thing.”
Pumpkinhead spun around at the foot of the bed to face his older brother, Mahdakis, “So here’s how it works; every Friday at the end of the month, you go up to NYU.”
“The one in New York?”
“The same.”
“But what if the last day of the month doesn’t fall on a Friday?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go on the last Friday of every month!”
“How long are you going to be locked in this asylum?”
“Not much longer so you’ll probably only be doing this one time. But you gotta unload the shit for me.”
“Cool.”
“You’ll go to the Rubin dorm or Rubin Hall; something like that. It’s on Fifth Ave. Ask for Black Tom. He knows to look out for you. He’s really cool and mellow.”
“And black?”
“And black. Now, he’s gonna sell you the shit. You’re going to buy a pound of bud. Make sure it’s good bud and not shake. Black Tom won’t jerk you around and he usually gets nice stuff, but just make sure.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Not bud? Then don’t buy.”
“Alright. So far so good.”
“You’ll need about twelve hundred dollars.”
“Say what? Where the fuck am I going to get that kind of money?”
“Jesus Christ! Calm the fuck down, man. Don’t you have a job or something?”
“Yeah, I got a job, but my money’s pretty much tied up.”
“Well un-fuckin’ tie it because you have to understand that while twelve-hundred may sound like a lot, you’ll be selling ounces at two-hundred dollars!”
“So wait…..a pound, right?
“Right.”
“And there’s …uh….sixteen ounces in a pound?”
“Last time I checked.”
“So that’s thirty-two hundred dollars?”
“Yeah man, like a two-thousand dollar profit if you don’t use any yourself. You have the capacity to make even more by selling it in small nickel and dime quantities.”
“You must be rolling in the dough by now.”
“Not really man, I got the car payments and the insurance…”
“That’s it though. You got nothing else. Where’s all your money?”
“It’s rough man because we spend twelve or fifteen hundred on a pound sometimes and then end up selling just about the same amount. We break even more times than not.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. You should be making an extra two thousand or so off each deal.”
“Right. But then we need to set aside twelve more for the next buy.”
“So you should have two thousand in your hand.”
“Black Tom and I smoke a lot of it.”
“You smoke all your profits?”
“Basically.”
Mahdakis stood staring at his brother in disbelief, “What’s the matter with you, man? You were always so good with money.”
“I am good with money. I’m just not good with pot.”
“Jesus.”
“Hey man, stop raggin’ on me dude. It pays for itself and the gas to get to and from places, man.”
“So you and Black Tom smoke a half pound in a month? You smoke half your investment?”
“Easily.”
“What if you bought twice as much? Two pounds instead of one?”
“What good would that do?”
“Then you’d be able to have another pound and a half while still having the other half pound for recreation.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because it’s two pounds instead of one.”
“But we smoke up half of it.”
“Right.”
“Half of two pounds is one pound. We’d be smoking an entire pound instead of just half.”
“But you wouldn’t have to!”
“Sure we would!”
“Why?”
“Because we smoke half. That’s how it goes!”
“But don’t smoke half!”
“But that’s what we do! You said so yourself. If we didn’t smoke half then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. All buying two pounds is gonna do is create more for us to smoke and generate more of a profit loss!”
With Charlotte, it never felt like cheating because it never felt like love. It always felt like what it was supposed to be in the first place; an overpowering, unadulterated hunger for flesh with a genuine sadistic regard towards dignity that would spiral itself into an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of self-respect and warm body fluids; otherwise known as hot, throbbing lust.
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