Wednesday, February 22, 2012

On A Date: A Dork

The lenses of her glasses were speckled with filth and her clothing was ill fitting, but she was so grateful for my attention that my generic carnality swelled to a purposeful and benevolent lust. It is a tempting gamble to reach into the bubbling nerves of a dorky girl and pluck out her heart... I would be happy to fill the lofty roles of her re-hashed and wholly theoretical sexual fantasies.

The content of her room could soften even the most rigid erection. Posters for bad movies, ugly bed sheets, a lingering smell of Taco Bell. When she was stripped below me I examined her hairy, ape-like arms, her chewed fingernails, and choking pores. I felt Christ-like as I entered her unkempt hole, and I understood the honest roots of the "pity fuck," the saintliness of pleasuring the leper whose eyes still twinkle and wantonly roam.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

E-Mail from Ex-Girlfriend: Friend's Marriage

From: Becca Bauer
To: Isaac Coin
Date: Sunday, Feb 19, 2012 at 11:54 PM
Subject: sophies dumb wedding

Just got back from Sophie's wedding and everyone there was SUCH A TOOL. Her husband is some Jew and the priest told a obnoxious story about how they met on J date and both like pad Thai, like that even means anything. So lame! Im so disappointed in her. She lost so much weight for the wedding and looked INCREDIBLE in her dress. Hope her geek husband is worth it. And as usual, disgusting bridesmaid dresses made of synthetic material that made me sweat under my boobs. blah.
Do you remember Sophie? 

Do you think I'm "unmarriable?" 
Were you and I the perfect match?

Monday, February 20, 2012

Perfect Woman: Kim Morgan

Pretty faced darling, prove yourself to us and do it endlessly. She is god to they in ill-fitting blue jeans and faded black t-shirt, misting their own sallow bodies with halitosis, and all squirming beneath large buttered popcorns wishing they were the professor and she their pet.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Self Improvement: Fingernails

How I hate tending to my nails. Ten vulgar crusts, which yellow and stretch, only to canker and curl into rattling whisks weighted by fungal inlay. When at my meal, I curl my hands into fists, lest my stomach rebel at the sight of them. Were a mosquito bite to pulse and twitch on the filet of my calf, I would not raise a nail to scratch it- instead, I would do well to bear it, in the evolved sanctum of meditation and restraint.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

On a Date: "Fucking" and "Being Fucked"

I admire a girl with sexual tenacity. She mounted me like a bandit mounts a horse in a western movie, slamming her ass into the saddle of my pelvis and reaching back for my dick as if it were some trail-worn strap that needed tightening. The emasculation came not from her confidence but from my own doubts as to my ability to out do her.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

E-Mail from Ex-Girlfriend: Urinal Envy

From: Becca Bauer
To: Isaac Coin
Date: Sat, Feb 11, 2012 at 10:54 AM
Subject: Hey Isaac

I thought of you last night. You know how you were always saying how we girls will never get to experience the power of the urinal? Well last night I was at edendale and stumbled into the boys bathroom- just being cheeky I guess... don't worry about it. And then I saw them... lined up in all of their porcelain (sp?) glory. There didn't happen to be anyone else in there so I literally straddled one of them, bent in a very very awkward, compromising pose and actually urinated in a urinal!
Had someone walked in he definitely would have seen more than he would've been ready for. But I was really drunk and determined to get the urinal experience. Lol.
I kinda peed on my leg in the process.
Do you guys ever trickle down the leg? Maybe after the shake? Ever a stream that goes rogue?

Miss u

Monday, January 23, 2012

Perfect Woman: Xiaxue

Is there anywhere on your body where my touch will not bruise you, dear? As my fingers take steps to cross you, they leave runs in the nylons of your skin. Raspberry syrup will pool beneath these bruises, and I shall ease my sallow lips across your kneaded candy flesh, and beneath my suction your skin will swell, thinning to a clear bubble, and finally bursting forth in a giggling stream. What of your body which lays in an empty pile? Shall I pick it up with the end of a stick? 

This was all figurative, of course...

Friday, January 20, 2012

Self Improvement: Cocaine

I recall those halcyon summers of my youth, laying on the sidewalks, the hot cement making me flush, as I sprinkle salt on the last of the spring snails and marvel at the blooming white foam. In those moments I would clench my jaw until my teeth squeaked against each other and threatened to crack. I might remain in place, out on the sidewalk, until dusk, when the sun burns on my neck begin to blister.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

On a Date: Baby Sitting

She had invited me over for dinner and when I arrived there was a five year old boy in the kitchen. My date had just finished cutting some garlic and came over to me, wiping her hands with a towel.

"This is my little brother." She said, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Yuck!" cried the boy.

I laughed with good nature and acceptance as I approached the child and extended my hand in salutation. He ignored me and beat a crude rhythm on the counter with a wooden spoon.

"It was a last minute thing," my date said, removing her apron. "I had to baby-sit him, I'm really sorry."

I told her that I like kids. I pointed at the child.

"I like those."

She lifted her brother onto a step ladder in front of the stove where pasta swirled in a boiling pot of water. She instructed the boy to stir the pasta until she gets back, then she excused herself to pee.

"Will you keep an eye on him?" She asked, leaving.

"Of course," I said, staring at the boiling water which churned beneath the child's feeble arm.

When we were alone I sidled up beside him and smiled.

"So, what grade are you in?"

He didn't respond.

"Can't you talk?" I asked.

The boy stirred the pot silently and steam beaded on my face.

"Do you like to cook?"

Still no response. I looked towards the hall and then leaned over to the boy.

"Am I going to fuck your big sister tonight?"

The step ladder creaked.

"I doubt it." I said and walked away, taking out my phone to check e-mail. I had a message telling me it was time to renew my Interview Magazine subscription. Behind me, the child slipped, tipping the boiling water onto his body, his skin blistering before he could let out a scream. I clicked the link to renew my subscription.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Perfect Woman: Tavi Gevinson

She is The Tree of Life's newest kingdom. A blooming dawn still filtering through the leaves but ready to bathe us all in light. Bathe us with Johnson and Johnson's No More Tears baby shampoo, you limitless fairy. But, I'll be damned, that if you rotate her around, I can't tell her end from end.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Self Improvement: Caring for Cats

Observation shows that a cat's guile is all appearances. In fact, they are simple-minded and lazy creatures whose "guile," in practice, is little more than a sequence of twitches in which we humans find a shameful delight. What is a cat's worth? They divide their time evenly between blinking, shitting in a specific place, and being inside of things. The latter being a point of real contention because, as everyone knows, a tree once nested by a cat will go barren, and likewise a shoe once nested by a cat will be full of dander, fur, bits of glass, buttons, fish scales, raven beaks, dead sow bugs, etc. The animal is an actual trauma to real estate, an idea borne of Satan in soft and precious form. Man is damned.

Monday, January 16, 2012

On a Date: A Fart

It had been a robust meal of Osso Bucco and wine. She slouched in my arm chair, her hands across her distended belly. She sighed when I looked at her, and I fell upon her, kissing and groping, and suddenly, she farted. I stood up, shocked.

"Oh, relax, we're all human." She said, yawning and straightening her dress.

And this was a tragedy, for she had been more than human. She was beautiful, with rich hair, an effortless smile, and an incredible, perfect ass... but these jewels of hers had been tainted. Keeping up appearances maintains the mystique which drives continued romance, and for this fact she had no respect. I opened a window.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Perfect Woman: Hope Sandoval

Purest lowland beauty, she never knew the fallout of her pillowed chimes. Ten greased mexican teens at Disneyland wearing Jack Skellington shirts... that is the price of a muddled intent- but what an innocent silhouette she cuts! A sound to tear a heart and a voice to split young Johnny and Xander in the belly of the Roger Young. 

Monday, January 9, 2012

Self Improvement: Wearing Shorts

It is mid-winter and already the coming of the warm months makes me worry, for soon, I will have to wear shorts... I am a pale person, my calves look like the belly of a cold trout, almost a pearlescent white, with thin blue veins trembling and snapping beneath the clear skin. My knees are shackled and creak with movement, occasionally popping as I move to and from my chair. The hair on my legs is not like the carefree brown coils of the other men, but instead I have sparse, black wires that quiver like the nervous hairs on a tarantula's body. I hate to reveal my pathetic stems, but what am I to do in the summer? Go about in long-pants? Oh were there a solution other than the endless spray tans of my summers past...

Of one thing I am certain, I will never use a hair straightener on my legs again... it simply doesn't work.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

On a Date: Beach House

A beach house in Malibu. She was housesitting for a wealthy family and not only slept in the master suite, but had taken to the homeowner's closet, wearing silken robes and party dresses. The kitchen was a mess, soiled dishes stacked in gray dish water, garbage overflowing from the compactor, and the constant mewling of underfed house cats...

I asked if I could use the restroom and, per her instruction, went down a window-lined hallway where, after evacuating my bladder with horrible inaccuracy (the toilet seat would tell the tale of a male visitor), I wandered into what appeared to be a young girl's room. The walls were a light pink, the furniture was white wood and wicker, magazine clippings and polaroid collages peppered every surface. I opened her underwear drawer and inspected the bright thongs, and lacy panties. I overturned the whole lot and found a pair of cotton underwear marked with overlapping brown stains from menses past... I looked through the base of her closet and found a pack of cigarettes in an abandoned tennis shoe. I put them in my pocket to throw them away- she shouldn't be smoking. I found her diary in a desk drawer and looked through it; the entries were sporadic, maybe five in total, the last of which piqued my interest. It was only one line without a date. It read:

"Faina gave a blow job to Alex Balian after New Moon."

I closed the diary and put it away. I laid myself down on the girl's bed and imagined Faina and Alex together, perhaps hidden amongst the landscaping of the local Edwards Cinema, Alex's memory of the latest installment of the Twilight saga fading into flashing lights as Faina, caked in make-up, tugged mercilessly at his skittish dick... perhaps afterward, Alex would buy her a diet coke at the concession stand to get the taste out of her mouth...

"What are you doing?" The house sitter asked. She had a plate of fish sticks. I had an erection beneath my jeans.

"Waiting for you."

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Perfect Woman: Alexi Wasser

A phantom on the screen. Loose of breast, lean limbed, she wantonly defies and chastely embraces a femininity as much a phantom as she. Oh! Mind! Change not those hypodermic eyes and limping tongue into a lesser reality....

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Self Improvement: Being Kind to Homeless People

I was shocked to see a beautiful young woman handing money to the homeless man who lives outside the local liquor store. He is filthy and his skin is tormented by some disease, covered in scabs and bleeding ruptures. I always hold my breath when I pass him, not only to spare myself the stench of his stool-packed trousers, but to avoid contracting whatever street-bred pathogens escape his toothless mouth as he mumbles his pleas for money which I always ignore. I hurried over to the young woman as she wished the homeless man well.

"Hello." I said to her.

She smiled at me and I pointed at the homeless man.

"Terrible thing to see isn't it?"

The homeless man looked up at me with watery, yellowed eyes. I held out some change and tried to drop it in his outstretched hand without actually touching him. The coins missed and fell on the ground. The young woman stared at me and I smiled.

"Looks like we have something in common," I said.

"What?" She asked. 

I pointed at the wretch below us who was slowly gathering the fallen coins with his blistered fingertips.

"Being kind to the homeless," I said.

Monday, January 2, 2012

On a Date: Tall Girl

After many drinks and continuous dancing, she agreed to come to my car, which was parked in a dark lot behind the bar. We stuffed ourselves in the back seat and I admired the girl's length.

"How tall are you?" I asked.

"5'11"" She said.

I had a good two inches on her but the task was daunting. I pounced and flipped her on her back. I figure a big girl wants to feel small, so I did my damnedest to be that much bigger, but try as I might she proved almost too vast to master. She was like a giant, overturned crab, latching on to me, clawing at me with unprecedented strength and reach. I looked at her exposed stomach, even her navel seemed large, a cavern almost... I let my thumb wander into it and she flinched.

"That tickles!"

I kissed her neck, squeezed her breast, and put my thumb back in her bellybutton. She laughed with the peculiar strain of a tickle victim.

"Stop!" she squealed, and my car trembled.

I had found my dominance. I tickled her mercilessly. I tickled her until tears streamed down her face. I tickled her with my eyes glazed and my jaw set. Soon she was exhausted, tortured, her hair a mess. Now I could fuck her.

"Get off of me!" She screamed, tossing me aside like a rag doll.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She wrenched open the door and got out, her heels and clutch grasped in one, big hand.

"Wait," I cried, "You're beautiful!"

She slammed the door in my face and I watched, through my rear window, as she strode away, a beautiful Giacometti that I hadn't the confidence to court.