My 9th Date: The Wanna-Be Hollywood Starlet..

For the past couple of months or so I have been corresponding with a recent film school graduate, Dave, who is by all accounts a fan of my blog. I was flattered, I really was, but whenever we would talk I would remind him that my writings are just cautionary tales, and that he doesn't want to wind up being a 33 year old childless pre-ejaculator who is a couple of sandwiches away from never seeing his penis again. Anyway, through our correspondence he expressed that he wanted to either turn my posts into video shorts, have me write original material for said films, or both. I immediately told him that I was hip to the idea as long as I had input on the final directorial vision, if I could play a black Silent Bob if we ever decided to do my "Hip Hop Clerks" bit(A role where the only requirements are to be chubby and not say anything, mission accomplished..), and I had to be an integral part of the casting process so I could help pick actors who I felt could pull off the mass amounts of dialog they'd have to learn.(In other words, meet chicks who could wind up being on the business end of a rather unimpressive black penis) He was cool with that, so the past month or so has been spent bouncing ideas off of each other, talking about the type of camera's we would use, and me asking him which camera lense would best accentuate my stubby phallus if I ever wanted to film the shortest porn flick in the history of erotica.

Since I'm always thinking ahead like a chick who only gives oral(sorry about that), I didn't want to have your standard audition process, you know, where me and the director sit and watch future Thespians recite my beautiful poetic dialog like: "Sorry man, your mother can't get enough of me! I'll tell you what though, no matter how many times I stick my dick in that geriatric temptress that is your mother, I'll never get used to looking at your baby pictures on her dresser while I cum." I can't front, sure I find that standard audition process kind of corny, but I knew deep in the recesses of my brain that I would have wound up fucking one of the auditioning actresses anyway, and I'd feel so guilty about it later that I would have felt pressured to cast her in something even if she wasn't qualified. So Dave had a brilliant idea, he suggested that we go to this trendy ass coffee shop that's frequented by actors, so much in fact that he told me there would be a good chance that we would see people actually practicing their lines over overpriced cups of Java. I thought he was exaggerating, but any excuse to openly ridicule snobs and your garden variety douche-bag is right up my alley, so I went.

Wouldn't you know it, it was exactly how he described, there was a sea of frustrated actors, writers, and bohemians as far as the eye could see. It seemed like a place that would stand up and loudly applaud if I started quoting lines from "The Great Gatsby", or if I simply walked around screaming "Stella!! Stella!!" ala Marlon Brando in "Streetcar Named Desire" or some shit. But then again I love snobby chicks though, nothing is more pleasing than relaying a humorous "..and while I was fucking her she kept saying, "I can't believe I'm doing this, you are so beneath me!" story to my friends and loved ones. Right when I was about to go on a proverbial joke fest and exercise the fact that the women in attendance were the same types of women that disregarded me in High school, an amazingly beautiful woman came to my table and asked, "Are you an actor?? You look like an actor, you're an actor right??"

Within minutes, not because I asked but because she easily offered up this information like I was interrogating her, I learned that her name was Yvonne, was originally from Detroit, is only in Virginia because she's looking after a sick friend, has aspirations of being the new millennium "black Bette Davis" as she put it, and a slew of other shit ranging from her favorite color, her political positions, and how she has regular bowel movements because of all the grain that she eats. She talked a lot, a lot, and she was continuously talking over me and interrupting like I was a babbling child or some shit, but she kind of intrigued me to be totally honest. Sure she had bosoms that I could make love to and a backside that I'd love to make a mold out of and penetrate in the comfort of my own home on those cold lonely nights, but the truly intriguing part was every time she talked she acted as if a camera was on her. No shit, as we left the trendy coffee shop and walked down the block hoping from bar to bar, while she would ramble on she'd have these overly expressive arm movements, project her voice like she was on a Broadway stage, and she'd stare at me and say shit like, "You have very peaceful eyes, I could get completely lost in them." The only thing that kept me from chuckling was the throbbing bulge in my jeans, her bullshit was actually giving this chubby guy, well, a "chubby".

After a few drinks she became even more animated, turning every hair flip into an international incident, making every private conversation seem like a presidential address, even when we started to make out in front of a slew of strangers I felt like I was on a daytime soap opera or some shit. I guess the best way I can describe it is, well, think about Faye Dunaway's performance in "Mommy Dearest" because that pretty much nails her behavior. I felt bad about leaving Dave back at that coffee shop, but when she grabbed my hand with the passion of a B-movie actress and said, "Take me back to my apartment and have your way with me!", the last thing on my mind was an aspiring director as I drove to her residence.(I distinctly remember driving the car with my penis, I could be wrong.)

Her apartment was clean which is a good thing because I always worry about the state of affairs of a woman's vagina who keeps a nasty house, but now reflecting back on that night, should I be worried that she had drawers filled with condoms separated by brands?? Anyway, as we commenced to what she called "Christen" her bed(She claimed that I was her first conquest in the new pad but the springs in her mattress let out whines of wear and tear, like bringing one of "The Golden Girls" to climax) she started moaning loudly, shaking her head back and forth, looking back at an imaginary camera, and saying ridiculous shit like "You're going to make me fall in love with you, huh??" I'd like to think she was being authentic, but based on the fact that one of my lovers once finished her college homework as I pounded away at her privates, lets just say it was hard to believe her moans of glee. I'll tell you what though, I was so entertained by her antics that I lasted longer than usual, I was so proud that after it was finished I stood on her balcony naked and raised my arms in victory feeling that someone had to bronze my cock ASAP.

In the morning, no lie, I woke up to the smell of eggs, bacon, and her actually saying "I'm making you some breakfast, lover." "Lover", who says that shit nowadays? I giggled to myself, ignored the urge to scrub my penis in the sink which is usually my ritual after sex, and ate breakfast with some woman that I hardly knew. What do you think, should I ask her to be in the video shorts or just keep that shit to myself??