My 10th Date: The High School Flame

When I was slim, trim, and you could wash your Lane Bryant's on my stomach, I'd walk into a crowded club as confident as Wayne Newton after one of his shows, feeling that I could land any chick within a 1 block radius as if she was a rather pedestrian skateboard trick. The last thing on my mind then was getting married, shit, settling down for me was allowing a nightly conquest the ability to watch a post coital movie, that's if she wasn't already disgusted at the vomit sounds that I made while I ejaculated or the delusions of grandeur that I had for my penis as soon as I entered her by quoting "Jaws": "You're gonna need a bigger boat!" I just knew that I would end up dying alone which isn't as bad as you'd think, the last thing I wanted to find myself doing was sitting on my porch, in my rocking chair, staring at some broad so wrinkly that thinking about the state of affairs her vagina was in would make me throw up in my mouth. Not for nothing, but it was rather comforting to think of myself in my mid 70's, popping Viagra like its Tic-Tac's just so I could penetrate a young lady old enough to be my grand-daughter, mid-stroke me giving her a brief overview on the legacy of Rakim.

A funny thing happened though, as my gut expanded and my appearance gave off the impression that my hobbies were "cooking, eating, hanging out at buffet's, and drinking Crisco straight from the bottle", I found myself waxing poetic on this blog about how I want to settle down and infect some poor soul with my demon seed. I wish I could say that I've matured, wanting to find that soulmate because I'm tired of carrying rosary beads to the free clinic based on all the miscellaneous ass I was on the business end of, but to be honest I only felt that way because the sea of options that I once had vagina-wise, well, dried up. In more recent years when I walked into a crowded nightclub I didn't feel as confident, the swagger had abandoned me, the sexy-ness being replaced with a sexually non threatening, funny chubby guy persona as if my life was an urban version of a fucking Chris Farley movie.

Now that I'm losing a few pounds, and every day is as cool as a summer's breeze since I can see more of my penis now, I've come to the realization that I'm a whore. I was only thinking about marriage because I knew that finding a chick who'd let me eat mac and cheese off of her, and wouldn't mind me damn near having a heart attack after a good half hour of hardcore fucking would be few and far between. That's why I decided to still keep my options open, even though you can still find me letting a certain aspiring actress borrow my cock, that is when I'm not helping her rehearse lines for a play that she's in, with me constantly interrupting every so often with "You said you'd blow me, I help you practice that!"

The High School Flame: To make a tremendously long story just a tad bit shorter, a girl that I used to date in High School found me on myspace. After I read her email I immediately had visions of the both of us hand in hand around 1990, passionately making out on her mother's bed, me humoring myself with the thought of climaxing on her moms pillows only to be interrupted by the skin being rubbed off of my penis from all the dry humping. That's the epitome of teenage love isn't it? Blue balls, Ramen noodles, and Yo MTV Raps.

When looking back through the Rolodex of females that I've let see me naked over the past two decades, this particular ex girlfriend is one of a handful that doesn't daydream about having me decapitated, so I agreed to meet her at a local bar.

As I walked through the door of my local watering hole, an establishment that people only go to if they have a weird affection for Karaoke and ruining their livers, it was easy to find her at the bar because she was the only sister in the whole joint. When I walked up to her from behind, my memory of that young girl was immediately being erased from my hard-drive, mainly because I saw nothing but legs and an ass that was basically pouring out both sides of the bar stool that she was sitting on. I wanted to say something smooth, some syrupy words that the motherfucker who played Lando Calrissian would have said in "Lady sings the Blues", but when I sat next to her all I could muster was "You know that you are the reason that I can be found, on those lonely nights that is, masturbating to old tapes of Yo MTV Raps?" She laughed then we embraced, I don't know what perfume she was wearing but it smelled like unadulterated sex to me.

I wish that I could tell you that we had a delightful conversation, you know, consisting of her telling me about her career, what she has been up to over the last 18 years, things like that. But it was painfully obvious within the first few moments of conversation that this broad was drunk, check that, shit faced. Hey I like an alcoholic woman as much as the next guy, they seem to put up less of an argument if you call them another woman's name mid stroke, but being that I'm usually the alcoholic in the equation I felt sort of out of place. So I sat there, and even though her words were slurring in such a way that she sounded like a retarded stroke victim, I just sat there and listened.

I listened when she told me that she was a Vegan, which was obviously a lie or an endeavor that she had just started, primarily because of all that ass that she was hauling. Not for nothing, but she had an ass that provoked me to scream out what wrestler announcers say when they are introducing a tag team, when she walked by I yelled "With a Com-Bined Weight!!" She wouldn't know who in the fuck Lane Bryant was if she ate nothing but celery, tofu eggs, and spent a majority of her time reading ingredients obsessively. I listened when she told me that she loved the lord, and was a good christian, which completely contradicted the story she told me a few minutes earlier when she admitted that she mercilessly blew a married man during a New Years Eve party. I even listened when she claimed that I was the love of her life and that me leaving her affected her severely, even though she left me, for my friend Robbie, a fact that I was reminded of 200 times over by the way the two of them made out in the back of the schoolbus that I took home every day.

Because she had no business driving I became, I can't believe I'm actually going to type these words, her, *gulp*, "Designated Driver". I saw her to her door, an apartment in a very fancy schmacy building by the way, and uttered whatever pleasantries I had to so I could smoothly segue my ass out of the as soon as humanly possible. As I made my way down the hall, desperately trying to beat "last call" so I could finally get my drink on I heard her scream "I thought we were going to fuck!!??" Like a DJ Premiere track, the beautifully smoky contralto of Sade, or some garden variety practice vagina telling me "The baby isn't yours", what I heard in that hallway was music to my ears. I should have been turned on, a thick woman standing in a hallway in her bra and panty's with a "come hither and that that penis where it doesn't belong" look in her eye, but she was also stumbling and saying "I hope I don't throw up" under her breath.(not exactly the sexiest thing in the world)

Usually, because I'm such a pervert, I would have made love to that inebriated woman, even being so kind to hold the vomit bucket in front of her while I passionately make love to her from behind. But I didn't, not because I suddenly have standards, but because I suddenly have options.