Pussy comes when you least expect it

Like most great things in life, pussy seems to come when you least expect it. Just when you've given up hope of bagging the love of your life and you think god is a cruel sadistic bastard who likes watching your impotent pick up attempts as you try to recover from an obliterated heart, just when you figure your right hand isn't so bad after all, just when you think you can relate to the himalayan monks who meditate instead of ejaculate, just when you think working longer hours and doing more exercise is the appropriate way to deal with the despair of overwhelming loneliness pussy comes cascading down on you like its fucking niagara falls.

I don't know whether it's luck, coincidence, attitude, or lower standards but at moments when I'm at my lowest there is usually a catapulting motion back up to unseen heights. There is no gradual climb up rocky terrain, no slow moving love affairs or flirtatious trysts, no I'm in a rocket ship straight for orgasm after orgasm. Is it all fulfilling? A moral man with self respect might say no, but I haven't been one of those in a long time. I'm having a great time meeting girls and actually having success in gaining access to their most private possessions.

Is this sustainable? Of course not, like a violent thunderstorm it will probably be followed by an unbearable drought. And here I am constantly being thrown from one extreme to the other, avoiding any sort of consistency or normalcy. I guess it keeps me from my number one fear of being boring, but the roller coaster motion of ecstasy and agony is overwhelming and it'd be nice to maybe find that love of my life and settle down. Call me a romantic but I'm not sure if there's anything more appealing than having a girl you can sleep with on any night of the week with whom you'd actually LIKE to wake up next to.

I'll enjoy this oasis of vagina while it lasts, but when it inevitably dries up I'd like to avoid asking myself if I should've maybe cut back and looked for something different this time. Otherwise I know what comes next, and I know the pleasure isn't worth the pain.

25th Birthdays

I knew it was going to be a special night when my coworker, “Mark” we’ll call him, called me at 5:30, already drunk on a bottle of cheap red. It takes a special kind of person to rush straight into an alcoholic binge at midday on a Friday. Mark is a special kind of person though and I seem to always run into him on nights where the only memories are those left in digital pictures and rousing voice mails.

The first stop was a nice little bar in Alphabet city, a bar with character. Looking back I don’t know why I was so surprised to find the bar so empty considering we arrived at 7. They had a fascinating mix of American brews which, aside from Yueng Ling, I recognized none of. I satisfied myself by relentlessly downing a delicious concoction named “Two brothers Cane and Ebel.” The discernable method I used for picking this sweet gem out of a list of wild and obscure names was that its alcohol content rested nicely at 7%, well beyond the 4.3% of many others. If that’s not a bargain I don’t know what is.

Some of our other co workers had joined us and I looked and saw Mark animatedly talking with them. I went and mulled over the digital jukebox selection trying to find an appropriate song to capture the moment. I settled on the classically obnoxious Def Lepperd mantra, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and proceeded to entertain myself with the air guitar while people watched laughing at my ridiculous display. Luckily the bar tender for the night worked at the same company I did, albeit now in California, but tonight he was my server and was serving free round after round. “One more Cane and Ebel please.”

The scene started to pick up slowly as night had finally fallen and I suddenly felt very at home here. They left the doors open and opened the floor to ceiling partitions in front as the bar felt more like a Patio then anything else. As I was joking about an outrageously inappropriate coworker on our floor I spotted an Asian vixen eyeing our dear friend Mark with shrewd, lustful eyes. This is a woman with purpose I thought as she was clearly ignoring the three guys hanging on her. Mark, hadn’t noticed her though as he was savagely tearing into another cold glass of booze. He had a wild, primitive look in his eyes. He spoke with the same fervor that we were used to, but there was something different in his gaze, a reckless confidence perhaps. As I was walking to the bathroom before we moved to the next spot I overheard that same girl exclaiming to Mark how “cute” he was; to which I then heard Mark drunkly laugh and reply, “You’re pretty cute yourself.” Her over the top laughter at this barely funny remark only confirmed her licentious intentions for him. A few coworkers and myself waited near the front of the bar while they exchanged a few more words. Finally, he tore himself away and just told us that “that Asian girl had said I was cute, I think she’s meeting up with us at the next bar.” We just laughed and made our way to the next place, a bit higher end then the one we had just left at least from the fact that they had a bouncer, velvet rope, and dj.

We stepped inside and I observed an aimless sea of clueless women and men, idling over drinks and impotent conversation. I saw right away that Mark was intent on changing that as his stares shifted quickly scanning the place for potential targets. Uninterested in anything else but my next drink I walked straight to the bar and stupidly opened a tab quickly buying up a round to get the place started off right. We all toasted and relaxed a bit with some office stories of inappropriate themes.

Suddenly Mark blurted out that we should try and talk to some of these girls. I had seen him measuring up a group of girls to our right along the bar after they had bought a round of champagne. Another one of our companions sealed his fate when he dared him to go through with it. Before he’d even finished his sentence Mark had turned from us and was walking straight for that group of girls, it was eight on one and he was too blasted to even feel intimidated…alcohol is a holy drug indeed.

We all watched intensely as he walked up to the girl everyone seemed to be toasting to and said something close to her ear. I was bracing for the worst, a slap in the face or a drink thrown. Apparently though he knew what he was doing as she burst out laughing and then so did her friends. Now that he had broken the barrier we awkwardly made our way over to him, we could’ve said it was for back up…but the truth is he didn’t need it and we wanted some new conversation.

I must confess that I remember none of their names, and nothing else for that matter aside from the part about them all being there to celebrate the 25th birthday of the one Mark seemed to be focusing on, though it could very well have been the other way around. Either way, the two groups soon mutually lost interest in forcing conversation between each other and Mark and his nameless female companion drifted further and further into their own space. Our party found this social dance endlessly entertaining, however with a few glimpses at her friends I could tell they were far from amused as they saw their dear friend, obliterated on champagne shots completely abandoning them for some sleazy drunk bastard she’d never met.

I’m sure Mark made this girl’s 25th birthday one to remember as he succeeded in dancing, grinding, and passionately making out with her in a very public way. I’m sure he ruined this girl’s 25th birthday when after she said that she didn’t think she’d go home with him that night he immediately stepped back from her releasing himself from her desperate embrace, took back the drink he had bought her, chugged it and then walked out without saying good bye to her, us, or his sense of morality. It was a stunning exit, that left us all questioning whether he had really left until ten minutes later he still hadn’t come back in. It was quite a sight to see her visibly annoyed friends triumphantly saying I told you so as she just repeatedly questioned why he had just walked away and left, birthday tears shamelessly falling down her face.

It was a sad display and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. I don’t think Mark will be getting an invitation to her 26th birthday and I don’t think she’ll be hooking up with random strangers again soon, probably both for the best. Bleary eyed and dizzy I thought about the reasoning of random hook ups at bars and decided that when left at superficial lust it was a perfectly legitimate arena, but that it may not be best method for finding a partner that will share emotional attachment…or a cell phone number.

Why You Should Never Wait

Girls are complex creatures indeed, their depths descend deeper then perhaps I will ever fathom. It is a common consensus that women are infinitely more complicated then men, especially when it comes to the realm of romance and all its logical connections. I reached this “common consensus” with the help of two females amidst some intellectually rewarding conversation. The fact that I was 7 and 14 years their junior I’m sure was irrelevant.

However, basically the only understanding I gained was that I cannot and will not be able to understand women. I won’t be able to understand why they seem predetermined to want guys that treat them like shit and determined to treat the guys that want them like shit. This sad trend was only just disclosed to me, perhaps my eyes being truly opened for the first time in a wild and wondrous trip to Atlantic City. Being the type of man that I am, I’m always more inclined to gamble with my dignity then my money. So after giving away $150 in a hopeless game of black jack I went out with only booze on my mind. My friends though have become quasi disciples of a book called, The Game, about the art of picking up women. To completely bastardize the book and sum up all its subtleties into one line I’ve gathered that basically the way to pick up women is to simply treat them like shit. As my friends chatted excitedly about the techniques I was skeptical until I realized this would probably account for the slimness of my success in that department…that is of course if I’m not holding my lack of good looks accountable, but that’s neither here nor there. After drinking, and then dinner with drinking, and then more drinking we headed out to the Tropicana to take in that AC night life. Low and behold though, the interior section of the Tropicana had a ceiling deceptive enough to pass for the sky and I was immediately so disoriented by the bright sky above that I was wide awake. This was a very clever gimmick indeed; the more people stay awake, the more they’ll spend.

After entering the bar and seeing a tall cooler stacked with forties I knew we had come to the right place. There were groups of guidos, the pride of Jersey, to my right, some clueless Pennsylvania girls to my left, and I think an unconscious rabbi behind us slumped over in a chair, but I can’t be sure. Across the bar I recognized a group as New Yorkers by their perpetual air of boredom and superiority. I belong over there I thought, then I took a huge swig of my forty of Coors Light and realized I was right where I belonged, by the bar.

My friend, a deacon in the art of “The Game” had provided me with several plausible situations in which to enact its teachings. Out of the corner of my eye I saw he had already engaged in one as he stood conversing with two girls, neither of which I knew…the birthday tiara however spoke volumes for what I could expect. At a moment of opportunity he signaled for me to come over. I immediately went over and proceeded to make fun of the two girls he was talking to, just like the “good book” had said. After assuring them that my friend and I were both entirely too good for them, I made them laugh with some running commentary, usually only pausing to brush back more Coors. It was an enjoyable time and then at the height of their enjoyment. As I had had them laughing to the point of tears we walked away. “We gotta get back to our party now.” Without further explanation we turned and walked away.

I questioned this at first. I mean wouldn’t any self respecting woman feel so insulted by this that they’d just move on? After making a very predictable trip to the bathroom they came right back to us as we stood amongst our other friends…they were hooked. “So are you going to buy me a drink for my birthday?” Usually, I’m all too eager to share my love of drinking with others, but again I was reminded by those fateful words of deacon Frank, “thou shalt never buy a girl a drink.” “Absolutely not” I replied to the shell shocked girl. The result was even more unexpected. Not only was she now more desperate for me, she had even gone and made some poor bastard buy her a drink then come right back to me to try and get me jealous. “So Matt that guy right over there bought me a drink.” I looked over and saw some sad soul sitting by himself at the bar…if only he would’ve read the book, he’d at least still have those five bucks. “Good for him” I said, thinking exactly and you came right back to me. I had to give the book credit I was going against everything I had ever done, and success was coming easier then shooting fish in a pale.

After the forty and four kamikaze shots, in addition to the 5 hours of straight drinking previous to that I was thoroughly tight. We all then decided it was time to leave. Again we used the same technique with unabashed commitment. “Alright we gotta go, we’re heading over to Caesar’s.” The looks on their faces alone was worth saying that. “Wait, so you’re just gonna leave us?” they asked…pleaded. “You’re both welcome to come but we’re leaving now.” The game says that you should always maintain control and be unconcerned with your targets. Our “targets” chugged their drinks and hurried over to us as we were walking out.

While standing outside discussing our options leaving the girls five feet behind a group of guys approached them in what I now knew were all the wrong ways. The birthday tiara girl actually had the audacity to respond by saying “I’m with him” then walked straight up to me and kissed me. My heir of imperviousness dropped, now I was just as shell shocked as anyone else. I had done nothing but mock and ignore this girl since meeting her and she had just mouth raped me. I mean she didn’t tie me down, but the kiss was certainly not two way. As she grasped for my hand I reluctantly gave it to her, if only to keep her away from my mouth. The teachings of The Game were holy indeed, one could only imagine the power of it should it fall into the wrong hands.

Birthday tiara girl cried that night as I left her at her hotel without ever giving her a number…or a last name. I couldn’t lead her on though; I’m not in the business of asking girls to wait, of letting them hang on for a possibility that will probably never come. No, I leave that vicious and savage act to girls, I’ll just go on mindlessly drinking, at least now without the concern of emptying my wallet for female returns, I’ll tell them to buy their own drink and leave me to mine.