Posts Tagged ‘Phone

16
Oct
08

The Man, part 5.

– “The sex was freakin’ amazing. Fucking awesome!”

She all but threw it out there. Without any hint or warning leading up to it. She had a habit of doing that. No hint. Nothing to brace you or get you into the mood of the topic of this little spiel. Plop;  and there it was on the floor.

– “Uhuh.”

He muttered back and tried to sound uninterested. Taking a swill from his beer while fumbling to get the cellphone out of his pocket with the other hand. Thinking of ways to get out of this situation and into a bar. A sensible plan for getting slaughtered was needed.

– “I must have cum like a dozen times last night.” She continued.

Details. Details flying at him like sand into his eyes. Unasked for and annoying when you can’t help yourself from looking and just have to keep staring into the spray.

– “Alrighty then. Stupendous. Good for you and hooray.”

It’s not really a conversation when one of the parties is constantly trying to shut it down. He realized this of course and hoped she would too. Although that would assume she had any real intention of this being an actual conversation and not just another one-sided monologue piece about her amazing lovelife, sexlife and fucking-ignoring-him-life. Alas, it was so.

She swiveled around on the chair and gazed up into the ceiling, leaning back so far that her hair almost touched the floor behind her. Occasionally swirling and sipping her drink as she twirled. The liquid inside the glass, some sort of pink mojito-half breed, sloshed dangerously close to the edge of its container as she picked up speed. It looked like the stuff coming off of that pink puck in the urinal, flushing down into the drain.

He was at this point furiously pushing the buttons of the phone with his thumb in an attempt to construct a text message that could save him from this predicament. Accidentally mashing several letters at once in his haste, misspelling as he went. Growing more annoyed with each mistake.

– “Why the hell are the buttons so God damn small? It’s like this thing was designed to be operated with a midget’s toes.” He muttered to himself as he finally got the last digit right and pressed ‘send’.

He was going to need a much stronger drink than this if he was to survive the wait. Something that could dull his mind sufficiently. In order to desensitize him from the apparent set topic of the evening. He strode over to the little bar area in the corner of the living room and plonked down his bottle on the wooden counter. The force was enough to stir up the carbonation in the beer and cause it to fizz slightly. Rum would do the job. After all: ‘Time flies when you’re having rum.’.

Downing the first round in one go he hardly had time to taste it. Pity, it was a good brand. Once it hit his stomach it gave him that old familiar feeling. A warm almost burning sensation started to emanate from his gut. Spreading into his chest, arms and legs. When it finally hit his head it was like superglue spreading, drying and hardening inside of his brain. An epoxy cauterizing every neural cluster and the thoughts that went with them. Back to being an idiot, a safe feeling.

A beep and a rattle in his pocket. Paige had responded to his text.

“im working tonight, sorry baby :(“

– “His cock was huge!” she slurred as she leaned back just far enough on the chair to tip backwards and do an unwilling and flailing somersault.

He was going to need a bigger bottle.

14
Jan
08

The Man, part 2.

Bandaid



I got the call just as I was leaving work. I almost snapped off the band-aid from my finger while scrambling to get the phone out of my pocket. What the hell does she want now? Isn’t it enough that she rejected me? Is this some sort of sick game to her? I know alot of things, the only problem is that most of it’s wrong. One thing I am certain of however is that I love her. Or loved her, whichever makes me less pathetic. For the longest time she seemed like she was deciding. What she wanted from life, what she wanted from me. In reality though she had probably figured out exactly what she needed me for quite some time ago. Some sort of male companionship.

When other men treated her like shit she needed me to come in and reassure her. Tell her she didn’t deserve what she got. Keep her company. Maybe watch a movie and eat dinner together, in our little apartments. Knowing full well that I wanted her. On second thought it was entirely possible she couldn’t quite understand just how much this feeling had taken over my life. No, no she had to know. Not fully, but surely an inkling had to appear somewhere in that head of hers. We were more than friends. “Just friends” as she put it. The phrase that can make any grown man feel like he’s back in school, having just been humiliated in front of the class.

“This is my heart, please don’t dump it on the floor.”

I really need to get back home first and have a shower and change this band-aid. It’s starting to itch, a whole lot. If this thing gets infected I swear to God I’m going to go berserk! I’m not going to lose a finger over a bet. How the hell was I to know that Indian would be so good at the knife game? Proving once again that whisky and sharp objects don’t mix. The band-aid is getting frayed around the edges and discoloured. If only it was a Flintstones one like when you were a kid. That would be cute, that would be a way in when you’re picking up women. What the hell am I thinking? “Hey baby, wanna see my disfigured finger?” Sexy, real sexy.

Who was it that had fucked her and left this time? Some dashingly handsome actor? A mysterious musician? A successful banker? It didn’t matter. They were all the same underneath. The same insecure, preening, posturing bullshit artists that equally insecure women fall for. I knew most of these guys through friends of friends and acquaintances. Walking human echoes, one and all. What a whiny little bitch I had become.

At times that little piece of plastic cloth felt like it was the only thing holding me together.




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