I awoke with an ache in my groin and a residue of beer, cigarettes, and pussy in my mouth. I felt a little sick to my stomach. The nausea had two sources. Part of it was from building up to what should’ve been a massive orgasm and not being able to release. In other words, blue balls. A bigger reason for my topsy-turvy gut was anxiety caused by being disgusted with myself for getting into yet another relationship with a girl who I don’t have particularly strong feelings for.
I don’t imagine that I’m the only person in the world who gets laid and afterwards feels like throwing himself off a tall building and splattering on the sidewalk below. I’m sure I’m not the only one who fucks and then feels like dying. But at that moment, I was feeling utterly alone, sad, and a mildly freaked out.
What little sleep I’d gotten was fitful. I climbed out from under the covers and sat naked on the edge of the bed. I scratched my crusty pubic hair and reached for my cigarettes and lighter. I fired one up, sucking on it gingerly because I’d only just recently taken up smoking them. I carefully exhaled a small puff. The milky wisp slowly spun away in the haunting gray-blue glow of a cold September dawn in Wishport, PA. A chill wind snuck in through the flimsy blue drapes shrouding a half-open window on the other side of the bedroom. The air smelled of recent rain and rotting leaves.
Gina stirred and reached out a bare arm from under the gray comforter, but I was out of reach. Her wavy straw-colored hair covered her face. I dropped the cigarette into a plastic bottle of Mountain Dew on the nightstand. The butt hissed as it hit the electric-green liquid. I gently pulled the comforter over her arm and rose from the bed to get dressed. I climbed into my trusty pair of baggy blue jeans, which hadn’t been laundered in days, and buckled the worn brown leather belt. I retrieved my gray t-shirt from under the dark heap of her skirt and blouse. I leaned over and placed a peck on her hair-covered cheek.
I wasn’t sure if I’d woken her up or not. “I gotta go,” I whispered.
No response. She was snoring as I padded out of the bedroom. I found my well-worn running shoes by the front door and my black hoodie on the coat rack. Nemo, Gina’s little orange cat, rubbed against my leg and purred. I crouched down and scratched his head. “I gotta go, buddy. I’ll catch ya later.”
As I jogged down the steep lopsided stairs outside the house I remembered that I’d forgotten my boxers. I wasn’t going back for them. I’d freeball it. She could keep them as a souvenir. More likely, she’d use them as bait to try to get me to return. I imagined the phone call: “Come on, Michael. You have to come get your boxers. I’m not delivering them to you.”
I headed down the sidewalk towards Allegheny Avenue and made a right at the corner. With my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and my head down, I recalled the previous night’s events.
It was a depressingly standard scenario. I showed up at Gina’s with two six-packs of Lager which we whacked down rather rapidly while watching whatever stupid shit was on TV. Then we started making out on the couch and retired to her bedroom for a bout of fucking before falling asleep. For some reason I couldn’t come. I humped her for a half an hour straight and just could not come. It was like I was blocked up or something.
Gina and I’d been “seeing each other” (whatever the fuck that means) off and on for a few months. We hit it off one Saturday night at Broke’s Bar and had been fooling around ever since. She watched too much TV as far as I was concerned. I know her feelings for me were of a different order than mine for her, but I didn’t know what to do. I mean, she was hot as hell. Her hair’s beautiful. Her little nose and chin. Her small, firm tits with the big nipples. Her flat stomach. Her firm ass. Her eager snatch. Oh man, call me shallow, but I was having a hard time walking away from that. But I knew I had to soon. We had next to nothing in common.
I was walking down the Ave with an ache in my loins, totally lost in a swamp of self-analysis when this 20-something dude just a little shorter than me, with crazy messed-up brown hair and a short neatly-trimmed reddish beard, wearing a camouflage army coat, tight blue jeans, and a worn-out pair of Docksides strides out from between two buildings and goes, “Here, man, take this and pass it on to whoever you think might enjoy it.” He then shoved a folded piece of paper into my sweatshirt pocket and ducked back between the two buildings. I cautiously peered into the alley and saw him jogging down it and then disappear around a corner. “Alrighty then,” I said out loud and looked at what he’d given me.
It was a largish piece of what looked to be paper torn out of a sketchpad. Written in big letters in black marker was this message: “KILL YOURSELF”. Beneath the words was a ludicrous drawing of a giant penis with lines coming out the end to signify semen. I just shook my head and put it back in my pocket. I’ve always been a fan of random shit like that. I had a feeling I’d run into that character again. It’s a small town, after all.
The streetlights blinked out as the sun slowly climbed above the low forested hills hugging Wishport. The air was warming slightly. I didn’t feel like going home, but I didn’t know where else to go or what to do. I wasn’t used to being out and about at five in the morning. The morning calm was momentarily disrupted by the asthmatic rumble of an big old half-rusted car going by, pouring forth a noxious cloud of black exhaust. I decided to lean against a tree, attempt another cigarette, and ponder my options.
No sooner had I gotten the cigarette lit and taken a tentative drag when my good friend, Nicole, burst out of the greasy spoon about twenty yards down the street and hurried off in the other direction. I called out to her and she spun around. “What the fuck are you doing?” she yelled.
I flung my barely smoked cigarette into a puddle in the middle of the street, coughed, and went towards her. “Um, I dunno.” When I got to her we hugged. Her green army coat was unzipped and she had on a gray sweater underneath. She smelled like cigarettes and some kind of essential oil. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, I got all wrapped up in a web page I’m working on. I just had to finish it.” She was speaking rather rapidly. Nicole’s prone to bouts of mania and she appeared to be in one at the moment. “I ran out of coffee so I packed up my computer,” she patted the black messenger bag slung over her shoulder, “and cruised on over to the Diner.”
“Did you finish the page?”
“Mostly. I just have to go over it one more time to make sure there aren’t any typos.” She pushed her fine, brown hair behind her ears.
“That’s cool,” I said for lack of anything better to say.
“Yeah.” She gave me a funny look. “Need a ride?”
It dawned on me that I’d driven to Gina’s and that my car was parked in front of her place. I still didn’t want to go home, though. “Can I hang out at your place?”
“Sure. I drank two pots of coffee tonight. I’ll be good to go all day. Nothing like pulling an all-nighter.” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it. She nonchalantly inhaled the toxic, vaguely intoxicating smoke and smoothly exhaled a big puff. I admired her skill at smoking. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asked.
