It was my first summer back from college, and the ole' neighborhood cul-de-sac looked as shitty as ever. My pals and I who grew up there called it cul-de-shit, a cul-de-crap and a cul-de-let's-get-the-fuck-out-of-here-as-soon-as-possible. As for me, I did mange to get the fuck out of the cul-de-shit.
They didn't.
My college wasn't great, but I had a good scholarship, and when I learned how to work the system, I finagled a sweet work study deal that left me free most of the summer.
I was luxuriating in my brilliance until I realized...free to do what? I was stuck in the cul-de-shit for the entire summer, the friends I had made at school were all gone to their own homes, and a lot of my childhood pals were working their bullshit jobs with little time left over to party. And, I gotta admit, a lot of them had just become assholes. Or maybe I did. I didn't feel like an asshole, but assholes never do, do they? And how would you know? You, the reader, might be an asshole as well, so, who knows?
Whatever it was that had changed, me or them, I found myself not wanting to have anything to do with my old friends....with one skinny little exception.
Kelly lived across the street with her parents and an older brother. She was a razor cheeked brunette, skinny as a rail with huge blue eyes and she loved to be mean to everyone on the cul-de-shit. However, this summer when she started giving me attitude, instead of whining and taking it like I used to, I gave it tight back to her. And she actually loved it! And I did too! Trading insults, cut-downs and yelling friendly obscenities back at each other became my only pleasure, and though Kelly was dumb as hell in most things, she had developed some true talent when it came to crafting the scatalogical she was a genius, and therefore kept me on my toes all summer long with her frequent challenges.
One day I was going into Burger Yaga's Russian Burger Dojo, when Kelly almost knocked me over while bursting out through the 'IN' door.
"Watch where you're going, you blind piece of shit! What do you think you're..." Kelly's flaming eyes were able to see past her rage after a couple a seconds, which let her see it was me. "Fuck!". she yelled as she helped me up. That was her way of apologizing.
"What happened Kelly? Did they finally taste your cooking?"
"Not now John, okay? Just...." she stood there, twisting in place, clearly upset and stuck about what to do or where to look with her eyes. "This is the third time I've been fired in five months. I'm running out of places to work. Fucking McDonald's won't take me back after what I did with that ketchup spigot..."
The tears forming in her eyes gentled my tone. "Well, Kelly, the guy did have to get an operation to remove it from where you stuck it."
"....fuck.". She said softly, sadly, with all the remorse a remorseless bitch could muster.
"Would you like a ride home?", I asked.
"Yeah. Just don't gimmie any shit, at least for a while, ok?"
"Sure, sure. I declare a truce. Hey, I'll even let you play that shitty Stryper cassette you like."
She almost smiled. On the drive back, she started talking about all the jobs she'd lost since leaving High School. It soon became clear Kelly had no business being in the people business. Her disdain for tasks, bosses, customers, making things for other people and doing things for other people was tremendous ... and hilarious to listen to! I drove the long way home, picked up a six pack and headed to a nearby artificial lake in front of Sierra Chupacabra subdivision, parked near a picnic bench, got comfy and I just let her keep on yakking. To my surprise, she told me everything! I found out she had lost a total of twelve jobs in three years. And hearing each adventure, it was clear all of her firings save one, were entirely her fault, though that was not how she put it.
"I mean what did he expect me to do? Mop up the whooollle thing just 'cuz someone spilled it?!", her incredulous tone ringing across the suburban man-made lake as she swung her arms wide, spilling a little of the beer from her can.
"You know, he just might have, Kelly."
"Well....he's a dumbass then.". She walked around and stretched a bit, her languid twisting body betraying the fact that she was starting to feel the alcohol. Her nipples poked through her work uniform, showing that she wasn't wearing a bra. I ogled her lithe form which was sinewy, almost too thin, but still a luscious 19 year prize. She wasn't my usual physical type, but, shit, it was the summer, and she was drinking my beer by a lake, and what the hell. I wasn't going to force anything, but if the Wind of Easy Pussy blew my way I would catch that breeze and sail, brother!
"Fuckety fuck fuck!", Kelly babbled on. "If there was only a job I could do where I just sat there and stuff happened near me, or around me, on on me.... I don't know, JUST so I didn't have to move or anything much...".
"Ha! You mean like a prostitute?"
"Huh?"
"You just described what a prostitute does."
Kelly looked around a little wildly, trying to disagree with me, but she couldn't come up with anything.
"...Fuck you, John...", she said without gusto.
"How much?". I retorted.
She didn't tell me to go fuck myself harder, as I expected. A thoughtful look crawled onto her face.
"I mean, shit, if sex wasn't so shitty, I'd maybe think about it..."
She trailed off and turned away from me.
"Sex isn't supposed to be shitty, Kelly."
"Not for guys, duh."
"Nooo, not for everyone. I mean, not shitty for everyone. Women are supposed to enjoy sex."
"Bullshit."
This was weird. Could could foul-mouthed Cul-de-sac Kelly really be this naive, or was she just fucking with me?
"Uh...so you've had sex...?" I asked her cautiously.
"Of course, dipshit."
"How many times? Or how many guys, what ever applies?"
