Excluding any illegal acts, my first time was more of a disaster than yours.
I understand that rarely is the first time that fairytale that one might hope.
Mine was worse. I promise.
(At this point, I'd like to go ahead and invite my mother to stop reading)
Romance was not part of my game just yet, thoughts of same being trumped by the fact that I had found someone willing to have sex with me.
I had secured a location that afforded privacy and nothing else. It was not a candle-lit room with flowers and Barry White. It was a dingy, window-less, basement bedroom. A scraggly, stained indoor/outdoor carpet covered the room but exposed the cement floor in various patches. Grey, warped paneling covered the walls. As if the creep factor wasn't solidified enough, a large poster of Jack Nicholson's "Here's Johnny!" scene from The Shining hung on the walls
Honestly, I can't remember if my cousin and his friends were there at the beginning of the proceedings or came home from football practice once things had progressed. I had other things on my mind and was able to ignore the outside world, as it turns out, to my considerable detriment.
My cousin, Booger, is a story unto himself. Operating with little to no filter, Booger is at once my cousin, one of my best friends, as well as my chief rival and nemesis. He is loud, profane, and reactionary. Importantly, Booger operates on his own code that remains a mystery to those who know him. I knew this then, and now. This is why my taking for granted exactly what I thought Booger would do seems so foolish in retrospect
In this case I just assumed that he'd see a closed door and knock
Anyone who has ever had an intimate moment interrupted can relate to that sickening, nauseous, dread that starts at the base of your spine and the pit of your stomach as you hear a hand on the door and realize that door is not locked.
The degree of terror is directly proportionate to the degree of intimacy your act entails.
Changing clothes is bad.
Using the bathroom is worse,
Being walked in on while having sex is certainly the worst of any scenario. Throw in the fact it is the first time you are actually doing said act and the horror is unspeakable.
In a similar vein, it is supposed to be horrifying for the intruder. No one wants to walk in on that and the interloper usually slams the door while screaming some panic filled combination of apology and explanation.
As I said, my cousin has his own set of norms and mores
"SHANEY FUCKIN!"
"SHANEY FUCKIN!"
"SHANEY FUCKIN!"
At this point I have completely forgotten there is a naked human being beneath me and am screaming at Booger to close the door. My own stream of curses and commands match his volume and intensity:
SHUTTHEFUCKINGDOORYOUASSHOLESHUTUPSHUTTHEFUCKINGDOOR!
After what seemed like forever,the shock of what was happening wore off and it simultaneously occurred to my cousin and I that he had come into that room for a reason. Our eyes locked. Booger looked at his hand and my eyes followed.
He was holding a cordless phone.
"Uh...It's fo you"
Booger threw the phone and ran away, leaving the door wide open and me with a decision to make
For reasons I still can't explain, I took the call
It was my father's landlord on the other line. After an uncomfortable pause, she inquired as to the whereabouts of my father as his rent was due and his clothes and personal effects were still there
This is when things went really bad.
"Uh, my dad's in jail."
"HE'S IN JAIL?!?"
"Yes."
"Will he be there a long time?"
"Yes, about 9 months"
"Well what..."
"Listen I'm going to call you back."
My plan was to ease my girlfriend into that little nuance of my personal life. That plan too, became a victim of this disaster.
Inevitably, the reaction to this story is the same.
What was she doing?
Well then what happened?
The answer is simple.
I don't know.
I have no idea what happened next and I don't remember what she was doing. It's fair to assume she was questioning why she got involved with this idiot and his obnoxious and apparently criminal family
I don't remember how the story ends.
I know for certain how it didn't end.
Monday, December 12, 2011
"Blues Bitch"
If you google "Big Time Sarah". You can get a sense of what I went through.
I say "a sense" because seeing a picture of her frightening countenance doesn't do justice to what happened.
Years later, when I wake up screaming and cant remember why, I can only assume it's Sarah that haunts me.
Every Summer, I would make a yearly pilgrimage to Chicago to see my friend Chad. Chad strives to be a great host. Not resting on the laurels of a 20 year friendship, Chad goes all out in terms of creativity and quality of entertainment.
On a seemingly unrelated note, Chad also takes significant pleasure in any emotional or physical humiliation I might endure.
For Chad, the former paid dividends to the latter in a manner that well exceeded his imagination.
Chad had made plans for us to join his girlfriend at B.L.U.E.S., a little dive blues bar on Chicago's North End. Blues and live music in general isn't really my thing but Chad's plans were always fun. I had no reason to question that this night would be anything less than great
Chad was on the mark again. The music was fantastic. The bar inhabitants were straight out of central casting and the people watching was extraordinary. I quickly downed a couple of Jack and Cokes and let the feel of the place wash over me.
Rebekka, Chad's girlfriend, spotted her first.
"Oh wow. Look at her. She has to be a prostitute."
She was right. The figure that stood before us clearly had, at one time, been a prostitute. I use the past tense because literally no one in their right mind would pay to have sex with this woman as is. It was clear with this woman that while you might take the girl off the corner, you would never take the corner out of the girl
Clearly intoxicated, Big Time Sarah was dressed in full length fur coat and flip flops . Even with a five piece band on the stage, her raspy voice carried over the percussion and guitars. Complete with a gold tooth, the only thing more cliche would be if she actually tied off her arm and shot heroin right in the bar
As she was called up on stage and introduced for a set, Big Time Sarah was introduced to the crowd and exhibited no pretense, kicking off her flip flops and shedding her fur coat to reveal a thin house dress that Barbara Billingsley might have worn circa 1955. Sarah , showing no grace or eloquence, hunkered down letting her stubby legs dangle of the front of the stage.
To her credit and no one's surprise, Sarah was fantastic. She mesmerized the crowd with her throaty growl. Sarah was clearly the queen of the place and moreover, she knew it.
Sarah had a sort of lisp that made deciphering her nearly impossible but through her lyrics and actions , I gathered her third offering was the story of a woman who's sexual appetites had overtaken the stamina and abilities of her old man and BTS was in line for a newer, younger model.
The music faded until It was merely Sarah talking aloud with the leader of the band. The drummer kept rhythm with a slow beat as Sarah lamented her problems.
I'd love to tell you what she said but truth be told, I have no idea. I was only half listening until I heard her say
"Fact my new man here now."
"He is huh?"
"Yunh"
Now maybe it was my imagination but it seems at that point that, as if Charlton Heston himself had commanded it, the throng of bar patrons separated and Sarah and I met eyes
In a state of hysterical panic, I said aloud and to no one in particular,
"Oh god. Oh God! OH GOD! She's looking at me! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!"
"Get up her boy!"
For reasons I still can't explain, I nearly ran up to the stage. My thinking was not unlike a victim of hostage situation.
just cooperate and don't look her in the eye and you'll be OK
Looking back, my running to the stage must have conveyed that I couldn't WAIT to be molested by this horrific woman
Sarah commanded me to get on my knees and I inexplicably did so.
I knew what was coming. I simply had no idea how bad it would get
Sarah pulled me close and mashed my face into her massive,sweaty breasts. This created a "sea-shell " effect as her lady lumps flopped on either side of my face
This has to be what a basset hound feels like
She repeated this several times. Each time I'd suck in a deep, gasping breath as she pushed me away before I was pushed against her. She pushed me away a final time and left me there, dazed. As she grabbed me again I wondered how long she was going to keep this up. It was at this moment that I realized Sarah had other plans
Sarah pushed my face down and ground her crotch against me. For a brief instant I caught a faint whiff of baby powder and funk. I started to scream and thought better of it. i wanted no part of opening my mouth and realized the vibration of the screams would only prolong my situation. I was "down there" for what felt like forever.
Jesus, what if this kills me
Then I realized that it wasn't a brill-o pad I was feeling through her dress but rather her pubic hair poking against my face.
Jesus, what if it doesn't
Sarah released me from her clutches. Maybe it was the oxygen deprivation but I have little or no memory of the rest of the night. I woke the next morning with an incredibly sore neck and back. I have made reference to the trapezoid muscles a hundred times in my life but could only describe my pain to my friends by advising that
"My resistor muscles really hurt,", Supportive as they were, Chad and Rebekka would giggle uncontrollably
Further demonstration of the kindness of my friends was evidenced by their eagerness to mark the occasion with gifts. A copy of BTS' CD stared me in the face when I awoke, and an extra small tank top that simply and appropriately said Blues Bitch lie crumpled on the floor.
Rebekka, having spied it at the club made a bee line to purchase it:
"We only have woman's small" advised the bartender
"perfect," replied Rebekka
Trying to sum up what it was like to have my face used as a loofah for a sweaty 250 pound sixty year old Blues Singer is understandably difficult. While I have no recollection of this, my initial response was probably the most honest.
Apparently upon my return to the table, the waitress ran to me and asked if I wanted a shot
"Yes. Two. In the back of my fucking head," was the response I am told that I had given.
I say "a sense" because seeing a picture of her frightening countenance doesn't do justice to what happened.
Years later, when I wake up screaming and cant remember why, I can only assume it's Sarah that haunts me.
Every Summer, I would make a yearly pilgrimage to Chicago to see my friend Chad. Chad strives to be a great host. Not resting on the laurels of a 20 year friendship, Chad goes all out in terms of creativity and quality of entertainment.
On a seemingly unrelated note, Chad also takes significant pleasure in any emotional or physical humiliation I might endure.
For Chad, the former paid dividends to the latter in a manner that well exceeded his imagination.
Chad had made plans for us to join his girlfriend at B.L.U.E.S., a little dive blues bar on Chicago's North End. Blues and live music in general isn't really my thing but Chad's plans were always fun. I had no reason to question that this night would be anything less than great
Chad was on the mark again. The music was fantastic. The bar inhabitants were straight out of central casting and the people watching was extraordinary. I quickly downed a couple of Jack and Cokes and let the feel of the place wash over me.
Rebekka, Chad's girlfriend, spotted her first.
"Oh wow. Look at her. She has to be a prostitute."
She was right. The figure that stood before us clearly had, at one time, been a prostitute. I use the past tense because literally no one in their right mind would pay to have sex with this woman as is. It was clear with this woman that while you might take the girl off the corner, you would never take the corner out of the girl
Clearly intoxicated, Big Time Sarah was dressed in full length fur coat and flip flops . Even with a five piece band on the stage, her raspy voice carried over the percussion and guitars. Complete with a gold tooth, the only thing more cliche would be if she actually tied off her arm and shot heroin right in the bar
As she was called up on stage and introduced for a set, Big Time Sarah was introduced to the crowd and exhibited no pretense, kicking off her flip flops and shedding her fur coat to reveal a thin house dress that Barbara Billingsley might have worn circa 1955. Sarah , showing no grace or eloquence, hunkered down letting her stubby legs dangle of the front of the stage.
To her credit and no one's surprise, Sarah was fantastic. She mesmerized the crowd with her throaty growl. Sarah was clearly the queen of the place and moreover, she knew it.
Sarah had a sort of lisp that made deciphering her nearly impossible but through her lyrics and actions , I gathered her third offering was the story of a woman who's sexual appetites had overtaken the stamina and abilities of her old man and BTS was in line for a newer, younger model.
The music faded until It was merely Sarah talking aloud with the leader of the band. The drummer kept rhythm with a slow beat as Sarah lamented her problems.
I'd love to tell you what she said but truth be told, I have no idea. I was only half listening until I heard her say
"Fact my new man here now."
"He is huh?"
"Yunh"
Now maybe it was my imagination but it seems at that point that, as if Charlton Heston himself had commanded it, the throng of bar patrons separated and Sarah and I met eyes
In a state of hysterical panic, I said aloud and to no one in particular,
"Oh god. Oh God! OH GOD! She's looking at me! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!"
"Get up her boy!"
For reasons I still can't explain, I nearly ran up to the stage. My thinking was not unlike a victim of hostage situation.
just cooperate and don't look her in the eye and you'll be OK
Looking back, my running to the stage must have conveyed that I couldn't WAIT to be molested by this horrific woman
Sarah commanded me to get on my knees and I inexplicably did so.
I knew what was coming. I simply had no idea how bad it would get
Sarah pulled me close and mashed my face into her massive,sweaty breasts. This created a "sea-shell " effect as her lady lumps flopped on either side of my face
This has to be what a basset hound feels like
She repeated this several times. Each time I'd suck in a deep, gasping breath as she pushed me away before I was pushed against her. She pushed me away a final time and left me there, dazed. As she grabbed me again I wondered how long she was going to keep this up. It was at this moment that I realized Sarah had other plans
Sarah pushed my face down and ground her crotch against me. For a brief instant I caught a faint whiff of baby powder and funk. I started to scream and thought better of it. i wanted no part of opening my mouth and realized the vibration of the screams would only prolong my situation. I was "down there" for what felt like forever.
Jesus, what if this kills me
Then I realized that it wasn't a brill-o pad I was feeling through her dress but rather her pubic hair poking against my face.
Jesus, what if it doesn't
Sarah released me from her clutches. Maybe it was the oxygen deprivation but I have little or no memory of the rest of the night. I woke the next morning with an incredibly sore neck and back. I have made reference to the trapezoid muscles a hundred times in my life but could only describe my pain to my friends by advising that
"My resistor muscles really hurt,", Supportive as they were, Chad and Rebekka would giggle uncontrollably
Further demonstration of the kindness of my friends was evidenced by their eagerness to mark the occasion with gifts. A copy of BTS' CD stared me in the face when I awoke, and an extra small tank top that simply and appropriately said Blues Bitch lie crumpled on the floor.
Rebekka, having spied it at the club made a bee line to purchase it:
"We only have woman's small" advised the bartender
"perfect," replied Rebekka
Trying to sum up what it was like to have my face used as a loofah for a sweaty 250 pound sixty year old Blues Singer is understandably difficult. While I have no recollection of this, my initial response was probably the most honest.
Apparently upon my return to the table, the waitress ran to me and asked if I wanted a shot
"Yes. Two. In the back of my fucking head," was the response I am told that I had given.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
"The Chaperone"
Undoubtedly, you have made that common error of mistakenly calling a woman "sir."
Maybe you have even committed the cardinal sin of assuming a woman is pregnant when she isn't.
These are areas that I am surprisingly good at avoiding.. If I am unclear on the gender I emphasize the non-specific pronoun.
hello YOU.
YOU have a nice day.
It's awkward but my other options being what?
Hello Human.
Enjoy Your day, Person
I will err on the side of caution every time.
Short of a woman crowning, I'll make no reference to the bump in her midsection.
That's what makes the following so god damn inexplicable. I'm quick witted. I'm proud of my ability to talk my way out of and around life's pitfalls.
The fact that I managed to so thoroughly fuck up is something for which I have no explanation some 15 years later
Once I left Kalamazoo to go to school at Central. Michigan, I rarely came back. I immersed myself fully in college life. During summer semester's at CMU, I was lucky enough to have a job working the front desk at summer camps. The job was easy and afforded a lot of free time with a good degree of public interaction.
CMU is the yearly host of the Michigan Summer Special Olympics.
This was by far my favorite conference. The excitement in the air was palpable and the interaction with the athletes was rewarding beyond words. You saw college freshman moved to tears and collegiate athletes humbled by the genuine excitement and effort put forth by the Olympians.
I cannot express strongly enough how much I loved the experience and how touched I was to witness it firsthand.
That's what makes all this so ironic and terrible.
I was working my job amid the buzz and movement of the first afternoon of events when I was approached by a particularly energetic young man.
I pretended to be lost in "All Quiet on The Western Front,"
It was a measured strategy. I had learned to let the athletes approach and engage me as shyness was a common trait.
I seem to recall the kid referring to some of the other athletes as "crazy bastards" and seem to remember him talking to himself but this could really be a rationalization for what was to transpire.
Gradually, the kid meandered my way
"Hey."
I looked up and smiled brightly
"Hi there, how are you?!?!"
I engaged but carefully, not wanting to scare him off.
There was a pause as I let him make the next move
"Ya workin' hard or hardly workin'?"
OK! Here we go! I was at the doorstep and invited in. I made a grandiose production of putting the book mark in my page and setting the book down with a purposeful thud. In doing so, letting our fine fellow know that important as it was, this classic piece of literature was not as important as our interaction.
With all the condescending vigor I could muster I said,
"I'm just reading this book so I guess I'm hardly working but how about you?"
Raising my voice now:
"DID YOU WORK HARD TODAY?! DID YOU WIN A MEDAL?!"
The man responded with corresponding volume, not from condescension but righteous indignation,
"HEY MAN! I'M A CHAPERONE!"
Well.
Fuck.
Me.
In a flash, a thousand responses and scenarios played out in my giant, stupid, head.
The human mind, when in the throes of sheer panic, moves stunningly quickly.
REAL TIME plays out much slower.
The suddenly furious – and as it turns out not at all mentally impaired man – is now demanding with his eyes some sort of explanation that will make it better
What could I POSSIBLY say?
Oh, excuse me, I believed you to be mentally impaired...
Gee, after observing your actions I assumed you to have some sort of condition. Terribly sorry..
In a series of horrible decisions, I made the only one I could.
I did nothing.
Once the nausea passed and the cold sweat brought the sickening realization that he was not going anywhere, i tucked my tail firmly between my legs
I stared ahead, silent, and blinked a few times
In a complete 180 from my grandiose gestures that started this self-created cluster-fuck, I meekly picked up the book and stared intently at its pages, hoping in vain if I stared hard enough I would be transported from the man's fiery gaze to the actual Western Front of World War One where I would be mercifully and justifiably machine gunned.
Maybe you have even committed the cardinal sin of assuming a woman is pregnant when she isn't.
These are areas that I am surprisingly good at avoiding.. If I am unclear on the gender I emphasize the non-specific pronoun.
hello YOU.
YOU have a nice day.
It's awkward but my other options being what?
Hello Human.
Enjoy Your day, Person
I will err on the side of caution every time.
Short of a woman crowning, I'll make no reference to the bump in her midsection.
That's what makes the following so god damn inexplicable. I'm quick witted. I'm proud of my ability to talk my way out of and around life's pitfalls.
The fact that I managed to so thoroughly fuck up is something for which I have no explanation some 15 years later
Once I left Kalamazoo to go to school at Central. Michigan, I rarely came back. I immersed myself fully in college life. During summer semester's at CMU, I was lucky enough to have a job working the front desk at summer camps. The job was easy and afforded a lot of free time with a good degree of public interaction.
CMU is the yearly host of the Michigan Summer Special Olympics.
This was by far my favorite conference. The excitement in the air was palpable and the interaction with the athletes was rewarding beyond words. You saw college freshman moved to tears and collegiate athletes humbled by the genuine excitement and effort put forth by the Olympians.
I cannot express strongly enough how much I loved the experience and how touched I was to witness it firsthand.
That's what makes all this so ironic and terrible.
I was working my job amid the buzz and movement of the first afternoon of events when I was approached by a particularly energetic young man.
I pretended to be lost in "All Quiet on The Western Front,"
It was a measured strategy. I had learned to let the athletes approach and engage me as shyness was a common trait.
I seem to recall the kid referring to some of the other athletes as "crazy bastards" and seem to remember him talking to himself but this could really be a rationalization for what was to transpire.
Gradually, the kid meandered my way
"Hey."
I looked up and smiled brightly
"Hi there, how are you?!?!"
I engaged but carefully, not wanting to scare him off.
There was a pause as I let him make the next move
"Ya workin' hard or hardly workin'?"
OK! Here we go! I was at the doorstep and invited in. I made a grandiose production of putting the book mark in my page and setting the book down with a purposeful thud. In doing so, letting our fine fellow know that important as it was, this classic piece of literature was not as important as our interaction.
With all the condescending vigor I could muster I said,
"I'm just reading this book so I guess I'm hardly working but how about you?"
Raising my voice now:
"DID YOU WORK HARD TODAY?! DID YOU WIN A MEDAL?!"
The man responded with corresponding volume, not from condescension but righteous indignation,
"HEY MAN! I'M A CHAPERONE!"
Well.
Fuck.
Me.
In a flash, a thousand responses and scenarios played out in my giant, stupid, head.
The human mind, when in the throes of sheer panic, moves stunningly quickly.
REAL TIME plays out much slower.
The suddenly furious – and as it turns out not at all mentally impaired man – is now demanding with his eyes some sort of explanation that will make it better
What could I POSSIBLY say?
Oh, excuse me, I believed you to be mentally impaired...
Gee, after observing your actions I assumed you to have some sort of condition. Terribly sorry..
In a series of horrible decisions, I made the only one I could.
I did nothing.
Once the nausea passed and the cold sweat brought the sickening realization that he was not going anywhere, i tucked my tail firmly between my legs
I stared ahead, silent, and blinked a few times
In a complete 180 from my grandiose gestures that started this self-created cluster-fuck, I meekly picked up the book and stared intently at its pages, hoping in vain if I stared hard enough I would be transported from the man's fiery gaze to the actual Western Front of World War One where I would be mercifully and justifiably machine gunned.
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