Eric’s not home.

The four of us- me, Ben, Dave and Manny, look for the key to his back door. Ben lifts up a potted, wilting fern. “There we go,” he says, unlocking the door and swinging it wide open. The guys think it’ll be funny to take naked pictures of me and stash them around Eric’s apartment. I’m not sure what’s so funny about it, but I don’t care enough to ask. Eric’s my latest fuck buddy, the other three are in his death metal band.

I sit on Eric’s bed while the three of them argue about how to pose me. When I peel off my jeans and panties, the argument stops.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snap, “you’ve all seen me naked before. Get over it.” It takes a minute for them to all realize what I mean. Manny blushes and laughs nervously. Ben snorts and chugs a beer.

I agreed to let them photograph me, mostly because they bet I wouldn’t. Ben knows exactly how empty I am and exploits it at every opportunity. It was probably his idea.  I’m not self conscious. I’ve gone beyond that somehow. Dressed, naked. I don’t care either way. I hit bottom five floors ago and I just kept falling. I’ve fucked each of them at least once within the past few weeks. I even fucked Dave right here in Eric’s bed.  Eric said he didn’t care, he even encouraged it.  Crazy seems to be the new aphrodisiac. Continue reading

Damon walks into the restaurant while I’m waiting tables.

Guillermo, the owner, has warned me about having visitors show up while I’m working. Damon waits for me by the back door. I hand my order off to Mirna, the cook. I gesture towards the door and tell her I’ll be back in uno momento. “I no like that boy,” she hisses in broken English across the kitchen. She says it every time and always makes sure it’s loud enough for Damon to hear.

“I got it!” Damon says, waving around a piece of paper. I unfold it. “You did it!” I squeak. It’s a marriage license. He’s been promising this for months. I hug him as Guillermo stalks up, ready to chew me out. “We’re getting married!” I say. Guillermo brightens. I know he’s embarrassed to have an unmarried pregnant nineteen year old girl working in his restaurant.

“I gotta go back to work,” Damon grins, picking me up and twirling me around. “I’ll see ya at home.”  I’m so excited that I can’t stop grinning. “Mirna, I’m getting married!,” I tell her as I pick up my order. She glares, then softens. “Good,” she says finally, “that baby need family, he innocent, he don’t know no better.”  Continue reading

“Haven’t you ever wanted to fuck two girls at once?” I ask Rick on the phone.

I cup my hand over the receiver as Amanda giggles behind me. “Yes,” his voice cracks.

“My house, midnight,” I say. As I hang up, Amanda and I burst out into nervous laughter. “Oh my God,” she squeals, “are we really gonna do this?” Rick has been jerking me around for years and I’m tired of it. We’ve never had sex with each other, he resents it every time he  hears about my escapades. I decide to teach him a lesson. Amanda barely knows him, but she’s game. We’ll work him into a frenzy, then we’ll ditch him, leaving him humiliated.

Amanda and I spend the afternoon discussing  the finer points of our threesome plan. “Like,” she asks, “If I’m licking his nuts, and you, like, suck his dick, and our tongues touch, does that mean we’re, like, lezzies?” At exactly midnight, the doorbell rings. I do a last minute check in the mirror. We’ve lit candles in the bedroom, and Amanda has decided to forgo wearing panties. We’re ready. Continue reading

“No, no, no,” Edward rages, “that’s still not it.”

He yanks back the covers and storms off. Edward expects me to do one hundred kegels a day. He says my cunt is a cavern, he can’t feel anything. “Fuck it, I’m going to a meeting,” he yells from across the house. I hear the front door slam, then the car door. The dog next door barks in protest of the outburst.

Our sex life is lubricated by tears and venom. I can’t do anything right. He’s made it his personal mission to become Henry to my Eliza. Every step is a battle. Edward is ten years older than me, so I just assume he’s right about everything.  I’m not supposed to read novels, smoke, watch tv, drink, or eat processed foods. He considers my past sex life to be nothing short of shameful and horrific.

“I like the exact moment when the dick enters the pussy,” he tells me, showing me dozens of porn clips of smiling blonde people in the the missionary position.  I tell him I like to have my ass licked. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaims, jumping out of the bed, “you just don’t say that to someone. Fuck!”  When I call him to tell him I just masturbated at work, he’s appalled. None of my usual tricks works with him, I don’t know how to please him. I wanted my previous lover to hold a loaded gun to my head while we fucked,but I don’t know what to do with Edward. One day I sashay out of the bedroom wearing nothing but knee high black leather boots. He glances up from his book and snorts “God, you are so predictable,” then goes back to reading.  Continue reading

I call Dave at work and tell him I have a flat tire.

He’s the only one I can think of that might be able to leave work to come help me. I occasionally fuck his boss, so it shouldn’t be a problem for him to leave. I tell him I’m stuck. I need help with the flat, but I’m broke. I don’t even own a jack. I’m stranded in the next town over after a one night stand and I need to get to work. I know what it’ll cost, but I’m hoping he won’t ask.

“You know what I want,” he breathes into the phone. He’s been trying to fuck me for months, but I keep dodging him. Dave has a bit of a reputation for his fucking abilities, he’s got girls lined up to sleep with him, but I’m not attracted to him. It drives him crazy and he won’t stop hounding me.

“Fine,” I huff, considering my limited options.  “Just get over here.”

I sit on the curb and chain smoke cigarettes for the next half hour. Dave pulls up, dressed in a suit and tie. I watch him neatly fold his jacket and place it in his van. He leers at me and I make a face. I ask him if his boss gave him any shit about leaving, Dave says I owe his boss one too. “Tell him it won’t be today, ” I sigh, “I gotta get to work.” Continue reading

Manny literally lives on the wrong side of the tracks.

His is one of a dozen houses on a tiny unpaved cul-de-sac that butts up against the railway. He still lives with his parents, but so do I, we’re both in our early 20’s.

When we first started dating, he wouldn’t let me meet his family or even let me in the house. I showed up one day, unannounced to see what he was trying to hide from me. Now I’m part of the family. The faded red bench seat from a pickup truck in lieu of a sofa doesn’t faze me, nor does the stack of dirty dishes that seems to only get washed once every few months.  His mother, Rosie, has that thin, hard look of people that get up too early and work too hard. She’s missing all of her teeth, but says dentures hurt her mouth. Miguel, Manny’s dad, has dark tired eyes and a big beer belly. He has a thick Spanish accent that he likes to play up when he wants to pretend he doesn’t understand something.  He likes to tell me how pretty Rosie used to be, and that he fell for her because she was a “real party girl.” Now he complains about how lazy and ugly she is, but it’s mostly an act and they both know it.

It’s Saturday, party night. Miguel and Rosie throw a party almost every weekend, and lots of people always show up. Rosie calls to me from the bathroom. I go in, thinking she wants me to zip her dress up. The bathroom door is broken off, it leans against the kitchen wall. Instead a bed sheet is thumbtacked to the door frame, so I push it aside and go in.  Rosie’s reclined in the bathtub, naked. She asks me to hand her the shampoo then splays her legs open wide. I look away and hand her the  bottle, then leave. She yells something after me, but I don’t turn around. I don’t tell Manny. He hates hearing about shit like that. The first time his dad flashed me, I freaked out and cried, now I just ignore it. Continue reading

Ten stories about 20 years

1. I’m twelve years old the first time I meet Alan. His best friend Cliff is my first boyfriend, my first kiss. We’re all in 7th grade. The three of us are inseparable. Cliff is tall and serious. Alan is his sidekick, too loud, too fat, too obnoxious, too-much-of-everything. Cliff and I will drift apart, but Alan will become the single thread that weaves in and out of my life for the next twenty years.

2. We’re sophomores in high school. I’m still in love with Cliff, even though we broke up in 8th grade. I lost my virginity at the beginning of the school year. I have a taste for sex now, and I want Cliff , he should have been the one I lost it with. Alan wants me. Alan is the only one of us with a car, and he refuses to pick me up unless I agree to fuck both of them. I fuck Alan first, just to shut him up, and the bed cracks. He pouts outside in the car while I give Cliff a blowjob, honking the horn and flashing the car lights on and off through the bedroom window. Next year Alan and Cliff will get in a terrible fight and never speak again, and neither one will ever tell me exactly what happened.

3. I’m downtown with my friends. We all look alike, big hair and tight jeans. We sneak sips of Southern Comfort from a can of Coke that we pass back and forth. There’s a party that’s supposed to be cool, so we go.  I immediately spot Alan. He’s lean. He looks shiny and muscular. He says he’s in the Air Force and he’s on leave. I can’t take my eyes off him. I follow him to the house where he’s staying, and we drink beer and play quarters with his buddies. I go outside for air and lay on the hammock, but I’m so drunk that I flip right off. Alan carries me upstairs and we fuck so loud that they crank up the stereo downstairs to drown us out. Continue reading

The phone rings in the middle of the night.

“He’s asking for you,” a low disembodied voice says. I ask for directions, splash water on my face, and go. I’ve been hoping for this moment, it’s down to the wire, hours to spare. My hands shake against the steering wheel, I stop at a 24 hour gas station for a pack of Marlboros.  It isn’t a far distance, maybe only 20 minutes, but I drive slowly.

It isn’t difficult to find the house, it’s the only one on the block that has lights on in every window and a yard full of parked cars. I drive around the block twice before I get the nerve up to stop. As I start to press the accelerator to make a third pass, someone runs out of the house and waves me down, thinking perhaps that I’m lost.

I stub out the end of the cigarette, twisting it out with my foot against the gravel driveway. Everything feels hot and damp, the night, the trickle of sweat oozing from between my breasts. Someone that I don’t know opens the door for me, leering savagely.  When he asks to bum one of my cigarettes, I recognize his voice from the phone. I shake one out, hand it to him, unsure of what to do next. Appraising me with a drunken smirk, he lights it, then leans coolly against the wall. Continue reading

Ben has been my best friend for years.

Everyone thought we would end up as a couple, but we didn’t even date. Ben’s been there for more break-ups than I can count, this time it’s a divorce. I’m still living with my soon to be ex-husband. It’s horrible, we never stop fighting. I call Ben to come get me. I need air. An hour later, I hear his car pull in. As I get in his car, he shakes a cigarette loose from his pack of Camels, lights it for me. He’s put some thought into his appearance, a white button down shirt, newly pressed khakis. I tease Ben, tell him he looks nice for once. Playfully, he punches my arm, we laugh. He says we’ll go to Mac’s, it’s a new place he’s found.

We eat oversized cheeseburgers, shoot endless rounds of nine ball. I glance into the mirror behind the bar to find him staring at me. I lose count of the beers. I mumble something about not wanting to go home yet, so he takes me to his place. Ben carries me into the house.“Where’s Laura?” I ask sleepily. Ben says she’s pulling a double at the hospital, she won’t be back for hours.

I wait in the living room while he mixes another drink. He sits on the couch, I lay my head in his lap, drifting in and out of sleep. Ben tentatively kisses me, I pull him in and kiss back. We tumble onto the floor, arms, legs, lips. I nod when he asks if I want to go in the bedroom. Pushing aside a pile of Laura’s laundry, he guides me onto the rumpled floral sheets. Continue reading

I hate Paul and he hates me.

It’s no secret, our mutual loathing. Friends make sure to not invite us to the same events or we’ll ruin the evening. We trash talk each other every single chance we get. He’s a complete fucking asshole. I’m a stupid cocksucking bitch. I’m not sure how we started to fuck in secret.

It always goes the same way. The phone will ring, Paul will ask if I busy. I always tell him yes, fuck off. About fifteen minutes later, he’ll walk in without knocking. I ignore him, I’ve got better things to do. He leers at me, then after awhile, he rolls a joint. We smoke, then head upstairs.

I’ll allow him rub my feet for a long time, letting the high settle in. Paul is the only person I let touch my feet. He’s an expert, it never tickles. Sometimes I’ll let him lick my toes, but usually not. When he finally undresses, I never fail to point out how small his pathetic cock is. He tells me my tits are too little, my ass too big.

We fuck hard, until we’re out of breath, until we’re panting and sweaty. We fuck until he goes limp, until I’m loose and sopping wet. We slap, we bite, we bruise, we spit. We pause only for cigarette breaks. Then we fuck some more.

Stoned, hungry and thirsty, I wrap in a towel. I toss Paul my pink floral bathrobe.  We lean against the sink, eating ice cream out of the container, kissing, smoking cigarettes. A key fumbles in the lock, the back door opens. My roommate stares, open mouthed, at the two of us standing there. We’re still flushed and sticky, the kitchen smells like sex. “This doesn’t change anything,” Paul says, “I still hate the rotten bitch.”