What a shit hole. This place encompasses a kind of silted-depression a man can go his whole life without smelling, and I can tell by the stench that everyone here is either a drug dealer or a prostitute. What better a place for a man in my line of work to be spending his Christmas eve. Amongst his peers. Fucking Jackals. If this place were any bigger It would surely cave in on itself.
Two Cuba Libres, a shot of Jameson, five Coronas, and half a pack of Parliament Lights later you would think my reminiscence would have gotten the best of me. But no. I’m one to sit and let the shit at the bottom sink in. One to wallow in it. Pity me. Pity me. Because I’m that fucking low. I need you parasitic, decadence chasing, pimps and clowns to smile a ray of acceptance my way. Because I have nothing better to do on my Holiday than drown myself in a pool of booze.
“Shake it off man. It’s fucking Christmas. What would Jesus do? Probably get hammered right?”
Right… It is his birthday after all.
“Then what are you sitting and sulking for you peen-ass. It’s getting late. Go grab another drink, you’re the particle son. Drink and be merry like the rest of the fucking penguins on this ever shrinking glacier. I hear there is a gorgeous woman in there who thinks the fact you smell like hummus and haven’t had a haircut in five weeks is funny.”
Walking down the familiar white washed hallway with the backlit red-ambiance of candles flickering, certainly gives me a sense of fleeting security as I enter through the massive sliding doors back into the pool hall and shimmy my way through the half-hearted crowd towards the only smiling face in the whole fucked establishment. Her name is Mao. And seeing how I have long ago gotten my Doctrine in being an ass-clown, I have dubbed her, Meow.
You see, Meow is a copiously beautiful creature. Porcelain skin, very fluid and soft-spoken. She floats around the bar like a ghost, leaving nothing but her feint scent in her wake. Gliding effortlessly from patron to patron at the expense of many a craned neck. She is the kind of woman you do your best to steer clear of. In fear that she eventually eats her mate, like a praying mantis. You know, the one that your mother warned you about before you ever had your heart-broken. A level far above the Sucubi and her arthritic grasp. She’s a fucking Siren.
Damn can that woman pour. Drinks fly from her fingertips like lightning from the skies and it is my job to drink them. My job to ensure that she has never met someone that follows along the lines of yours truly. My job to make her wonder.
I wonder what nationality she even is? Definitely Asian. Maybe she’s Philli-Taiwani-Pinno. Maybe she’s Chinese. Who really cares. I’ve never had a slice of Yellow-tail before. Where is my sushi knife?
I would be sitting here locked deeply in one of the 7 deadly sins, Lusting. Serves me right. She‘s probably fucking married…
“You’re going to hell.”
Better yet, I’m going to make reservations at the table nearest the piano. That way I don’t miss anything. At least this way when I get there the GM can offer me a job. Fucking blood suckers.
I do my best to watch her work without coming across creepy. I enjoy seeing other creatures in the wild. Doing whatever it is they are best at. Their second nature and instincts fascinate me. It’s like the people zoo. I’m pretty sure she gets the same satisfaction in watching me down shot after shot without any change in my demeanor or personality. What’s a life without dedication?
“Cheers to being a functioning alcaholic! Here, here.”
It doesn’t take long after my last puff of translucent smoke clears, for her to see me coming down the non-slip padded walkway. I mean, I kind of am sitting in the stool across from her, at least three times a week. More often than I’m standing in my own paisley-print kitchen.
“What’s up fuck stick? Long time no see. What’s it been, two days?” she calls out across the empty expanse of counter space formerly known as a bar.
I had been trying to hide out on the smoking patio, order my drinks from the one over-worked and under appreciated waitress, seeing as I had recently been having some very intriguing conversations with this hyper-attractive bartender-creature and I didn’t want to over stay my welcome. I mean, come on, it’s her job to flirt with me.
“Don’t act weird you idiot. She seems excited.”
I shrug approvingly as I slide out my all but too familiar black padded barstool, and kick off my jacket.
“Oh, you know. Same drugs different girlfriend. A little bit of that Dub-step, wobble-wobble… Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too, Porcelain fox. Do Communist’s even celebrate Christian Holidays?”
Almost as soon as my tongue quits rattling I can see the silly grade-school smile she hides from so many others settling comfortably underneath her smoky-blue squinted-eyes.
“Very funny, you cock hungry Socialist.” She shoots in my direction affectionately. “What are you drinking tonight, Vodka?”
I let out a terrible shutter and speak eccentrically, “No.”
“Vodka is a non-remorseful, ungrateful bitch. You would think that after all the time and energy I dedicated to her, she would at least try to be more civil. She always bruises me up and sends me home sick, or crying. Slut.”
I can’t help but let out a cheap laugh as I trail off.
Almost startled with excitement Mao turns quickly to the back bar and grabs a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey. She makes brief eye contact, glances up at the clock and says, “ well, it’s already 1:30. Let’s drink dude. It‘s Christmas for God‘s sake.”
I swear to myself she conjures up two shot glasses out of thin-air, in less than the blink of an eye, and when she tips that bottle in the air, the booze streams out almost happily towards the glasses. I can sense her counting in her head as she pours. Making it look more like a dance move than a job.
God, she is so sexy. I don’t know where they build women like her, but I’m moving there. My mind immediately flashes to Jackie Brown before I snap back to reality. I don’t know why I relate Mao to a Black Woman, but I do, so, get over it.
She must have been able to read my mind as she glanced back up from the perfectly filled 1oz shots. I could see a glimmer of attraction in her eyes, almost as if she had heard me. Almost as if she had liked it.
I reach my hand across, grab the naughty water, and smile as she looks me in the face and says,
“Death before dishonor. If you can’t cum in her. Cum on her.”
Down the hatch it goes! Jameson always has a nice heat to it. Settles in the stomach and says. Fuck yes. I am here. Fuck yes. I am poison. Love me, for I will keep you warm, you crazy Irish bastard.
There is something undeniably sexy to a woman who can suck down a shot of Whiskey almost as effortlessly as you or I can take an impulsive breath. I have to struggle to keep my face free of anguish. There is no way I will allow even a flicker of vulnerability or weakness to enter into the fray. Women can smell fear. Almost like a vicious feral-cat, they sense your weakness and attack. Into the friend zone you go Mr. nice guy! Bon Voyage.
For the first time since I had sat down, I take the time to glance around and realize that the bar is almost barren. Hardly even a soul is here other than her and I. All the other hyenas have long but forgotten their drinking habits to settle in at home with the Mrs. Or the Mistress.
The TV is flickering with replays and re-runs. Sports Center chatters like teeth; Lebron James this, Peyton Manning that, Derek Jeter’s cock is swinging like a whiffle-ball bat.
For the love of the game. For the love of the money. You bring the milk and I’ll bring the honey. God my fucking ADD is a full-time job. My attention spans about the distance four pesos will take you in San Diego. I’m like a squirrel. Sitting here in her presence I’m lucky if I can go five seconds without thinking about my nuts.
“You’re losing it man.”
“Alright sunshine, what am I drinking tonight?” I wonder if I said that or thought it?
Her reaction fills me in on the uptake. She laughs and replies with a bit of joy to not be standing silently, “ It’s going to be one of those nights huh? I think you’re drinking a Tokyo Tea good sir”
I still can’t get over how affluent she is in English. Not even the slightest hint at or trace of, an accent. She must be at least second generation white-washed
“That sounds fantastic. Do they get you shwasted? I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
Emphatically she replies, “Five different kinds of booze, shit, six because I love your face. How‘s that sound?”
I can’t help but laugh as I show a full-fledged, teeth-bearing grin, and in a full British accent reply, “well hello love, that sounds promising!”
Once again, I find myself spectating as she does what she does best. I’m thoroughly impressed as she grabs four bottles out of her well and pours them simultaneously. 188.8.131.52. Perfect pour.
From there she pulls an effortless about-face and tip-toes over to the back-bar and grabs the Midori and Grand Marnier. One more time we go. 184.108.40.206. Perfect Pour.
All that’s left is a splash of house made Sweet&Sour for color. And a ‘Motha-fuckin’ Cherry Garnish. As soon as she’s done, she takes the shaker, tosses it in the air a few times, catches is without even glancing, and slides the strainer over the top.
“ Made with love” She says with a smile. “You better say thank you mother fucker. This one’s going to put you on your skinny Italian ass Batman.”
“Your lips to God’s ears Cat-woman. But I do not aspire to be Playboy Billionaire Bruce Wayne. And if I did I‘m pretty sure one green alcoholic-beverage wouldn’t quite do the job” Those words escape my lips without even the thought, of the thought, to think.
How gorgeous the art of conversation can become. It’s like a dance, or chess. Each move sets up the next. You have to break down the queens walls before you mate it. That is how this goes right? I wonder what she’s got to say to Batman…
“Okay, Mr. Durden, relax” Flows from her tongue with an a twinge of mockery. “This may not be your first ro-day-o drive, but I’ve been running with the bulls for a long time.”
“ His name was Robert Paulson. His name was Robert Paulson.” Is the only logical response left in my brain at this point.
I go with what works. Fuck it right? Better to be too much than too little.
She rolls her eyes playfully and as always never ceases to amaze me with her words, “ You’re something else you know that, what am I going to do with you?”
Drink firmly in hand, sheathed like a battle axe, I look her in the face and say, “ Meow-fuckin-meow. I’m drinking for Jesus again . Happy birthday to him, I hear he was a nice man.”
Her muffled laughter echoes between my ears almost like I’m wearing headphones as I begin to chug my drink. The taste is sweet, but strong. Really strong.
I don’t know who decided it wasn’t an important piece of information that these “Tokyo Teas” taste like Buddha’s tears AND get you hammered. Wow. That was good.
Whoever he was, he was a grade ‘A’ ass-hole. He fails at life. That figurative bastard. would have thought it to be a prevalent piece of knowledge, definitely worth sharing.
This is fantastic. It’s almost as bad as not showing your girlfriend “Fight Club” or “Groove”, The “Goodfellas”… I mean, who does that?
As soon as I get the drink to the bar I let out a sigh and say, “ It is hard for me to say this, but, I think you may have just revolutionized my drinking style.”
“ Wow, coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment. You wreak like Whiskey, cologne, and Nicotine almost constantly” These words slide past through her familiar laugh that I’ve been growing accustomed to.
A quick glance at my cell-phone informs me that it’s 1:47.
I look to her and say, “ Babe, it’s getting late, how much do I owe you?”
“Your life, but how about this. You go have a cigarette out back and wait for me to get off. You owe me a drink. Why not right? Fuck it, life‘s a risk.”
I can’t help but laugh out loud as I say, “ you don’t have to tell me twice.”
I really don’t need telling twice, as I grab my jacket and head over to the juke-box. Trying to create as much distance between the two of us as possible so she can’t have the presence of mind to… change it. In a salute to irony itself, I begin flipping through the vinyl, and come to a stop on Semisonic. Do we really have to ask what I’m going to play? Honestly…
“Closing time. One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer. Closing time. Open all the doors and let you out into the world. “
I can’t believe she wants me to wait for her. Dear lord. I haven’t ever been this lucky… God this cigarette is extra satisfying. Wow. I’m drunk. Like. Hammered.
I swear to god if I end up hooking up with her tonight I will go to Church next Sunday.
“No you won’t”
it isn’t long before she comes shuffling out the back doors, past the giant green dumpsters, and the Mexican kitchen-mafia is giving me an approving head nod. Something all too familiar to both of us. I’m swaying like a cat with an ear infection as I lean on the door of her Royal Blue Toyota.
“Keep it together man.”
There is no cure for the common Corolla. Looking around the car I can’t help but smile a bit. There is make-up and clothes everywhere. Nothing beats a woman who carries lip-stick in her center console. They say messiness is a sign of genius. It certainly says a lot about a woman that she can go through life a bit undone. Don’t seem so damn unattainable.. I get that the chase is half of the fun, but damn, don’t make it seem like such a lost cause… Thank god I wasn’t born gay not because my sex-life wouldn’t be just as entertaining, but, because I love women.
Thank god she can’t read my mind.
It doesn’t take long for her to get the car in gear and rolling. She flips on the stereo and Incubus immediately starts blaring, mid riff. “Stellar” is the track, and we both let it do the talking for us. As soon as we’ve hit the first red light on Sunset she lights up a joint and says,
“ Do you smoke”
I reply with a, “No” which surprises her. Then immediately interject, “ I’ve been taking a lot of Mescaline lately. Good times though on that one ey. Cheers. I used to power them down like Snoop Dogg.”
“You know, you make me laugh, you know that.” vibrates past through a cloud of smoke.
That French inhale looks good on you. This woman is a fucking riot. Incubus, Drinker, and she’s un-phased by my blatant abuse of the flirt card. What am I going to do with her is more like it, AND, she thinks I’m funny. This blows my mind. Brain. Broken…
Holy shit. Is that candy hanging from her turn signal knob? I’ve definitely died and went to heaven. Raver girls are the best. Who doesn’t want to be that guy? You know, the one that’s having an amazing, trans-formative, psychedelic love experience. with the beautiful woman.
Who has two thumbs and love’s being that guy? Me.
Her next words interrupt my chain of rambunctious thoughts.
“I only live a few blocks from here. We’re almost there. You want me to stop at 7-11 and grab anything?”
I don’t need anything and relay the information with a simple, “ nah, I’m good. Let’s just get parked,”
It isn’t long before we’re pulling up to the curb and she’s dropping it into park. I get out and glance around. I know the neighborhood. This is the real Hollywood. Where you can’t make it down the road with the change in your pocket and can’t do your laundry without a working knowledge in Spanish.The butt-hole of the Earth.
I don’t know where I’m going so I let her lead. She grabs me by the hand and basically jogs down the sidewalk in front of me. The road blurs past a bit with each step. I’m definitely getting drunker by the minute. Thankfully, we stroll up to a duplex and she grabs her keys from her Black and Grey checkered cloth purse.
“You live alone dude?”
“Yes sir, come on. And you better feel lucky. It isn‘t every day I bring a strange man home with me from the bar.”
Laughing again I say, “Yeah, Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Let’s just say the look she gave me had a few pieces of, “fuck you” dangling from it. Nothing major. She had to accept the fact that it was funny. Rude. Inappropriate. Ballsy. And funny.
As soon as we get inside she heads into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of Jagermeister. She pours two glasses and hands me one. After she kicks off her shoes, and I follow suit, she throws my jacket on the couch and says,
“ I’m going to hop in the shower. You go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll be right out.”
I nod an approving nod that lingers with a taste of “whatever makes you happy gorgeous” And she walks in and closes the bathroom door.
At this point man, what the fuck are you going to do? You’re already here. She’s gorgeous and about to get naked fifteen feet from you. This night wreaks of fornication and heavy consciences.
A Perfect Circle starts echoing from the bathroom and my mind immediately starts racing.
I swear this woman isn’t bred anywhere on this earth. I mean what the hell? She’s drinking Jager, she’s jamming APC, and she likes me. I had almost forgotten they made women like this. I need another drink just to calm the nerves…
“You’re already tanked you jack-ass. Don’t drink too much. A slobbering drunk is nobodies friend man. You know this. Women hate it when guys are too wasted.”
Fuck you alter ego. You shut your damn mouth. This is none of your business. I’m about to pass out from sheer excitement and you want me to quit drinking. What’s gotten into you man. It’s Christmas.
“Okay douche-bag. Go ahead and drink. It’s your loss man.”
The bathroom door creaks open and there she is, wrapped in a towel, soaking wet. I’ve officially entered the after-life.
“ You going to come in here or do I have to come out there and drag you?” Travels from her beautifully twisted mouth.
Obviously, my shirt is off in a matter of seconds. I walk in and stand nose to nose with her. I breathe in deep, set my drink down and place my hands on her waist. She smiles as she grabs my cup and drinks half of it in a single swallow, drops the towel and kisses me. It’s hot and steamy in here already from the hot water, and my pants and belt are history, just like my morals.
She is beautiful. More physically beautiful than many, if not all of the women I’ve ever been known to shower with. I can feel her energy all around me and do my best to soak it in.
Finally, both us are completely ass-naked and in the shower. Finally. We start to go at it without a moments hesitation. We had already worked out a verbal contract long ago.
I’m doing my best to lay it down proper, like really proper, like an animal. This is after all, why she brought me of all people home….
Marilyn Manson would have been proud. I’m drunk and I can’t feel a thing. I’m just thrusting like a jack-hammer. I’m hard like a rock and she’s loving it. I try and get some leverage on the side wall of the shower because I’m cramping in my leg and the little bit of non-fluid motion throws us off balance a bit. I slip dangerously and jab my penis into her ass cheek, hard. Really hard.
It is a very sharp kind of pain I’m experiencing. Worse than any penal injury I had ever experienced personally, and I was once an avid masturbator. I close my eyes and try to power through it but before I can re-open them she lets out a blood-curdling scream of complete panic and terror.
I glance down and see blood squirting from my cock. Like a lot of blood. Too much blood.
Oh my god. I ruptured a blood vessel in my penis. Holy shit. I’m going to faint. I’m fucking nauseous. Of all the ways to die in the world. I would.
I can’t hold the swell of vomit in any longer, it comes out, all over her pretty little mascara streaked face. I’m losing strength and try to grab the shower head to stabilize myself but It’s no use. I’m going down. I saw black long before I hit the ground.
What is going on? Gah, My entire body hurts. As I open my eyes I realize that one eye is submerged underwater and the other is staring at the off blue tiled wall. Why is the shower running? Holy shit. Why is the water red. Oh my God. I’m fucking bleeding. From my dick.
I yell out her name in complete terror. My voice cracks with a kind of sick desperation not too often experienced. “Meow”
She replies, “ Oh my god. I called the ambulance. They’re on there way. What the fuck man?