Average American Male (11 page)

Her mom says, “Excuse me?”

Casey’s mouth is just hanging open, half full of chewed toast. I don’t really want to say anything else so I wait for her mom to say, “Did you just say you don’t want to get married?”

I say, “Yeah.”

Casey’s mom drops her fork on her plate, wipes the corners of her mouth with the napkin that’s been in her lap since she sat down, and says, “I have never been so insulted in all of my life.”

Casey still hasn’t said anything.

Her mom says, “You let Casey’s father and me come all the way out here, find an apartment for you to live in . . . I just . . . I can’t believe it. Do you realize you’ve wasted over a year of Casey’s life? That’s a year and a half that she could have been looking for someone who actually wanted to marry her.”

I try to imagine who that poor guy would have been. I picture a fatter version of myself with glasses.

Casey’s on the verge of tears. She finally says, “Do you still want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?”

I feel like I’m in the seventh grade telling Amber Pearson that if she won’t let me touch her pussy then I don’t think we should “go” together anymore because Amanda Long said she’d let me touch hers.

I say, “No, I don’t think so.”

“So you want to break up?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“And not see each other anymore . . . ever?”

“Yeah.”

And Casey’s out of commission. She just breaks down sobbing and choking and saying, “Why?”

Casey’s mom moves her chair around the table and puts an arm around her daughter. She looks at me and says, “Look what you’ve done.” Then to Casey she says, “Everything’s going to be fine, honey.

You’ll find a husband. This doesn’t mean anything.”

Casey just keeps saying, “Why?”

Casey’s mom stands up, forcing Casey to stand up with her, and says, “We’ll be out by the car,” and walks out, leaving me with the tab.

As I pay it I realize a couple of things: 1. I do actually feel kind of bad about the whole thing but I am glad that I ruined Casey’s mom’s favorite breakfast place in L.A.

by dumping her daughter in it.

And

2. I still have to give Casey and her mom a ride back to Casey’s place.

The Drive to Casey’s House

Casey’s house is probably about forty-five minutes from the Griddle, thirty with no traffic. There’s traffic.

Casey and her mom sit in the backseat while I drive. Casey rocks back and forth sobbing and saying, “Why?” as her mom hugs her and keeps repeating, “It’s going to be fine. We’ll just get to your apartment and forget all about him.”

As we come to a dead stop on the 405 in minute four of our drive, I wonder why her mom didn’t just tell me to go fuck myself and get a cab for her and Casey to take back to Casey’s apartment. As we lurch forward again I ask her.

“Are you sure you guys don’t just want to get a cab? I can drop you off at a hotel or something.”

Casey’s mom says, “You just broke my little girl’s heart and probably ruined any chance she has at getting married for at least the next year. The least you can do is drive us back to her apartment.”

I say, “Okay.”

Surprisingly, the drive back to Casey’s apartment isn’t that uncom-fortable for me. Having cut Casey loose gives me a feeling of detach-ment from anything she must be going through and that’s comforting.

Every now and then Casey says something like, “Isn’t there any way we can like just talk this through?” or “I just don’t understand.

Can’t you give me some chance to like change?” to which I say, “No, I don’t think so.” Then she goes back to crying so much she can’t talk or properly breathe.

Her mom throws out things like, “I can understand realizing that you don’t want to be with somebody after a few months, but waiting a year and a half to end something—after you’ve proposed, no less . . . that’s just plain rude. And after all her father and I have done for you. Well, I can tell you this much, you won’t be missed at any of the Childress family functions,” and, “Do you honestly think you’re going to find another family as giving as ours? Because you’re not.

The Childresses were the best thing that ever happened to you and you’re going to realize it one day, but it’ll be too late because Casey will be gone. She’ll be married to someone else who deserves to be part of our family.”

For a second I imagine Casey fucking some other guy. It doesn’t bother me at all. I imagine her sucking some other guy’s cock, which gets the same reaction. The thought of her getting gangbanged by the Lakers doesn’t make me mad or queasy or sad or anything at all. I go back to just imagining one guy fucking her. I start to feel sorry for the guy.

Casey snaps me out of the image by saying something new: “Is there someone else?”

And even though technically there isn’t, the question makes me think immediately of Alyna and what she’s doing and if the fact that I’m single would change how she felt about me at all. I say, “No.”

“Then why do you want to do this? I just don’t understand.”

I kind of feel like I do owe her an explanation, but I know telling her the truth—that I can’t stand to be around her and I hate her mother and I wish she would fuck me more—will ultimately end up with her promising to change and forcing me to give her a chance to work out our problems. I also think about explaining that I never really wanted to get engaged. Maybe telling Casey’s mom that the night we got “engaged” was actually a misunderstanding, that I never actually proposed. I think about seeing the look on her face when I tell her that I just went to Casey’s apartment that night because she promised to fuck me, but then never did—kind of like how I supposedly agreed to marry Casey and never will. But I decide it’s not worth the effort of a conversation, so instead I just say, “I just need to be by myself.”

“Then we don’t have to get married. We can just date and I’ll give you your space.”

Her mom says, “Don’t cater to him. If he doesn’t want you for who you are, then you don’t want him.” I want to smash my car into a pole just to see Casey’s mom fly through the windshield.

Casey says, “Yes, I do, Mom. I love him.”

I say, “I don’t want to date.”

Casey says, “Then we can just be friends and like start dating when you feel comfortable with the idea of it again.”

Her mom says, “You’re giving him too much. If you want him back, you make him come back on your terms.”

I change my mind about smashing my car into a pole. Instead, I realize I’d rather get into some kind of accident that would result in Casey’s mom being trapped and me having to save her, so for the rest of her life she’d know the man who ruined her daughter’s life also saved hers.

I say, “Terms? I don’t want that either.”

Casey says, “Then whatever you want, just like let me have a chance to give it to you.”

Casey’s mom says, “He doesn’t deserve you, Casey. Just let it go.

He’s not worth it.”

And I’m so sick of Casey begging, and her mom being a cunt, and my imaginary car crash scenarios that I decide to just come out and say it. “Okay, you want to know what I want?”

She says, “Yes,” truly believing that whatever it is I’m about to say is going to show her the way to keep me forever.

I say, “Okay, I want to fuck twice a day minimum or at least have my dick sucked. I want you to swallow. I want to butt-fuck you every once in a while and I want you to like it. . . .”

By this point I’m sure her mom is having an aneurysm, but I can’t stop. I feel like every word I say should have been said a million times before over the course of our relationship. I feel like every word I say should come as no shock to Casey, but I know they do. I feel like every word I say makes up for every load I should have shot in our relationship.

For those reasons I keep saying, “. . . I never want you to tell me a stupid fucking story about shit I couldn’t care less about again. I want you to get rid of your cats. I want you to lose about fifteen pounds off your ass. I want you to never want to get married or have kids. I want you to like video games. I want you to think retards are funny. I want you to not care if I say ‘fuck’ in front of your mom. I want you to wish Marie Osmond was dead.”

The Marie Osmond line is too much for Casey’s mom. She says,

“Why would you ever want Marie Osmond dead? She’s one of the most courageous women of our time.”

I remember a line from some shitty movie Casey made me watch a month or two ago because it was one of her favorites. I decide to use the line on her. “I guess I just want you to be something you’re not.”

I don’t know if she remembers that the line is from the movie or not, but she goes back to crying. Her mom goes back to hugging her and telling her that everything’s going to be okay, and I turn up the volume on my stereo and listen to Dr. Dre’s “Can’t Make a Ho a Housewife,” which I’m pretty sure makes me smile.

Veggie Love

I start my hunt for Internet pornography by going to Pengus-Picks.

Pengus-Picks always has at least a few clips that interest me on the site itself as well as several links to other portals. After downloading a few clips from the main site, I click a link to one of the portals. Then I click on a link that reads “U GOTTA C THIS.”

I’m taken to a page that has three free movie clips: cucunt.mpg, squashfuck.avi, and cantaloupe.mpg. The idea of bitches ramming vegetables in their cunts doesn’t necessarily turn me on, but the nov-elty of it is interesting enough for me to download all three clips.

Cucunt.mpg is forty seconds long and depicts a woman sliding a sizable cucumber in and out of her cunt three times before inserting it in her anus and then licking it.

Squashfuck.avi is fourteen seconds long and depicts a man inserting a small squash into the cunt of the same woman from cucunt.mpg.

Cantaloupe.mpg is thirty-two seconds long and depicts a different woman forcing a small but entire cantaloupe into her cunt and winc-ing in pain.

Despite the fact that I don’t actually find the idea of women using vegetables as dildos arousing, there is something about the looks on their faces as they’re doing it and the idea of using something that you normally eat as a misshapen dildo that gives me a hard-on.

I loop the clips in my Windows Media Player and jerk off. I get through the second playing of the third clip, cantaloupe.mpg, before I shoot a load that goes all over my hand.

As I get up to get some toilet paper from the bathroom, the phone rings. I answer it with my clean hand. It’s my mom. She wants to know if I got the sweater she mailed to me and she wants to know if it fits.

The sweater is sitting next to my dresser in the box it was mailed in, still unopened. I say, “Yeah, I got it. It fits fine.”

My mom says, “You’ll wear it then?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because sometimes I buy you things even though I know you probably won’t wear them.” The semen is dripping down my hand.

“Mom, I need to go.”

“Why? What’re you doing?”

“Nothing, I just need to get going.”

“All right. Well, I just wanted to make sure that sweater will work and I miss you and I love you.”

“You, too.”

“I also wanted to see when you were thinking about coming to visit next.”

“I don’t know. I’d have to check my work schedule.” The semen is about to drip off my hand onto the floor.

“Well, check it when you can and let us know.”

“Okay.”

“Well . . . I guess good-bye then. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

The semen drips off my hand onto the floor. I hang up the phone, wipe my hand with some toilet paper, and get the spot that dripped on the carpet. Then I try on the sweater. It fits.

The Day After

I wake up, turn on the TV, and jerk off to an episode of Real World vs.

Road Rules in which the contestants are involved in a challenge that requires the girls to wear bikinis. I get dressed and go to the gym. On my way there, I imagine fucking every girl I pass. I imagine some of them sucking my cock before I fuck them. When I finish working out there are twenty-six messages on my cell phone. I dial my voice mail and listen to the following:

“Just give me a chance. We don’t have to like get married if you don’t want to, not right now at least.” End of message. “Call me when you get this, I have to talk to you. I just like don’t understand why you’re doing this.” End of message. “Don’t ignore me. I know you’re there and I have to talk to you. Call me as soon as you get this.” End of message. “My mother and I are going to get something to eat, so if you call in the next thirty minutes and we’re not here, call back.” End of message. “I just wanted to say that I can change. If there’s something you think I’m not giving you, I can give it to you. If you still care about me at all, just call me back.” End of message.

And it continues for the next ten minutes. I listen to every message, waiting to hear something that will trigger any feeling in me at all. She’s crying on some of the messages, mean on others, pleading on others, but in none of them does she say anything that elicits any emotional response from me.

I delete the messages and play World of Warcraft for the next four hours. My phone rings every ten minutes for the duration of my game and each time I let it go to voice mail.

I take a ten-minute shit during which my phone rings three more times and then I listen to the new messages. Two are from Casey. The other one is from my mom. She says she forgot to ask me when Casey and I are coming to visit them again. She also wants to know if it’s okay to sell all of my old He-Man toys at her next garage sale. She asks me this question once a year and my answer is always no. I delete the messages and put on a DVD called Cum Drenched Butt Sluts. I select scene number eight, an anal fucking and blow job scene that’s been my favorite for some time.

Despite the number of times I’ve seen this exact scene, the look on the woman’s face when the guy takes his cock out of her ass and puts it in her mouth still entertains me. She clearly doesn’t like the way it tastes and she clearly doesn’t like the way he rams it into the back of her throat, nor does she like the way he shoots a load of semen in her eyes and hair. I find this scene entertaining in a way that has never aroused me or made me want to jerk off. The scene that follows features two women fucking one guy. This scene does make me want to jerk off. As I start to, the phone rings again. I turn up the volume on my TV and decide to finally talk to Casey as I jerk off to this scene, hoping she’ll hear the fucking in the background and wondering if I’ll be able to maintain any kind of coherent conversation as I cum.