Average American Male (17 page)

But as we eat Combo Burritos at the Taco Bell by the Beverly Center, I’m not thinking about any of these things. I’m thinking about the fact that Casey is fucking pregnant. I only vaguely remember the last few times we fucked, and even though I know a large percentage of those times ended with me blowing my load all over her face/ass/

stomach, I do remember at least a few times that I shot my load in her cunt because she said she didn’t like it when I came on her face.

I shouldn’t have let her manipulate me. This entire thing could have been avoided. I wonder if Alyna would care if I had a kid.

I’m chewing on a piece of Combo Burrito and thinking of ways to have Casey accidentally die when Alyna says, “If we were out some-where and ran into some friend of yours that I haven’t met, how would you introduce me?”

“I’d say . . . this is Alyna. How would you introduce me?”

“I don’t know, I might say something like . . . this is my boyfriend.

What do you think of that?”

I chew a piece of my burrito as I give it some thought. I say, “I wouldn’t mind.” Strangely, I really wouldn’t.

“And you wouldn’t mind if I was your girlfriend?” I wouldn’t mind this, either.

I say, “No. Would you?”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking. I just felt like we see each other so much and I like you a lot and it seems like you like me just as much. . . . We might as well be official.”

I search for the uneasy paranoia this conversation should be building in me, but it’s not there. What is there is a strange sense of relief, which doesn’t bother me as much as it should. I’m actually happy to have another girlfriend, and not because a girlfriend means free and easy fucking, but because my new girlfriend is Alyna. I almost feel like telling her about the impending life-ruining child I’m about to have with my ex-girlfriend but decide that until the kid exists it’s not worth bringing up.

She says, “You don’t feel weird about it being so soon after both of us just getting out of relationships?”

“No.”

“Me either. Does it make you feel weird that you don’t feel weird?”

“No.”

“Me either.”

“Does it make you feel weird that I don’t feel weird?”

“No.”

“I’m driving you crazy with this, right?”

“No.”

“So then it’s official. You’re my boyfriend and I’m your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that kind of excite you?”

As we talked I hadn’t thought about it, but now that she brings it up it does kind of excite me. I’ve never had a girlfriend that I’ve found as attractive as Alyna, nor have I had one that I’ve wanted to spend as much time with.

She says, “You know what we should do to celebrate?”

“What?”

She says loud enough for the lady hobo sitting in the corner to hear, “We should go back to your apartment and fuck.”

I’ve also never had a girlfriend who’s wanted to have sex enough to propose it in a Taco Bell in front of a hobo.

We finish our Combo Burritos as Creed’s “(Can You Take Me) Higher” starts to play on the Taco Bell radio system and the lady hobo stands up, raises her arms to the heavens, and sings along with Scott Stapp.

Back at my apartment I’ve been fucking Alyna up against my bedroom wall for a few minutes and I’m about to blow my load. The thought of fathering two children with different women drives me to pull out and shoot semen all over her ass and legs. As I fall back onto my bed and Alyna goes to the bathroom to clean herself up, I wonder what my kid is going to look like and wish I was dead.

Alyna Finds My Stash

I’m sitting on the couch half watching the World Series of Poker on ESPN2. Alyna is kneeling between my legs with one hand on my balls and the other jerking me off while she sucks the head of my cock. I blow a load down her throat just as a pro poker player goes all in on a pair of aces and loses to an amateur who draws two queens on the flop to match the queen he has in the queen/ten hand he chose to stay with.

Alyna sucks my cock for a few more seconds, then says, smiling from my crotch, “Did you like that?”

“Yeah.”

“I hate yeast infections because we can’t have sex, but I kind of like them because I get to give you blow jobs all the time.”

I wish I had never met Casey. I wish I had never fucked Casey. I wish she wasn’t pregnant with the ruination of my life. Alyna says, “I’m getting a drink. You want something?”

“No. I’m good, thanks.”

She walks into my kitchen area, leaving my cock hanging out of my pants. I move to start buttoning them back up and she says, “Just leave it. I want to see if I can make you cum again after I get a drink.”

I wonder how difficult it would be to have Casey killed.

I watch a few more hands of the World Series of Poker. The amateur guy gets dealt the same hand—queen/ten—and goes all in again and wins again, knocking another player out of the final five. Despite having just shot a load down Alyna’s throat, the thought of her wanting to suck my cock again starts to give me another hard-on.

As the next hand is being dealt, Alyna says from the kitchen, “Hey, what’s this Bloussant stuff?” and I quickly realize that in the cupboard above my drinking glasses I still have half a case of unused breast-enhancing drug that I never slipped into Casey’s food. I don’t know what my explanation will be. The truth is probably not the best choice.

As I think for a few seconds, Alyna reads one of the bottles and says,

“Why do you have a breast-enhancing drug?”

I don’t leave the couch. With my dick losing its semi-hard-on but still hanging out of my pants, I say, “My old girlfriend kept it over here.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t like to keep it at her house.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I think she didn’t want her cats to get into it.” This immediately conjures images of Casey’s cats walking around with gigantic tits.

Alyna comes out of the kitchen with a bottle of Bloussant in her hand and a glass of Dr Pepper in the other. She says, “Did this stuff work?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Do you think she’ll want it back?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you care if I try it?”

I wonder if there’s any way on the planet that Alyna wouldn’t mind the fact that I’m going to have a kid with my ex-girlfriend.

“No, go ahead.”

“It can’t really work, right?”

“It’s supposed to.”

“I have to try it.”

She puts the bottle of Bloussant down on the coffee table next to her glass of Dr Pepper, then takes my cock in her hand and says, “You think you can handle another one?”

She already has her mouth on my dick when I say, “I don’t know, I guess we’ll have to see.”

As she sucks my dick for the second time in fifteen minutes I try to picture her B-cup tits getting bigger. I put my hand down her shirt as she sucks my dick and squeeze her tits, trying to imagine them a full cup size bigger. I like her tits as they are and I’m not completely sure increasing their size would improve their overall quality, but her enthusiasm to willingly use an unproven breast enhancer is an attractive enough personality trait to make her tits somehow feel better in my hand.

The second load I blow proves to be a little too much for her mouth to handle. She swallows some of it, but some of it drips out of her mouth onto her cheek and chin and onto my dick.

She comes up from sucking my dick, laughs, and says, “Do I have anything on my face?”

As she smiles at me with my cum dripping off her chin, I can’t help laughing too, partly because of the humor of the situation, but mostly to mask the utter despair I feel closing in around me when I think about the fact that the best thing I’ve possibly ever had is going to be destroyed by a fucking mistake that’s growing in the womb of a girl I hate.

Subway Whore

After thirty minutes of a drunken argument about the necessity and quality of the Los Angeles subway system, Todd and I find ourselves waiting at the Hollywood terminal to test it out at one a.m. Next to us a family with a retarded kid and what I assume to be some kind of junkie also wait for the next train. Todd elbows me and points in the general direction of a hobo, crouching by what I make out to be a log of human shit near the stairwell and says, “Dude, check out that guy with his deuce.”

The retarded kid sees the feces at the same time Todd does and starts screaming, “Mommy, he poodied! Mommy, that man poodied on the ground!” which gets no reaction from the hobo, who remains crouched by his work. This goes on for a while.

When the subway train finally pulls up, I convince Todd to get on a car that does not contain the retarded kid, which turns out to be a mistake because the car we do get on contains a weatherworn woman who can’t be any younger than fifty-five with eyes that don’t really focus on anything holding a brown-stained teddy bear that at one time was pink, and a black guy in an Adidas sweat suit who I’m pretty sure is carrying at least a knife, but more likely a gun.

The train pulls away from the terminal and our fate is sealed.

Todd says, “So what do you think now?” and I’m reminded that there was an original reason for us to be on the subway.

I say, “Uh, I still think L.A. can do without it.”

“Whatever, dude. This is the fucking shit.”

Todd and I don’t say anything for the next few minutes. Then the old lady with the bear says what I think is the following: “Kiss my bear and I’ll suck your cock.”

I’m positive she didn’t actually say this and I’m drunk enough to say, “Excuse me?”

And she says again, “Kiss my bear and I’ll suck your cock.”

Todd says, “Did she just say kiss my bear and I’ll suck your cock?”

The old lady says, “You bet your ass I’ll suck those cocks.”

Todd and I are both stunned into silence. She says again, “Kiss my bear and I’ll suck your cock.”

I shoot a quick glance at the black guy in the Adidas sweat suit just to see if he’s getting any of this. He seems to be unfazed by what’s going on and I don’t know if any of this means anything to him until he says, “Well, you gonna kiss her fuckin’ bear or what?” And it becomes suddenly clear to me that this man is the bear-wielding old lady’s pimp.

I immediately wonder if I’m going to be forced to accept a blow job from this aged and most likely disease-ridden whore at gunpoint, and worse, made to kiss her bear in order to receive the blow job.

I look at Todd, who’s dazed.

I say, “Uh, no, thanks.”

The pimp says, “You two faggots or somethin’?”

The old whore scratches out a laugh and then says, “Hey, faggots, you kiss my bear and I’ll suck your faggot cocks.”

For some reason my immediate reaction is to defend my sexuality to the pimp and his whore, so I say, “No, we’re straight.”

The pimp says, “Then kiss her fuckin’ bear.”

Todd finally chimes in, “I don’t think so, man.”

The whore says again, “You kiss my bear and I’ll suck your cock.”

The pimp says, “If you ain’t gonna kiss her bear then you gotta get off this train.”

I wonder how close the next stop is and hope we get to it before we’re killed.

For the next five minutes the whore insists that we kiss her bear so she can suck our cocks, and the pimp keeps asking us if we’re sure we’re not faggots. When we get to the next stop, across the street from Universal Studios, Todd and I get off the train and make our way aboveground, where we take a cab back to the bar we originally came from in Hollywood.

As we sit back down at the bar and order two beers, Todd says,

“Hey, dude, was that bitch on the subway ninety-eight percent?”

Despite the possibly life-threatening situation we managed to nar-rowly escape, I force myself to imagine getting head from the repulsive whore and then fucking her so I can accurately answer Todd’s question.

I say, “She’s about as close to a two-percenter as you can get, but if it’s disease-free and she disappears right after I fuck her and her pimp’s not around . . . I’d fuck her.”

Todd says, “Me, too.”

Dinner with the Mother of My Child

I’m waiting outside Casey’s apartment for her to come out so I can take her to a dinner she forced me to agree to, where she wants us to talk about the baby and how we’re going to raise it.

When she comes out to the car she catches me a little off guard by saying, “Hey, why don’t we skip the dinner, go back into my apartment, and have crazy sex?”

I’m pretty shocked by this, but even more shocked by my reaction as I say, “I think we should go eat dinner.” It doesn’t take me long to search for an answer as to why I passed up free grudge-fucking with my ex-girlfriend—Alyna. I don’t want to cheat on Alyna. At face value, not wanting to cheat on Alyna should bother me, but as I stare at Casey I’m almost calmed by the fact that at the moment I really only want to fuck Alyna and no one else.

Casey gets in the car, puts her hand right on my dick, and says,

“Then after dinner, I want you to come back here and fuck me silly.”

Despite the fact that Casey is carrying the doomseed of my life in her gut, this gets me pretty horny, but as soon as I get a hard-on I start thinking about Alyna and I know I don’t want to fuck Casey. I’m genuinely surprised by this seemingly impregnable psychological defense I seem to have developed.

As we drive, I make sure to hit the brakes a little harder than I need to at each stop in the hopes of jarring the fetus loose and causing an instant miscarriage. As I come to the fourth or fifth abrupt stop, it doesn’t seem to be working. Nonetheless, I stomp the brakes whenever traffic allows, reasoning that it only takes one good one to bust the fetus loose.

We pull into the valet at Lawry’s and it doesn’t seem like the fetus is detached. I walk into the place behind Casey and kick her back foot so she trips on herself going up the stairs, still hoping to jar the fetus loose. She shoots me a pissed-off look that I explain away by saying,

“Sorry, it was an accident,” but the unborn life-ender in her gut seems to be doing fine.

We sit down, get our water and bread, and then it starts.