Average American Male (12 page)

I answer the phone. It’s not Casey. It’s Alyna. I stop jerking off and turn down the volume as fast as I can, but I’m pretty sure she heard the guy say, “I’m gonna wreck that hole.”

She makes no mention of it as she says, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Listen, I know this is probably really weird to you, but would you want to go get something to eat sometime?”

It is weird to me, she’s right. But it’s not weird enough to make me forget about how much I want to fuck her. “Yeah, but what about your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. What about your fiancée?”

“She’s not my fiancée anymore. She never really was.”

“I just, I don’t know, I thought there was something between us that night, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I didn’t dump my boyfriend over it or anything. We were headed in that direction anyway, but I just—I kind of felt something that night and I thought I’d give it another try, a real try, if you wanted to. And now you’re single, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then it just kind of seems like we should at least give it a real try, right?”

“Yeah.”

My call waiting goes off as Alyna and I make plans for our second date. I ignore it. After the plans have been made I turn my phone off, restart the scene on the Cum Drenched Butt Sluts DVD after the butt-fucking and throat fuck, restart jerking off and finish to a part that features the two bitches in the scene doing the sixty-nine while the guy fucks the top bitch doggie style and occasionally gets his balls licked by the bitch on the bottom.

I wonder if I could get Casey to do the sixty-nine with another bitch while I fucked them by telling her it’s the only way I’d take her back. I wonder if she knows any girls who would do the sixty-nine with her. I somehow think Alyna might be more likely to.

Rubbernecking

I’m driving through Westwood looking for parking when I see a bitch walking down the street. I can’t tell if she’s hot or not. I have to know if she’s got decent tits or a redeemable ass. I have to know. So I take a good three-second stare at her. She’s probably about forty-five, droopy tits, flabby ass, and haggish in the face.

I look back to the road just in time to see my front bumper make contact with the back bumper of the car in front of me that’s sitting at a red light. We both pull over next to the Fatburger and get out to check the damage to our cars and exchange information.

The guy who was driving the other car says, “I was stopped at a red light. What the hell were you doing?”

“I was looking at a woman walking down the street.”

“What?”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? You had your head so far up some woman’s ass you didn’t see my car stopped right in front of you, and all you can say is sorry?”

“Your car looks okay.”

He looks it over, sees I’m right, and says, “It might look like super-ficial scratches, but who knows what damage we can’t see.”

As the guy keeps talking about the cost of what possible damages I might have done to his car, I see the woman who caused this whole thing waiting for her crosswalk sign to turn green. She’s worse than I originally thought. She is hideously ugly and her body is absolutely repulsive. I smashed into a car for her.

The guy’s still talking about something as I try to think about all the times I’ve been in near wrecks because I was trying to see if some bitch walking down the street was hot. There are a lot, and in most instances the bitch is not worth the possibility of a wreck.

The guy says, “Here.” He’s waving something in my face. It’s his insurance information. I take his, give him mine, and wish that old hag would have at least been a hot college bitch wearing tight pants.

Letter from Casey’s Mom

It’s been a few days since I dumped Casey and she’s finally stopped calling. When I come home from the gym, there’s an envelope with my name on it taped to the front door of my apartment. I try to remember what Casey’s handwriting looks like but can’t.

When I open the envelope I find out that it’s not from Casey, it’s from her mom, and this is what it says: Dear Breaker of My Daughter’s Heart, I know you might find it strange that I’m writing you a letter instead of Casey, but you should know she’s finally come to her senses and decided to never speak to you again after what you did. I told her she should write you a letter just so she could get out everything she needs to get out, but she refused. Well, I don’t quite have the same restraint.

I can’t believe you dated my daughter for so long and even went so far as to propose to her only to end things the way you did. You are the most miserable and ungrateful person I think I may have ever had the displeasure of meeting and I for one have absolutely no regrets that my daughter didn’t wind up marrying the likes of you. My only regret is that she wasted so much of her own time and so much of her family’s time on you.

I consider myself lucky because Casey’s sister has found a man who loves her for who she is and has been able to give me a grandchild. But I also consider myself very unlucky in that I’m not positive Casey will ever be able to give me the joy of a grandchild because I’m sure it will be a long time before she’s ready to try men again and you’re to blame. I hope that stays with you.

Just for the record, when Casey told us she was engaged to you, I was not immediately happy, and even after trying to convince myself that it was a good thing, I was never fully satisfied with my daughter bringing someone like you into our family and neither was Casey’s father.

I wish that I could somehow warn every woman on the planet what a cruel and unfeeling person you are so in the future other girls won’t suffer the same misery my daughter has, but after witnessing your behavior this weekend in the Griddle I have no doubt that you will remain alone for the rest of your life, and that thought comforts me a great deal.

In closing I’d just like to let you know that when you come to your senses in a month or so and realize that you threw away the best thing that ever happened to you by ending your relationship with my daughter and with the Childress family, it will be too late. Casey will never accept your apology and neither will I. You have made the biggest mistake of your life.

Sincerely,

Anne Childress

I fold the letter back up and put it back in its envelope. I know I will probably never read the letter again, but something makes me want to keep it, so I put it in the latest issue of Playboy, which is sitting on my coffee table.

As I take a shower I wonder if I should write Casey’s mom a response letter. I decide against it based on the lack of interest I have in ever communicating with her again. I wonder if I should write a letter to Casey. I decide against this based on the possibility that Casey might misinterpret something I write as a chance to get back together and start calling me every five minutes again.

In the shower I reach for the soap and notice Casey’s sponge thing.

I remember a specific time we fucked in my shower and she washed my cock with that sponge thing after we finished. I wash my cock with her sponge thing and get an immediate hard-on, but refuse to jerk off on principle.

Psychosis

It’s 2:32 a.m. and I’m walking toward the front door of my apartment building after a long and unsuccessful night of playing wingman for Todd while he tried to pick up bitches at the Westwood Brewing Company. I see something that almost makes me fake an aneurysm so I don’t have to deal with it. Casey’s sitting outside the front doors by the call box. She’s already seen me and there’s nothing I can do. Even though I know the following conversation is unavoidable, I try to pretend I don’t see her sitting in front of the door I have to walk through as I reach for my keys in preparation to enter.

She says, “I’ve been sitting out here like all night. Even though my mom told me not to, I had to come over here. Where have you been?”

“Out with Todd.”

“I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Not be us.”

She starts crying like a little kid. I don’t say anything. I just stand there watching her sob and wondering how I’m ever going to get her off my porch without actually calling the police and having her forc-ibly removed.

She says, “Why? Why do you want to do this to me?”

I still don’t say anything. It’s becoming even more apparent to me that this situation could very quickly unfold into the worst moment of my life.

“I just don’t understand it.”

I still don’t say anything.

“Say something.”

I say, “Uh, it’s pretty late and I’m tired. Maybe we could talk about this later.”

“I came all the way over here and sat on your porch for five hours.

I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

I don’t say anything. I put my key in the door, open it, and walk in.

Casey just sits there. I go to my apartment and look out the window at Casey, still sitting there. I watch her for five minutes. She doesn’t move except to cry every now and then. Then she stands up and starts screaming.

She says, “You fucking bastard! I hate you and I’m not leaving here until you talk to me! Just come out and talk to me!”

I go into my bathroom and take a long-overdue shit as Casey keeps screaming on the front porch. I’m sure some of my neighbors can hear her screaming but she never uses my name, so I don’t care. She just keeps screaming things like, “You’re a fucking son of a bitch,” and “I’m sorry I ever let you have sex with me,” followed by, “I just want to talk,”

and “Please give me a chance to work it out.”

As I wipe my ass she’s still screaming. When I get out of the shower she’s still screaming. When I get in bed, she’s still screaming. When I jerk off thinking about the possibilities of fucking Alyna on our next date, she’s still screaming.

I wonder if she’ll be asleep on my front porch when I leave for work tomorrow morning or if someone will call the cops before then or if she’ll just get tired and go home.

UCLA Party

Todd and another friend of mine whose last name is Marquis are over at my house. We’ve been drinking beer for the last three hours and playing Madden when Marquis makes the following suggestion:

“Dude, we should go to a fucking college party around here.”

Todd says, “Do you think we can even pass as college-age anymore?”

Marquis says, “Fuck it. Who gives a shit if we can? What’re they gonna do, fucking kick us out?”

I say, “They might.”

Marquis says, “So we fuckin’ leave then. But if they don’t kick us out—free fuckin’ booze and free fuckin’ eighteen-year-old pussy.”

Todd says, “Fuck it, I’m in, dude.”

I agree. We all knock back one for the road and walk out the door in search of a party in the area. As we walk Todd says, “So once we get to a party, what’s our story?”

Marquis says, “We’re fuckin’ baseball players from USC. One of our friends who transferred to UCLA last semester invited us over here.”

I say, “What do we tell ’em when they ask who the friend is?”

Marquis says, “Fuckin’ Jim.”

Todd says, “Jim?”

Marquis says, “Fuckin’ Jim. There’s always a fuckin’ Jim at a party, dude.”

Marquis’ logic is apparently sound enough for Todd and me because we don’t ask any more questions before we find ourselves walking up the steps to an apartment from which loud music and drunk college bitches pour out onto the balcony.

We walk in seemingly undetected and make our way to the kitchen where a keg is being pumped by a gigantic thick-necked guy who is either fat or muscular—I’m not sure which. Thick-neck says, “Where’s your cup, bra?”

Marquis says, “Some bitch knocked it outta my hand on the fuckin’ balcony.”

Thick-neck gives him a new cup. “Bros before hos. Here you go, bro.” Marquis gets a cup full of beer from Thick-neck, then says, “My buddies here lost their shit, too.” Thick-neck supplies us with beer and continues to pump the keg as we walk off into the pitch-black living room.

I sit down on a couch next to a hot bitch and start to notice that Todd, Marquis, and myself are the shortest guys at the party by at least a foot and underweigh all the guys at the party by at least a hundred pounds. The hot bitch says, “Hey, who are you?”

I say, “A friend of Jimmy’s.”

“Oh.”

I can’t believe it fucking worked.

The hot bitch says, “Are you on the football team?”

“No, I play baseball for USC.”

“Oh, cool. Freshman?”

“Sophomore, you?”

“I’m a sophomore too—on the soccer team. It’s kind of noisy in here, do you want to go out on the balcony?”

“Sure.”

She takes my hand and we go out on the balcony, where there are three other guys and three other girls. The guys all seem to be bigger than the ones inside. They shoot me a look when they see me. The hot bitch notices and says, “He plays baseball for USC.” The guys’

scowls turn to head nods and a few guys say things like, “Cool,” and “Baseball, a’ight,” before turning back to their respective college sluts and getting back to trying to fuck them.

The hot bitch says, “So how do you like L.A.?”

“Okay, you?”

“I’m originally from Phoenix, but I like it here okay. Do you have a girlfriend at USC?”

“No. You have a boyfriend?”

“No. I did, but now I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s cool now though. He was a complete asshole. You probably saw him in there pumping the keg.”

I immediately picture Thick-neck tossing me off the balcony or caving in my fucking skull with the keg.

“Yeah, I think I saw him.”

“Well, we’re through, even if he doesn’t think so.”

I look back inside and see that Marquis and Todd are talking to a few hot bitches of their own and know there’s no way they’ll leave this party. I’m fucked. I say, “I feel kind of sick, I think I should go to the bathroom.”

She takes my hand and says, “The line’s probably horrible. You can use the one in my bedroom.”

She leads me through the living room crowd, thankfully out of Thick-neck’s line of sight, and into her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She lies down on her bed and points to the ad-joining bathroom. She says, “Bathroom’s in there.”