City of Singles (21 page)

28 Unlove Letter

Heartfelt messages through email never quite work. That disconnect of my message moving through the keys, becoming 0s and 1s, and sitting on a server somewhere for her to click the bold link titled “I miss you.” It could easily end up in her spam folder purgatory. I can count dozens of times I’ve been spammed with that message from supposed overseas brides. Just 0s and 1s carefully arranged to get my forlorn heart to pay.

I’ve written a simple email.

I remember last year when you called me around Christmas, we talked for hours. Then you sent photos of your cats and the spilt milk on the counter top, and photos of you at the mall with your nephews. I really liked that, it made me smile for days and days. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, I had never felt closer to you.

I hope your Christmas went well, and that you’re looking forward to making 2013 your happiest year yet. Yeah, I know, you probably feel some anxiety when you think about me, or talking to me, and I feel the same way. The anxiety I feel is because you actually mean something to me, regardless of if you still hate me more than you’ve hated anyone else before.

Maybe you’ll remember this photo, it was the last time I saw you happy.

Leaning over my desk with my chin in my left palm, an autonomously chewed middle finger leaves a painful hang nail. I must have lost track of time completely. A pen and a book of lined paper sits before my keyboard, I had begun to write her a letter telling her how much I’ve missed her, how much she actually means to me. My normal recollection of favorite females is by the shape of their genitals, images of countless vaginas and the faces they’re attached to having been fucked into my memory. With this one, it was her smile. Her laugh, her little quirks, holding her hand, the way we talked together, and the way my soul caught fire when our lips met. Nostalgia fills my head and I swim in the endorphin rush.

I haven’t finished the letter yet, the final paragraph is supposed to be where I ask her if her life has been going the way she wants it. If I could just talk to her again, maybe she’d see that this time I’ve really learned. Maybe she’d see I really want something with purpose, to build a life together. My hand picks up the pen and comes to a rest on the paper. I can’t handwrite this right now, emotionally I’m drained. I could easily type or text it, but writing is different. My hand forms each and every word, my heart connects with my chest, my chest to my arm, arm to hand, hand to pen, pen to paper. If I really believed in myself, and my ability to make her happy, this should be easy, right?

Right?

I wish there was a manual that came with your life, something that explains when you should listen to that little inner voice inside you. Laying the pen down gently, my stomach twists and I take a deep breath. At night, the stars twinkle and shine light from history in the same way that love from your past can be seen. A faint glow of something far away; inaccessible but felt, impossible yet known, a framed memory lit up in gold light, hung in my mind’s innermost sanctum. The glow from the monitor makes everything look a dull light blue.

Earlier in the day, I was hanging out with a few wild artists. They are a couple of stars from the local fashion scene, never a boring moment while around crazy lesbians with style to everything they do. Jane Dough and her girlfriend won’t show me the matching tattoos they got, but her girlfriend showed me her jungle cat spots while Jane was in the can. When Jane came out she packed up her stuff and left angry while Jaguar girl chased after her.

Art supplies are scattered everywhere.

Dirty dishes pile up in a sink littered with coffee grinds and pipe ash. A broken bottle of Jack has retired on my black photography backdrop, I don’t remember what I was thinking when it got smashed. My track pants bottoms are too loose on me, and the draw string turtled back into its hole. I have to hold my pants up when walking or the ankles drag on the ground. Fucking artists, I feel pathetic.

The dimly lit studio has a small fridge tucked in a corner, clutter forces me to carefully tiptoe around a canvas drying on the floor to get to it. A tube of paint explodes under foot, I can barely make out that it’s blue, and has just created a giant fucking mess. I sigh. What could make this go away? I pour a little bit of a full glass of Jack on ice. My cellphone jingles. I walk back to my desk, pick up my phone, and noticed a thick blue paint trail across the floor of the entire studio. Fuck it, half a glass of Jack sent straight to the liver for some calm.

A normal person wouldn’t drink like this.

I got a text from Hanna, she said she’s stressed and wants to come over. For weeks now I’ve been blowing her off, she stayed with me for a ten day romance about a month back, even kissed me when I had morning breath. I felt a bit used when she left me to fuck some hipster that lived across the street from her, but how can I blame her? She’s just repeating what she’s grown accustomed to. Throw away friends, throw any relationships, throw away sex, throw away future. Can’t say I haven’t done the same. That other half glass of whiskey goes down smoothly as an ice cube wanders into my mouth only to get crushed. I text her back and let her know she can come by if she wants. She texts me back immediately to say she’s heading over.

I comb my hair and make myself presentable. A little more grey hair adds to the slight salt and pepper look, a few wrinkles line my face. Just a couple months ago I was getting it on with a solid 9, Hanna is pretty hot herself though. Maybe I feel this way because I feel like I’ve done this before, and I know I can’t stop.

Whiskey pilots its familiar course through my system, no icebergs tonight to be wary of. I smile and start to lighten up. A few clicks of a mouse and I’m relaxed by some ambient tunes, taking a moment to wash my dick in the sink. Back to the computer and I review some art tumblrs to keep track of what’s hot. Someone I’m following has posted a bunch of tattooed up suicide girls, looking more like aliens than women. High saturation photos are trying so hard to look edgy and sexy, most people probably like these. Their faces are all smiling. The flesh and colours of a group of tatted up girls pulling the panties off another girl. What whores, but could I blame them? Trading pussy for cash has never been easier, a generation of men self-defeating and jerking themselves into oblivion. I can’t even imagine the number of guys right now that are Alt-tabbed out of a video game, jerking to porn, returning to their digital escape.

I flip through a few more tumblrs. Art gets predictable when it’s popular, just like people. Tow the hivemind narrative and don’t question it. Be a cheerleader for the current trend. Sometimes I wish I could wipe my mind clear, forget about the Internet, and live in a small town where people didn’t check their phones at coffee. Where internet dating didn’t turn our courtship into sending dick shots to get women horny. Funny how times change, a man used to show up at a woman’s house with flowers and a smile, now that guy is a creeper. I send girls photos of my dick, and more often than not I get back sext messages with a spread open pussy and a question of when I’m available.

I’m the new gentleman.

29 Chump Taxi

The whiskey is giving me superpowers again. I look at my phone and a second later it’s ringing. She’s here. I buzz her up and next thing I know she’s walking in and taking her coat off, she’s always dressed so smart. Yellow rubber boots and a cute ponytail. White button up shirt and a pair of blue jeans.

“Hey,” she says to me, her smile beaming. She rests on my couch and spreads out, looking exhausted. She sighs and looks cold. I bring her a blanket and tuck her in, I soothe her with some small talk of my day and put on some ambient music. Two glasses of whiskey are promptly poured and I bring her one. A carefree caramel glass of let’s fuck. I sit at my desk near the couch and open up some of my latest photography. “Oh that’s nice!” she parrots occasionally. I’m looking through a folder for some more impressive shots and I feel her arms wrap around my upper body from behind. She’s so warm and smells so pretty. I take her hand and walk her from behind my desk chair, in front of it, and sit her on my lap. “Wait a second,” she gets up and grabs her coat, and digs through a pocket.

“Here,” she walks over sits back on my lap and lights a small joint, “I brought this for you.”

I smile. She’s not the type of girl you can hold on to, but not the type you don’t want around.

We smoke.

She sits up and leans over my desk, her hands on my keyboard and mouse looking for a song to put on. Her gorgeous round, beautiful ass is right in my face. Her blue jeans fit her perfectly. Some more upbeat tunes kick in after a double click, and she sits back down on my stiff lap. I’m so turned on and there is no way she can’t feel that. She starts talking about her fears, all her fretting would wear on me but it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I kiss the back of her neck and lightly stroke her thigh. I hug her and hold her close, it doesn’t feel forced but it doesn’t feel right. We aren’t even dating, just socializing our genitals.

She grinds herself a little on my lap, her playful grin shows me what she wants me to take. I put on Netflix and put on the stupidest movie I could find. Air Bud. We stand up from the chair and then lay on the couch, she’s such a fun little spoon. We cuddle under a blanket and she holds my arm across her chest. Sweaty palms like in grade 9, perky B cups and a permanent boner pressed into her lower back. Both of our bodies are getting used to the climate and soon my hand is in her shirt. Soft breasts and a nipple that would cut diamond, she pushes her ass into me and my hand explores south to play with her clit.

In almost no time her pants are off and I’m inside her. She is a little sore she says, I bet she’s been fucking a lot, and I’m wearing no condom. Whatever. She’s so good with kegel control, her tight opening squeezing down on the middle of my cock and it pulses in time as I cum. I just drained myself into her. Heavily breathing, we embrace, my penis still inside her. Sometimes we just like to fuck and not kiss during sex. Air Bud is playing to only my hydro bill’s benefit.

The dog is carrying a football down a field with the ball in its mouth, and suddenly out of nowhere, a huge football player tackles the dog hard. I laugh and my penis comes out of her, cum squirts out of her pussy and I feel it running down my thigh. I really hope that’s just mine and not some mixture of mine and someone else’s. We sit up and have a couple sips of whiskey, I lean over to put my drink down and I spill some on the sofa and her shirt.

“What the fuck Dylen!” I’ve never seen her mad, but she’s pissed for sure. “Fuck!” she looks away and is silent. Her half nude body looks beautiful in the light cast by retriever with football.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to my friend’s house tonight, and now I smell like booze,” she says with a sigh. I recognize that sigh. It’s half I-don’t-give-a-fuck, and half how’d-this-happen-again.

She wipes her shirt with the blanket, sighs again, stands up and takes off her shirt.

“Where is your dryer?”

I point towards the utility closet on the far wall behind her. She tosses her shirt in the dryer, her cute naked butt turns me on again, but with a dulled ferocity. She walks over to the small sink near the shower, picks up a handful of kleenex, and begins to wipe her leaking vagina. Bowlegged and furiously wiping herself, Hanna lets out an “Ugh! There’s so much!” and shuffles to the stainless trash basket where she discards the semen I gifted her. What a waste.

Hanna walks back over and has a seat on the couch, her hands quickly find her phone and she starts texting. I smell her musky scent mix with the hint of whiskey and popcorn, between her folded legs a tight pink slit peeks out. My hand can’t resist sliding along her inner thigh, her fingers texting rapidly as my dick hardens again. Alternating small strokes with my index and middle fingers, I draw little circles near her upper thigh, occasionally sliding a finger close enough to feel that she is still wet. Her texting doesn’t slow down and she never looks up, her hips start to grind with the motions of my fingers and I move higher up. Soon my fingers spend half their time on her upper thigh and labia, half their time teasing her clit and opening. She is soaking and yet continues to text. She looks up for a moment, smiles at me, and is back to texting.

I move my body sideways on the couch while my hands guide her into a doggystyle position. She tosses her phone down and acknowledges my actions with bedroom eyes and a single “Oh …” Now here I am, behind her cute little bubble butt and petite waist, staring down her puffy and pink waxed pussy. I feel a huge rush of excitement and I’m already rock hard, a pop of my hips forward and the head slides in. I grab the base of my dick and stir it around inside of her as if it were a spoon in a mixing bowl, making a sex fluid omelet to coat my shaft. She lets out a little moan and a deep breath, and surprises me by sliding herself down on me, my right hand grabbing and slapping her ass. She lowers her head and puts her hands out in front of her, bracing herself on the armrest of the couch. Her motions backwards become harder and more violent, my cock getting even harder and more aroused than I thought possible, I feel the head hit something inside of her and she begins to whimper and moan with each thrust.

The couch behinds to slide along the floor and the blanket drops from the couch. All 105 pounds of her are pushing into my double weight frame and almost knocking me over, I lean into my left knee, the sucking and slurping sounds of her pussy mix in with her moans, I feel so primal. My right leg swings out and kicks over my whiskey tumbler, probably shattering pieces of it into my foot, but I can only feel myself inside her. Slapping her ass and grabbing the back of her hair, she sits back and squats on my cock, turning her body enough to push me into sitting on the couch in the position that you’d normally be in. She straddles me facing the other way, squatting. She’s in complete control.

Her palms hold onto my knees and her pussy clenches tight around me, her pink lips stretched tight flex and release slowly. I’m in a euphoric spasm of pleasure as she slowly tightens and releases, grinding her hips with precision control side to side, back and forth. I feel her lips slowly milking precum out of me as my cock pulses what feels like a mini orgasm inside of her. Her nails dig into my leg while holding herself steady, a faint sweat shines on her back showing the effort she’s putting in. Her motions forward and backward are visually hypnotic, from her arched back giving me a beautiful look at her pink asshole and swollen lips, to being tucked forward and having hidden her softest bits.

Her odour tickles my nose, her moans a delight to the ears. Closing my eyes for a moment and the sensations run wild in my mind. Each sense taking input at once, overloading my mind with savage fucking. My hips thrust upwards and penetrate her deeper, she lets out a gasp, her legs quiver. Sharp nails burn into my skin and she thrusts back. I pull my hips away as does she, almost uncoupling, then ramming together again forcefully. Groaning and breathing deep, she pushes herself up and leans her back into my chest. I sit her thighs on mine and lay flat on my back on the couch, her on top of me, both facing the ceiling. I kick her right leg onto the backrest of the couch and grab onto sweaty hips. Back arched, screaming as she feels the head of my cock nudge her insides.

Sweat slides between our steamy bodies, her salivating vagina takes a fast pounding that violently echoes in the studio with the beating of meat wet together. The couch slides again, her arm comes up and grabs me by the back of my head. Deeper, harder, her ass banging hard into my hip bones, faster. She groans and turns her head and bites the leather of the couch, her legs begin to shake. My body tense, our tempo building and building to finish, she sits up and braces herself with her hands, “Oh .. Oh ...” she holds her breath. I’m drilling her as hard as I can, my dick buries itself in her with each thrust, pulling back until I’m almost out of her. She lets out a fluttering “Ohhohohhhhoo,” and she moves barely off of my shaft, her hand grabbing her crotch as I feel a splash on me. My arm pushes her down and my cock finds its way inside her, about to cum myself, she groans and snaps her legs together and pushes her pussy down on me. It’s so tight my cock has to literally explode inside her to ejaculate and I count over a dozen strong pulses, filling her completely with my load. She collapses on me, wet from sweat, breathing hard, and shaking.

Moments pass and our breathing slows, she lets out a few sighs and giggles then rolls off of me to go clean up. “Toss me a towel!” I yell before she throws one over. The couch and I are soaked. Finishing the clean up, turning to see she is already dressed and spraying herself with perfume. Being naked and totally spent, my penis grows more flaccid with each passing second. She picks up her phone and says “Oh, shit!” then turns, and runs towards her boots.

“He’s been waiting!” she smiles as she says this.

“I feel so bad!” I raise an eyebrow and smirk.

No you don’t.

She grabs her purse and gives me a hug, turns, and walks out of the studio.

The falling back on the couch is turning into an art form. Laying on the warm leather, sex drive totally satisfied with my nerves now able to feel the sting of my sliced foot. Loneliness encroaches from the little death of ejaculation. My mind is going through the immediate post-coital clarity and I can’t help but think we just used each other for sex, again. I barely know her and she barely knows me. Well, could be worse, I could be the guy picking her up after waiting for her to finish banging me.