SECTION FIVE

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COLUMN SIXTY-NINE, MARCH 1, 2002
(Copyright 2002 Al Aronowitz)

HOW IT COST ME $25 TO GET LAID:
BOTTOMS UP!

No, the nude pictured above is NOT Gelsomina H. Gillespie, who, like so many other female authors of erotic literature---but unlike Tsaurah Litzky, queen of American erotic writers---remains reluctant to provide us with a photo of herself so that we may honor her work with her byline. The photo above, which purports to be that of pop singer Britney Spears, a reputed exhibitionist said to delight in showing her flesh, was sent to us by an anonymous pornographer. We hope that neither Britney nor Gelsomina will object to its use in this case under the circumstances.

It was night before Thanksgiving. I had only been in town a few months and everything was going bad for me. I had just gotten out of an entanglement with a man who had treated me so wrong I'd started believing that evil really did exist in the world. And I was running out of cash.

I was all dolled up in a tight, black, wool suit because I'd just finished up another lousy job interview, and I thought I looked pretty good. The Blue Bird Cocktail Lounge was near the bus stop: the chick on the funny neon sign kept bending over to sip his martini, back and forth, back and forth. I was in no hurry to get back home to my pissy roommate, so I went in to pound back a few to help get me through.

After a couple of beers I was making small talk with the guys sitting next to me at the bar, a blond and his two friends. The blond was just passing through on his way to visit the folks upstate and had hooked up with some old buddies. His dad was a professor at a college up there.

I told them about my horrible job interview and the blond, making a crack about the black suit, asked me what had the interview been for, undertaker? He asked me how I'd ended up in the big city and I launched into my sob story about the failed romance. About halfway through I was boring even myself so I started embellishing: soon my evil ex- was having violent outbursts caused by the high level of testosterone produced a double set of testicles---a fact, I smirked, that he'd somehow managed to hide from me until just last week.

Stupid drunk talk, but it might have been a funny shtick because they were cracking up. Or maybe they were only laughing at me.

Then the blond told me I was clever, which is the best way to flatter me. I was embarrassed, though, so I said, "I don't want hear that. I want you to tell me I'm sexy."

"Oh, you're sexy," he said.

One of the guys left to go home to his pregnant wife, and then it was just the blond and his dark-haired pal. I was feeling jacked up from the beer and out of nowhere I blurted out:

"One of you boys should come home with me, but which one? You're both so handsome."

The brunet, which was the better looking of the two, laughed and said, "Not me."

But the blond asked, "Are you serious??

"I'm not sure," I said. "I don't do this kind of thing. Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? Because it might make me feel guilty if I thought you were cheating on someone."

"No."

"Are you lying??

He snickered and said, "No."

Then I told him if he wanted to come home with me there were some rules.

"What?? he asked.

"I'm in charge. You only do what I tell you to."

"OK."

"You have to promise never to contact me later because I hate men now, especially boyfriends."

'that sounds easy enough."

"You might think so now, but you haven't slept with me yet," I said, and he laughed. "And you can't tell me your name."

"But I already have, Gladys."

"I'm so drunk I forgot it. So don't tell me again: this has to be anonymous."

We left the bar and walked to the convenience store on the corner to buy some condoms. Suddenly self-conscious, I didn't want the clerk to think I was a prostitute, so I clopped over to the refrigerator in my high heels. While I pretended to look at the bottles of soda and juice, I thought, I can't believe I'm doing this. I've really hit rock bottom. That phrase, rock bottom, was funny to my beer-soaked brain and I laughed.

We grabbed a cab and went back to my place. Fortunately, my roommate was out: I hadn't even thought about what I'd do if she were there. We went into the living room to drink two beers I had yanked from the fridge. He sat on the couch, and right away I undressed and sat in his lap and let him cuddle me. He tried to kiss me on the lips, but I wouldn't let him. I said, "I don't know you well enough to kiss you. Isn't that weird, I'm going to fuck you, but I don't want to kiss you."

I straddled his lap and ground my crotch against his fly. Then I flipped over and said, 'spank me. Go ahead and do it hard." He spanked me, and he did a pretty good job. When my butt was nice and hot I stood up, struck a Betty Grable and said, 'tell me I'm attractive."

"You're attractive," he said.

"Are you saying that because I told you to say it, or do you really think so??

"Both,? he said, adding seriously, "I feel pretty lucky."

'that's why they call it "gettin? lucky?," I quipped.

'stay here," I commanded and ran into the kitchen to look for something else to drink because I have alcoholic tendencies, and when I get a good buzz going I just go nutty for the stuff. All I could find was a bottle of wine someone had given my roommate and me as a housewarming gift. I knew my roommate was probably saving it for something special, but I didn't give a shit. I uncorked it and took it into the living room and we drank it right out of the bottle.

I told him to take his clothes off.

"Can't we turn the light out?? he asked.

"What, are you hiding something? I want to check you out first, make sure you're healthy and not a junkie or covered with boils."

Maybe I'm being too mean to this guy, I thought, but he didn't seem to care. He took his clothes off and turned around a few times. He was well built---something I hadn't noticed with his clothes on--- muscular, but not bulked up like a bodybuilder.

"Wow, do you work out?? I asked.

"No, I'm a carpenter, and I do a lot of physical labor."

He got down on the floor with me and we passed the bottle back and forth, laughing for no reason except that we were drunk. He tried to touch my crotch, but I said, "Go and wash your hands first." I hate that, when a man tries to touch you with dirty hands. It's not respectful.

He went into the bathroom, and I heard him piss and then wash his hands. When he came back and I let him touch me and put his fingers inside of me. We rolled around on the carpet for a good long time, and he rubbed and kissed me all over my body until I said, "OK, let's go into the bedroom."

We grabbed our clothes and walked back to my room. I turned on the light and he said, "Can't you leave it off," so I plugged in these chili Christmas lights I have around the window and it made the room nice and rosy.

We talked for a while in bed. He told me about his family and how his dad was disappointed that he had only wanted to be a carpenter and not an academic or some other kind of educated professional. He asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving and I said, "I got nothing to be thankful for right now."

"You know what would be funny," he said, "if I took you up to Thanksgiving with my family in Connecticut, and I had to explain who you were."

I didn't know if he was actually inviting me or just trying to be funny, so I said, 'that would be against the rules."

Then he rubbed my crotch some more and sucked my nipples. He fished a condom out of his pants pocket, put in on and put his penis inside of me. It felt good, but there wasn't the joy like with a sweet, loving boyfriend that you care about. I'm small and he was strong, so he could move me around easily and I thought that was sexy. Then we passed out.

In the morning he was kissing my neck and telling me how adorable and smart I was, and it was flattering, but he lit a cigarette right off and the smell nauseated me. I just wanted to get rid of him.

'so, should we go for another round?? he asked.

"No thanks, I'm kind of hung over."

"You mean you're sober," he said.

"Yeah, I guess that's it," I said, chuckling. Then, "Maybe you should get going,?

"All right," he said and smiled.

We got dressed and I walked him out of the apartment because I wanted to get some coffee and some fresh air because of the cigarette smoke. I showed him where the subway was and said, 'that was nice."

"Yes, it was."

'see ya' later," I said, waving, then laughed and added, "Or I guess I won't be seeing you later."

Walking around in the brisk air, I started feeling better, so I went to the diner on the corner and had a breakfast of scrambled eggs and dry wheat toast, which was all I could stomach.

I didn't feel sleazy, just a little mischievous and almost proud of myself in a weird way. I thought, he was a nice guy---not my type, but a nice guy---and that was more fun than going home alone and crying myself to sleep. I walked back to the apartment feeling bouncy for a change.

My roommate, Joan, was sitting in the living room smoking a cigarette, which made me queasy again. Even before she said anything I could tell she was mad by the way her mouth was set. I sat down on the chair across from her and picked up a section of last week's newspaper that was still on the floor.

"You had some guy here last night, didn't you?? she said.

"Yeah,?

"Who was he??

"Just some guy I met at the Blue Bird."

She let this hang a minute and then said, 'that's not cool, bringing strange men back here. He could have been a weirdo, and I have to think about my own safety."

"Oh, come on, Joan, get off your high horse," I snapped. "Just last month you brought some guy back here. Remember? The one that tried to fuck you in the ass."

'that was different. My friends were here from out of town sleeping in the living room, so he wouldn't have started any trouble."

"You're right, I'm sorry," I said, not wanting to argue about it. "It was wrong and I promise I'll never do anything like that again. I was just lonely. Besides, he was a nice guy. I could tell."

"You were drunk."

I sat there pretending to look through the paper while she fumed. Then Joan reached down and picked something white off the floor and said, "It looks like your friend left something." She held out at arms length between thumb and finger a pair of men's white briefs. Then she screamed, "Oh my God!" and twirled the underwear around so I could see the butt---it had a big red-brown stain!

"It looks like your 'boyfriend' was bleeding from his asshole. How do you feel now??

I felt like I was going to vomit.

"You fucked some guy who was bleeding from his asshole," she added.

I thought, oh my God I fucked some guy who was bleeding from his asshole. This is really, really bad. Then I remembered something, and cracked up: I had knocked over the bottle of wine when we were on the floor and sopped it up with his underwear.

"It's all right," I said. "It's just wine."

"Wine? Not my bottle of wine??

"I thought it was "our? bottle of wine."

'that was a very expensive and special bottle of wine my friend gave me from her family's vineyard."

"I'm sorry," I said. There was no point in trying to defend myself: I really shouldn't have drunk it. "I'm really sorry. I'll buy you another bottle to replace it."

But she wouldn't let up, she just kept harping on it.

"You can't because it's from her family's private vineyard. I can't believe you would just take it."

Then I had an inspiration. "I'll give you $25, all right? But if you take the money I don't want to hear about any of this any more. That's part of the deal."

I knew Joan was hard up because she'd already borrowed $200 from me that I didn't want to lend her. Joan spent too much money on cocaine on the weekends and it irritated me that she was so irresponsible.

"OK,? said Joan. "But give me the money now."

So I went and got my purse and gave her the cash.  ##  

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