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2009-06-23 01:19:29

Creative Writing

It’s the dark corner of the bar and I’m sitting on a stool next to my wingman Stevie who’s on another, shorter stool, texting somebody, probably Breanne, who hasn’t called him in a week and he’s pissed. We’re trying to keep cool because the girls in here are tramped out tonight. He finishes his message then picks up his empty Corona bottle and nods at me. I slide my empty back at him and he nods again before heading ot the bar.

As Stevie slumps off his stool I flip open my cellphone; the constant glow is a nice change from those annoying lights that flash along with the annoying music. I missed a call, which pisses me off. It’s from Kyle, and I know he’s not coming, which sucks because he is way better at backing me up that Stevie. I’d listen to the message, but that goddamn annoying music is too loud. I don’t even know why I came here with Stevie; this isn’t the place to pick-up girls. At least Stevie is buying drinks. At least.

I lower my head, thinking of Christine. She had been so sweet, but she was too damn clingy - she wouldn’t have let me go out with Stevie without crying first - so I let her go. I wish I hadn’t, because even though I didn’t think so at the time, she had been so incredibly hot in bet; she was a total freak when it was just the two of us.

I start feeling a little bit guilty because Christine had been a really liberated person in private, and part of me faulted her for being so prudish with her public persona. I often though about how unexciting she was, just because she projected this school teacher thing whenever we were out. Thing is, Christine had been a school teacher and it was probably hard for her to cut lose because her public image actually mattered to her profession. Then there’s the whole slut thing. Girls aren’t really allowed to be slutty in public without getting branded, and really, it isn’t fair.

Stevie comes by and drops a beer off for me, and then wanders away as if he knows that he’s a lousy wingman. He heads for the washroom, probably to send Breanne a pathetic text or two. Who am I kidding, I would have sent Christine one of I hadn’t noticed the girl on the couch.

I notice this girl, sitting on one of the couches by the fake fireplace, and she’s just sitting there touching herself. I watch for a moment, half in disbelief, and realize that she is totally rubbing her breast. I am fascinated that this chick really doesn’t care if she does that somewhere public, when my ex wouldn’t even let me kiss her neck when we were out. Then this girl, right on cue, opens her eyes and totally catches me staring so I do my damnedest to crack a smile and not totally puss out. When she actually smiles back I figure that this is my best chance in a place like this. Actually, I figure that if this girl is willing to smile at someone she caught staring at her, she might be pretty cool (a definite change from Christine). I slide off my stool and walk over, without a wingman, because, frankly, all Stevie ever does is stare like a creep and clumsily cockblock.

As I get closer I can see that her t-shirt is lined with little skulls, just like mine.

“Hey,” I say playfully. I offer her a hand. “I’m Brad. What’s your name, dollface?”

“Angelina,” she says, smiling. I am surprised that I actually have a good feeling about someone I am meeting in a place with strobe lights and a fake fireplace. I sit down next to her, sinking in to the deep, leather couch.

“That’s a nice name,” I says. That’s pretty much the dumbest thing I could’ve said, but I’m not used to talking to girls without backup. Thankfully I don’t blank out completely. “Hey, we could be another Brad-gelina.”

“Yep,” she says, dispassionately, and I realize that that wasn’t quite the catchphrase - but I can’t remember the right one. That’s strike two, I guess.

“Can I call you Angel?” I ask. I guess if I can’t be witty I better just flatter her. If this turns into strike three I am straight up fucked.

“Um,” she says, looking surprised “If you want to.”

Well, I guess she hasn’t heard that before, amazingly. “So what do you do, Angel?”

“I work at a clothing store downtown”. That catches me a little short, especially because she’s just wearing a t-shirt at a club. That’s what Christine did and she’d never go out with less than a couple hundred bucks worth of cloth on her.

“Oh yeah,” I say, not letting on that I am suddenly reminded of tearing off Christine’s expensive clothes. “My ex used to work at a clothing store.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, unengaged. I get it: I am being completely indirect and kind of a pussy. This girl really doesn’t want to hear about my ex. I haven’t even told her what I do (but then, being a poor student tends to send women running).

“You know, you have really beautiful eyes, Angel,” I resort to flattery. I need to turn this around. Fast!

She thanks me, miraculously. I had actually expected her to snicker at how clumsy I was. I don’t really know what to do; she’s still talking to me despite my failure as a conversationalist. She must like something about me but I can’t figure out what it is. I need backup, even if it’s only Stevie.

“Why don’t you and your girlfriend come sit with me and my buddies?” I say, as confidently as I can. I realize, as this lame invitation slips out, that this is just like me saying ‘hey, I am totally unconfident right now, so could we go somewhere where I have backup?’.

“No,” I say, “that’s okay.” She obviously saw through my tactic, and now figures, I don’t know, that pinning me here would be more fun than giving me a break. I still can’t figure out what it is that she is into about me. “We’re just about to leave, anyway,” she says, and I feel totally relieved. Not only is there a perfectly good reason for why she doesn’t want to sit with Stevie and me, but I can just give her my number and stop looking like an idiot.

Just then, though, her friend shows up with a few Heinekens and hands Angel one. “Oh, just about to leave, eh?” I slip in, hoping she’ll at least keep talking to me for during her last beer.

“We’re leaving after these,” she says, noncommittally. I figure that this isn’t going anywhere if I keep playing it cool so I slide my arm behind her, along the back of the couch, so I at least look confident.

Sylvia sits down, looks at me, then at Angel, then at me again. I hate it when the hens come and block the cocks on ‘behalf’ of their friends. If a girl isn’t interested, she’ll say so herself, right, it is the twenty first century. I don’t get why women do this to each other; I personally threaten to rip out Stevie’s throat every time he interrupts something like this.

Incredibly, the friends says “I’ll leave you two alone”. She then gets up and leaves, and as she does, my jaw drops and a dumb smile hits me. I can’t actually believe how this night is turning out.

“So,” I say, trying to mask my dumb astonishment

“So,” she says, mirroring me encouragingly.

The music’s been turned down, but I wish it hadn’t been. Normally, I can use body language to let a girl know what’s up, but now I have to keep talking and I am, obviously, pretty bad at that. Before I can make any more stupid dialogue Angel’s head hits my arm. I am surprised, at first, that she turned my lame attempt to put my arm around her into actual contact; when she turns and looks into my eyes I really start to feel done for. She obviously likes something about me, but I have no idea what it is. I’ve already used up my rations of smiles, so I desperately wink to say that its cool that she lay back. I figure that this is it, this is where she’s going to decide whether or not I am serious about this. She smiles back, and I relax a little. This is ok. I can do this.

Slowly, as calmly and cooly as I can, I lean in and starts kissing her neck. If I was really confident, I would have just kissed her mouth, but at least I’m not making more, stupid conversation. She lets out a throaty little laugh. Heartened, I ask her if she likes that and try to move n a little more. I put my hand on her knee and actually feel like I’ve accomplished a little.

I’m praying right now, pretty damn hard, that Stevie doesn’t walk up and ask some total jerk-off question. I feel like I passed her friend’s scrutiny, but I still worry about mine. I guess it isn’t just girls that screw each other over in this game. I get out of my head for a sec and realise that she’s still into this and suddenly all my apprehension is lifted. I don’t need to do this right now, I mean, even if Stevie came up and said the dumbest thing in the world I would still be able to get this girls number. I’ve never actually felt this hot before, I mean, this girl is so into me she doesn’t care who can see us. I get so turned on I actually moan a little too. I tell myself that this is ok because she started it with that cute little laugh earlier.

I decide to teak a break and reassess this situation. I really want to kiss Angel, but I’m not confident enough to just go for it so I look to her for an idea of where she is at. For all I know she’s a little drunk and not really into all this, but as soon as we look at each other we each reach for our beers, consenting to the ridiculous orgy of cheesy lights and lame ambience and drunken assholes around us. I feel synchronised right now, so I actually find myself possessed of enough courage to lift her chin an kiss her. Man is this sexy, the way she actually kisses back makes me feel like a stud for a sec. I allow myself a moment of pride and congratulate myself on actually having balls.

We talk for a little while, just small talk, and I keep dancing away from being a student. I tell her about the construction work I do part time, and the raises I keeps getting, and the cars he used to own. I feel like I am bragging, and I guess I am because I am still not totally sure how I managed to kiss this really awesome girl. I asks her what clothing store she works at, and when she says some place that doesn’t sound as pretentious as Christine’s boutique I breathe a sigh of relief. I look around to make sure Stevie isn’t about to fuck things up, and then I look back at her and decide to fill in the silence with some more necking. I realize that taking a step back after kissing her is a totally gay thing to do, so I move my hand higher up her thigh. Girls put so much pressure on guys to initiate everything.

I go for it, and decide that if she’s into me, then I have nothing to lose. I don’t know what she thinks is so cool about me, and it’s really torturing me, but I need to just bury my insecurity and show her that I’m a man. I move my hand farther up her thigh and caress her as best I can, though my hands are shaking a little. She seems to be into this, so I decide to see just how cool she is with this exhibitionist stuff. I move right up under her skirt and run my finger along her thigh and panties, and now I am a total rockstar. We’re actually fooling around in a club, something I’ve never done before, and she’s into it right up until I fuck up and tug at her hair a little. All she says is “Watch out,” and I am totally relieved. If she wasn’t into this, that would have been a prefect out for her, and it would have been my fault for not being gentle, but she is really down.

She isn’t just into letting me do this either; she actually slides down a little and spreads herself to help me out. I wasn’t actually bold enough to just start fingering her, but she is asking me too now, and Ironically, I am uncomfortable now. There’s kinky and then there’s lewd conduct, but I suppose there aren’t any cops in here. I guess this is another test, and if I puss out she’ll know that I’m a total poser. I go along with it and start babbling useless shit to cover up my shyness.

She it totally wet when I brush her panties aside, and she lets me in smoothly. She must have gotten herself really hot earlier, fondling herself, and she is obviously looking to finish what she started. I suddenly forget my uneasiness and just go for it. “Oh yeah” I say, as I continue giving her the happy ending ot the play she started earlier.

She now takes my beer from me and puts my hand on her breast, the one she was fondling, and I try to rub it the way she was, but it is such an awkward angle I just back off. Besides, she is moaning gently from the fingering I’m giving her, so I just stick with that and keep saying pithy, yet encouraging things.

I almost feel like I’m in a dream. I relax and just breath, sensuously, onto her neck. If she’s into my hand than I’ll just focus on that. I stop talking because, seriously, how long can I say ‘oh yeah’ and ‘you like that’ without feeling like a porn-star. I feel so good - relaxed, sexy, wanted - that I almost begin dreaming, but I hang on to how awesome this Angel girl is. I don’t even mind that I’m not getting off. I actually figure the tough thing to do would be to give her my number and not try to get back to her place tonight. Then she’ll be the one wanting me next time we see each other.

Her friend comes back - fuck! - and she is forced to end things rather abruptly. At least I can see that she has some limits with this whole exhibitionism thing. I sit up and try to act as cool as possible, asking for my beer instead of looking at her. I don’t actually know if her friend saw what was up, but I figure if Angel wanted to call it quits in front of her, I should play dumb. I play with my phone and try to resist asking Angel for her number in front of the hen.

Suddenly, the two of them get up in unison, sling their purses and make to leave. I can’t remember if I was going to ask for her number or give her mine, and I’m not even sure she’s ok with me doing that in front of the friend. I go to say something, I’m not sure what, probably something dumb like ‘do you come here often’, when she cuts me off and says “See ya, Brad. It was nice meeting you”. I am dumbfounded at her word choice ‘Nice meeting you’ is hardly congruent with /thanks for going out on a limb and helping me finish off in a public place,’ but I guess she’s being cool now too. I smile, hoping to show her that I get that she’s being polite in front of the other chick, but I don’t know how to get her number with the momma-hen watching.

And then it’s over. The lights are up, the music is down, and people are leaving. I fucked up. I stood there so long trying to figure out how to slyly ask for her number that her friend has already rushed her out, and away from me. What a fucking douchebag. I pussied out and now I don’t even have a last name to facebook her with. What the fuck is wrong with me; I finally meet someone who is cool with their body and their sexuality, and isn’t obsessed with haute-coteur, and is sexy and ... goddamnit!

Stevie walks up and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Dope,” he says, creepily as I suddenly realise that although he didn’t cockblock me, he was probably watching the whole thing. I feel bad for Angel - knowing that me creepy-ass friend was watching what we had there, on the couch.

“Who’s the ass,” he asks.

“Fuck you,” I say, half in indignation, and half in frustration for being a retard at this shit.

“Thanks for the beer,” I add, apologetically.

Once we hit the street we begin marching back to his car, my pace shuffling and defeated, his cocky and smug. “You totally struck out, huh? That girl was way cooler than Christine”. He stops and looks at me. “Where you gonna find another piece of ass like that?”

I put my finger to my nose and inhale deeply, noticing how much this girl smelled like Christine, but reflecting on how differently I felt tonight, “Guess not.”

* This story is a re imagining of one of Hogan's stories. I offer full credit to Hogan for the concept and most of the writing.



2009-06-23 06:17:36

Good work, Jackson. I have some stuff to say but no time to say it right now. Will inform...



2009-06-25 04:12:21

I can't help but just sit back and laugh...



2009-06-25 13:20:20

Thank you - though you do not provide me with enough information to know why you are laughing, I am happy to create laughter

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