Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 83 Hollywood When I met Parpett Starbucks, I was gigcackling a stream of gigcackles to help hide any residual signs of my recent suspicion he'd been busy fffing my babe. He laughed along with me even though I still owed him my producer money from hat.
He didn't bring it up. That was so yesterday. I mean, was I really going to pay him for a producer's credit I didn't need now? Hey, Paul, I brought you something.
He said with this big grin. He opened his moleskine notebook. It had this little pocket in the back cover like a kangaroos pouch or an envelope with no flap. He reached into this pocket and took out a piece of aluminum foil attached to a bubble made of see-through plastic.
Sitting inside the bubble was a little golden pill. Corvafill. He said. Corvafill is a prescription heart on pill.
It stays in your system for three days so conceivably I could take it now and have a guaranteed boner for tonight. But I don't really need this. I said, I've been doing the Kegels and I'm all stocked up on St. Billy's Bouns.
Plus, I've been rehearsing with Fat Fern for two weeks. What if, just bear in mind that most people who use it don't actually need it. Most people use it because it really, really feels good and why risk losing a heart on when you don't have to. He had a point.
It was fuck. It was fun. Heart ons are damn fun. Cool, I said.
I took the packet from him and put it in the top pocket of my cargo shorts. He leaned in. Here's what you do. He said.
First you orgasm. Then you take the pill. Now you've got a hard cock and nothing too unload. A Hollywood hard on.
You'll be fucking her all night. Hollywood? A Hollywood hard on. Yeah.
He said. Double-headed like a Hollywood nail. Hollywood nails are used by stage crews to hammer set pieces together. The nail has two heads so you can sink the nail only to the bottom head when you're hammering it in.
Then when you have to strike the set, you pry the nail out by the top head. Super easy. Harplined back again and stretched. I thought, yay, yay, you creep.
We all see your big fucking arms. He was wearing a compression fit t-shirt that was mostly read with patches of gray. Same stupid jeans. Red tinted shades.
Same stupid hair. Hollywood, huh? I said. Two-headed hard on.
What a concept. He just looked at me. Then he smiled. Sort of your favorite deity.
Right? That second he was thinking. Do what you want with your little cock toy. In a few months, your wife is going to eat my drill while we laugh about your cargo shorts.
Hey, part by said calmly because back then I didn't know he had his eye on my wife's ass. What did he do about birth control? Use condoms? I thought of asectomy when I was 25.
He said. I didn't expect to hear that. Wow, I said. Remember Sandy McLuhan?
She volunteered to marry me if I didn't pass the psych exam. You have to pass in New York if you're unmarried and under 30 and want to get snipped. I did remember Sandy McLuhan. Fantastic rack and a tight little ass.
Part moved in with her for about a year so he could bend her over every day without buying her dinner first. There was this black guy from Italy named Paolo who had really short bandy legs so he was practically a midget. He used to hang around us because he had an incredible crush on Sandy. He kept asking Parp if he could come over sometime and fuck her.
Parp said something like, it's okay with me if it's okay with Sandy and Sandy ended up blowing the guy once or twice I think. Anyway, after an indefinite number of blowjobs, Paolo got really attached to Sandy and started going over to Parp's apartment almost every night to cry because Sandy wouldn't keep blowing him. Then one day he confronted her on the street and called her a whore in a really loud voice. Followed her to the gym and everything.
She called the cops on him and ended up having to get a restraining order. Poor guy. Unrequited obsession. Sandy McLuhan.
I knew she was almost Parp's wife of convenience. So you've never had to worry about pricking a bitch? Oh yeah, he said. When I was under 25 I thought about it all the time.
Who's going to come knocking on my door with a little bundle of my ruined future inner arms? That's why I got the Vazek for me. And you've never regretted it. Nope.
Not even a little. Nope. So I guess you don't envy me my two boys. I get cackled.
The boys are great but nope. Fuck him. He wouldn't admit he envied me if I was ass pounding a porn star. But still, I was a little impressed about the Vazek to me if it was true.
You never know what's parp though. He could be lying about it just to make himself look special. I mean who goes and gets his scrotum slice when he's 25 unless his doctor first diagnoses him with phase 4 ball teeth? What about STDs?
You're worried about getting an STD from Cameron? Shouldn't I be worried on principle? Nah, parp said. That's just the Puritans getting at you through the back door.
If they could they'd ban all sex. Righty thinks sex is for procreation and Lefty thinks it's exploitation. You want us all wearing raincoats in the sunshine to prove our obedience. So you're saying I shouldn't wear a condom?
You should definitely wear a condom. You've got that whole birth control thing to worry about. Remember Mr. Sperm?
Suddenly I made up my mind to buy some condoms just in case the subject came up later in the hotel. Then me and parp split? Huh. I wonder if my wife brought up anything about STDs before she started swallowing his plow.
Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side. Happy rate 2021 by Dan Rench.