Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 20.
A Man Thing. About an hour after Cammy ran back into the theatre we were done shooting for the day, and about a half hour after that, Parp and I were in a bar. Her ass is almost perfect, Parp said when I told him about Cammy in the con frame. Nope, I said.
It is perfect. There was this long pause while he stared at me and shook his head, Parp was drinking soda water. Me? Blood-wising.
It's the King of Beers. How can you look at that ass and not be tempted to put your tongue in it? Yes. It's ass.
QED. I said. While you're thinking about putting your tongue up at Chick's ass, I think most men are thinking about putting their cocks up. You know?
Cock. It's a man thing. So you're going to disappoint her in the rim job department? I don't know.
Maybe if she really wants it and she's really made me come hard. Maybe then Daddy can butt die. Daddy? What?
She should pretend I'm 30? I swallowed suds. He gave me a look. Don't give me that look.
You think you're better than me because you like the taste of ass? Yes. I'll let it be here noted that the blonde chick with the perfect ass for inter-content me, not you. In fact, the only time your name came up was when she said she thought you might be gay.
Fuck that. Why? She didn't say. I put it down to the no-cock for ladies if I, you give off.
They get the sense that you're all faced and no dick and the next thing you know, the phrase, probable pansy is crossing their minds. I bet you eat con only grudgingly, he said. Not grudgingly. I definitely do it to be polite, sometimes with gratitude if she's already blown me.
It's an exchange. A kind of mercantilism. That's what's so great about genitals, I said. When you bang those up against each other, it's a win-win.
You're both there for the feeling. But, con-alingas? Not so much. It's more like a reward for a job well done.
Blow me slow. I'll eat you slow. Give me egg beater head. I'll give you a quick peck on the cliff.
So you're saying you're never crave eating a cunt? You never see your chicks leg slightly open to think you'd love to have that muff grinding off in your mouth? I get cackled. Of course not.
I look over at the bartender to see if I might be getting some moral support from him. You know, a roll of the eyes or a little laugh to show park that yes, he is the freak. Not me. But the bartender was down at the other end of the bar leaning on it on his elbows talking to some brunette who brought her baby in with her for Christ's sake.
The bartender seemed happy. Maybe it was his wife and kid. Maybe she didn't make him watch while she gave birth to it. Maybe he doesn't have those images in his head when it comes time to baller.
See that? I crave eating cunt horse shit is worse shit. I said, I don't think anyone actually likes the taste of cunt. I think you maybe tell yourself you do to make having to eat it less of a chore.
But you don't actually like it. Think about it. A disembodied cunt. Any old cunt.
It appears in front of you. You want to eat it? No, it definitely has to be embodied. And the body has to be pretty nice.
So you would agree it's not like craving a steak. No, but it's still craving. I had to have a smoke. We took our drinks outside and I lit up.
Let me put a tea like this. After you French cunt sucked a clip and so on. Don't you run in and take a shower? At least wash your face real good?
Nope. Sometimes I like to leave it on all day. I get cackled. He's serious.
I said, I like to give the girl a piece of cloth to soak in the juice so I can carry it around and take hits off it throughout the day. Oh yeah? I call bullshit. Call whatever you want.
You fucking freak. I said, I get cackled and took a drag off the dying cigarette. So I guess by extension, you're saying no woman really likes the taste of cock. He said, by extension of what?
By extension of the argument. The reasoning. The eating cunt is a favor you do. A given thing.
I'm not making this up kids. He said, thing. See when I put up with it's like having a friend who says nigger. He said, no man likes the taste of cunt.
Ergo. No woman likes the taste of cock. I lit up another one and took that first or just puff. I wouldn't know that far.
I said, he seemed surprised. It's different with chicks and dicks. It's that whole penis envy thing and the whole human phallus fascination. You're kidding.
Nope. See, I wouldn't expect you to understand this. You live in this good and evil black and white symmetrical world and reality isn't always that cut and dry. It's more nuanced.
It doesn't follow it because all men are genetically revolted by the taste of snatch that all women hate the taste of dick. There's the whole psychology and anthropology thing you have to think about. So you're saying that when you eat a woman out, you're doing her a favor, but when she sucks your cock, you're just giving her what she wants. It's psychology and anthropology, I said again.
I might have been getting a little peeved here. There are certain things you're supposed to know as grownups. You're supposed to read certain books, magazines. When people don't read those things then what, it's up to me to fill them in on all the wise.
Come on. You know what I mean. It's psychology and anthropology. I'm supposed to give par but crash course in both right now on a sidewalk outside a bar because he doesn't know about women in penis.
You have to know that there are women who believe the exact opposite. He said, there are women who are convinced that men think eating them is the main event and that no woman really craves the taste of dick. They are the female pals. The Paulines.
The Paulines, I said, are dikes. We went back into the bar and parked got a Coke Zero. I got to see Paulie girl. Hey Tony, I said at the bar.
I got a big favor to ask. What? You got to let me come to the shoot tomorrow. So come.
But I have to have something to do. Be part of the scene. I can't just be hanging around for her. You know how that would look.
Like you want a fucker as much as you want a fucker. I don't want her to think that though. I want her to have the idea that hey, I'm getting plenty, but I'm always willing to try out a rookie. Okay, then show up.
There'll be plenty to do. Hey, you know what? In fact, you could get the coffee and donuts for breakfast. Then breakfast is over and why am I there?
You can be a driver. Not enough. I said, I can't just be lugging stuff. I can't be in a position where I could conceivably get yelled at and have to take it.
I should be in a position where I could conceivably yell at someone and they should have. You want to be a producer? That, I said, would be righteous. I sweet some girl.
Me, producer. I should have thought of that before when I was fighting with the junior. I got a go-hun. I'm a producer.
Okay, well, producers generally make more of an investment. He said, I know, but this isn't really being a producer. I kind of chop it. It isn't.
Come on. I said, you mean that to be a producer on this? I have to put money in it? You could donate your actor time.
How about that? Give me the check you get from Sagin a few days and we'll call you a producer. Can't do that. I said, I gotta bring that check home.
Junior knows I got this gig and she's gonna expect that check. You know, we're trying to raise a family here. Park just sipped this coke. He couldn't give a fuck about my family.
And besides, I said, getting that check is such a sense of validation for me. You know, it makes me feel like I'm really doing what I said I would do when I grew up. I really need that check. Having to explain all this was starting to annoy me.
I mean, I'm his friend for Christ's sake. He can't just tell people I'm a producer so I can look good for a chick. I want a fuck. Asshole.
Okay. He said, what do you want to do? What do I want to do? Fucking fuck face to the fuckhead.
I want you to tell people I'm a producer shit. See, she knows you're an actor already. He said, so what's she going to think you're a producer who acts an actor who produces? Why weren't you a producer today?
How am I going to work? FYI, Paul's a producer into the conversation. You don't think Bobby's gonna want to see your investment something tangible? My side.
Fair point. I said, we sucked drinking silence for a while. By the way, Cameron may be somebody you can get work from. He said, eventually.
I get cackled. Sure. Can't be the employer. Boss, can't stop.
She's the artistic director of the milestone theater company. They're doing a staged reading of Democracy My Ass in about six weeks. If the company likes the reading, they'll probably mount the full production this summer. And Cameron is the artistic director?
Yep. She knows literature and shit. I looked back on it. She really didn't seem like an artistic director.
Her ass is super tight, but she almost never sits on it. Plus, she wants a rim job. I'll have to be careful not to seem condescending. I said, shit, she was talking over your head all afternoon.
Yeah, right. Like you were there. I did cackled. But it was a forced kid cackled.
I was thinking two things at that moment. First, part is always putting me down like that. Like I'm stupid or something. And I'm this far from telling him that I think it's uncalled for.
And second, what if she was talking over my head? What if that whole riff on my laugh had references to pop culture or a new play and I just didn't know and now she's pretty sure I'm stupid or square? Oh yeah? I said?
So what about the photographer and you? Belinda. He said. Bet she wasn't talking over your head, huh?
Eh? Eh. Yeah, she's a babe, but she was just taking pictures. You didn't hire her for the bendover potential?
I mean, did you see that waist-to-ass ratio? You should see her with her pants down, Parp said. And he gave me this little grin that makes you want to bash out his teeth. I was crest-fawning.
Lord of all tail hates hearing this shit. Sure, you fucked her, I thought quickly. But she hadn't met me yet. If she'd seen me first then shit.
We- She's naked on the internet, Parp said. You fucked a naked internet chick. Relax, cunt master. I didn't fuck anybody.
I just saw her naked on the internet. That's how I found her. She has this photo blog and she poses naked for it. Sexy.
What a relief. This has nothing to do with my droughts seeing your complex. I lied. I was just interested because hey, she has this nice big butt.
It's on the internet. It's a big one, alright? Can you send me the link? He hesitated.
And he made one of those faces like an exaggerated wince that said, Oh shit, I really don't want to. What's the problem I asked? It's a naked chick on the internet. You're sharing with your butt.
I might even get interested in the blog part of it. Okay, look, I'll send you the link, but like, don't send it to anyone else in the shoot or tell anybody what I just said, alright? Seems a little paranoid. I don't want it to get back to her.
I hired her for the photography and I don't want her thinking that I'm gonna be going around telling my buds where they can go to see her butt crack. That might make her think she's here because she's a novelty instead of a, you know, colleague. Yeah, I guess I get it. Tell me you'll keep it a secret, okay?
It's safe with me. I said, so what about the producer thing? What about it? You can't just say I'm a producer, huh?
Nope, he said. There are real producers on that set, you know? People who are investing in the project, mostly time, but a couple put money in too. What do I tell them that you're a producer because you really want to impress somebody so she'll be easier to fuck?
Fuck that, I said. Why do you have to tell them anything? Because they'll ask, wouldn't you? If you were kicking in something in exchange for a producer credit and somebody else was getting the credit just because they were my chum, wouldn't you want to know what the reason was?
But isn't like I want a final credit or anything? I said, I just want to be, you know, call the producer for a day. I mean, how is that gonna hurt anything? Producer for a day?
Look, he said, he was getting steamed, which was starting to get me steamed. I mean, I'm asking for a tiny favor here and after I gave up a day with my family so I could be a fucking walk on in his dinky little video. You want to be called a producer because it's a big deal and it will impress Cameron. Well, if it wasn't a big deal, it wouldn't impress her, right?
I feamed. The bartender wandered close and had an ear cut. I could tell he was pretending to be checking out the stack of checks at the cash register, but I knew he was listening in. Right?
Parpass again? Fuck! I said, I just want a tiny favor and you're gonna make me do what? Beg for it?
We're done talking, he said. He stood up, threw some bills on the bar and walked out. The bartender walked and looked at me. While in the little fight, ain't he?
He asked. Tell me about it, I said. 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, copyright 2013 to 2015 by Dan Wrench.