Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 22. The Problem with Party Girls.
After Part's Hizzy Fit in the Bar, I finished my St. Poly girl and ordered another. I just didn't want to go home to the world of wife, kids, and no chance for fresh snatch. I just didn't want to.
I was savoring my freedom, now that I think of it. I don't think the word savoring has enough tension in it to describe what was making my hand shake. I wanted fresh snatch, and hanging there alone in a midtown bar meant that technically I still had a shot at it. But nothing happened.
I didn't even chat with anyone. Saturday night, but still too early for any real action, and I had a busted catch. I walked up town and west a few blocks. I didn't want to take the chance that anyone in my new world would see me getting on a bus.
And when it came, I got on fast. It was crowded, but nobody bugged me. I looked out the window in this way that's a universal sign to New Yorkers that you're not available for chatting. You know, you're not really seeing the sights or anything, but you're in your own world and you'd like to keep it that way.
Only New Yorkers respect that. Usually. But every now and then you get some urban Andy of Mayberry who thinks mass transit is a hayride and everybody's there to say howdy, and eat salami in front of strangers. New Yorkers have a codeword to identify a person like that.
That codeword is... asshole. There weren't many assholes riding with me that night, so I got to have my thoughts all to myself. Mainly my brain was just a gigantic support system for my cock feeding me fresh images of cambi bent over with my cock and her cumb lips.
Cambi, on her knees with my dick and her mouth. Cambi, trembling a little while I rubbed the hot lube into her asshole. Cambi, you get the picture. Sorry if that montage lacks poetry ladies, but in case you didn't know it already, there are no pictures of sunsets in the male libido.
But even in that condition, and I guess you could call it fever, I knew that I had to get my head back into Junior World Junior to spend the day chucky cheese with the boys. She'd done it the whole time, resenting me and wishing she was off with sugas burino traipsing around town and complaining about the male monopoly on penises. So Junior was going to be pissed. And if I was all head in the clouds over some chick who wants me to see her with her pants off, well Junior had radar for that.
Maybe all chicks do. But once I let Junior get a whiff of it, she'd be on me till I confessed to something believable that she could get on the phone and cry to her old man about. Keeping her in the dark meant I would have to be real careful about making sure I gave her all of the details about the day except for the details humbling with the fucking noise. I decided that I would make my encounter with Bang Springfield larger.
Gee hun, I met this really funny guy. He's a stand up comic, it's fighters, etc. I was also thinking about those last few seconds of cami. I wasn't sure we parted on the highest note we could have.
I think it's because she didn't laugh when I said that thing about me being able to picture part with a big black dick in his face. I mean, she didn't laugh at all. Not even politely. So what was she thinking?
She pretty much split right after I said that, did she think I was a racist or something? And then there was part. I was going to have to call him up tonight and be all self-deprecating and pretending I'm sorry I offended him by asking him for a friendly favor that didn't cost him anything. I really hate that.
The pretending to be all chasin'ed like a dog smashed on the nose with a roll of newspaper. But I had to do it because I didn't have any other way of getting to see Cami the next day and I was pretty sure if I could see her then we could at least work a blowjob into it. Maybe I could even get her to bend over in a bathroom stall or something. And no, I couldn't just leave it up to contacting her on her number or email on the contact list.
Like I told Parp, I couldn't have her thinking that I was thinking about her this much after encountering her for what, a half hour? 45 minutes? I wanted her to think I could get asked any time I wanted it but because I'd taken this shine to her I'd be willing to work her into the rotation. And I also knew there was a chance that Cami was just bluing my balls for the afternoon.
You know, to feed her own ego. Chicks do that. It's like they don't want to actually get fucked. They just want to know they could get fucked so they'll have more confidence the next time they get in a fight with the boyfriend or so they can come harder when they masturbate.
I'm not saying all chicks do that but I'm definitely saying most chicks do it. You chicks? You know you're busted. You know I'm right.
Don't write your little exclamation marks in the margin. Just move along. Once, about 25 years ago, I spent the summer in the Berkshires acting at this place called the Lost Rustic's Summer Theater and there was this chick with a coffee-dared grin and a tight little athlete's ass and this short kind of page-boy hair so you could really see yourself sucking the back of her neck. She was flirting with me, man.
I thought I was going to pop in my pants. She was word fucking me so hard. But I had to go back home to the other side of Massachusetts for two days before we could get anything done sex-wise. I had to finish painting my mom's house.
Maybe you think I was pissed off? I really wasn't. I was still in college and my mom said she'd let me have her car for the summer if I finished painting her house and that was a pretty good deal. But getting on into the second day I was sitting there on the ladder with white primer all over my pants and all I could think about was how I had this babe in the Berkshires all primed for a pound.
It was agony. So I went back without actually finishing my mom's house. I did most of it. I mean I did the most important part the part people could see from the road.
Then I split early in the morning on day three while my mom was still in bed snoozing. Yeah. She was disappointed and it was a pretty shitty thing to do but I was young and there was a cunt with my name on it so I got in my mom's car and drove. When I got back to the Berkshires I was looking for her and thinking about this fantastic summer of fuck I was in for when she comes stumbling out of this dorm.
The theater was on the campus of some little college clothes for the summer. Drunk at like eleven in the morning with her arm around the waist of this fat fuck with a little goatee and a t-shirt with the word alcoholic written on it next to this picture of a cross-eyed guy with a wacky grin. I'm watching this and I'm thinking party girl. I like a party girl.
I was pretty sure she didn't hook up with this guy for the whole summer and well she had to be thinking about me. She met me. I turned her on. I couldn't pay attention to her for a couple days but hey now I was back.
So she walks past me with this guy and I'm like smiling at her and she's laughing her ass off till she gets right up to me and then she looks at me and looking at her and she sees me smiling and she says, what are you so happy about? And she and this guy laugh like their side kicks in a road movie and they just keep walking past. So I felt the usual trifecta of emotions, stupidity for sneaking out of my mom's house and driving for hours with ass on the brain, blue balled disappointment that the sudden evaporation of said ass and anger at the twat for being so stupid about it. Really I wanted to find her and argue with her about it.
I mean it to me, babe, about Bali along and strong. It was before I started seeing a shrink so I didn't know about my problem yet. A couple days later one of the wealthy locals who was the main contributor to the summer theater through this big party at her house. She was this 45 year old divorce chick who every summer had a new harem of 20 and 30-something men she tried to seduce.
She was pretty frustrated that summer because look, she was dumpy. 45 can be hot if you stay on the treadmill and do your squats and lunges but dumpy 45 is like banging your aunt. Anyway, so this rich dumpy 45 year old slut wannabe throws this party and we all go. And by the time I get there my would be summer babies already there and all drunk again and I noticed that she and these other actresses are standing around in the kitchen part of the party area and they're like laughing to each other whenever I get like close.
And then this one time when I go up to the fridge for a screwed Julius, it's an orange Julius with vodka kids. She gets all silent and then she mutters something I can't hear and they all start giggling. I kind of sculked away. But this guy, the guy she was fucking a few days before the fat fuck with Goti, now he's pissed at her for fucking some other guy.
So he sees me sculk away and he tells me to get some balls and go over and confront her. I like that guy. I can't remember his name but after I realized she fucked him over too, we had kind of a St. Patico go.
Anyway, I took his advice and walked over and said what up Moira? Yeah, her name was Moira. Funny how that shit comes back to you. And she said I don't have a crush on you.
And I said shit you don't. And she said I don't have a crush on you. So stop acting like it. Okay.
You can stop acting like you think I want to fuck you. Wow. I said all the chicks got really quiet like they were waiting to see what I would come back with. That was a possible thing I could do to her right when everyone was expecting you to crack snide.
I played the mature card. Oh shit babe. I said with a voice all low and adult. I really didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable tonight.
There were a couple giggles from the on looking babes where they stopped fast when I didn't crack a smile. I just stared at Moira. Caring. Fuck you.
She said then she kind of jerked herself away from the counter she was leaning on and stumbled away into another part of the party. Oh shit. I sighed sort of to myself like I really did give a gnat-stick crank about her feelings. Don't worry about it.
One of the other chicks Rita said. She's been fucked up since last Wednesday. That night I fucked Rita and pretty much had her for the whole summer. So on the bus ride home from day one of shooting Little Round Jewish Hat I knew even though I really wanted to screw the brains out of this gammy chick I knew there was a good chance she was just going to flake on me the next day.
That's why it's never good as a rule to give a chicken night to think about it. Oh yeah that guy who told me to go confront Moira that night the guy with the little goatee. I just remembered his name was Chet. If it wasn't for him I might have ended up being just this joke that chicks laughed at all summer and I probably never would have nailed Rita.
So Chet if you're reading this? Thanks dude. 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 2013-2015 by Dan Rench.