Cheap Date

I know the answer is no. That’s okay; I’m used to rejection. I wouldn’t know what to do with a cunt anymore. I never did. Hand me your wife swollen of blood and soaking wet. It would take a calculus to get me hard, a village to plug it in, and a miracle to make her cum. To think I was once 18 and in love.

I haven’t aged well. Greasy blackheads pit my nose like a circus peanut. My brows are too bushy, my beard too mangy. Little hairs have sprouted on my ears. And I seem to have more forehead than face. Goddamn, I’m absolutely unfuckable. I feel sorry for any woman who would settle for me.

It’s getting late, huh? Yeah, I suppose. Actually, no, don’t leave just yet. Better the dance floor than my empty bed. I’m not even tired and I don’t have any weed. I’m not drunk enough to dance, but I’m already here.

Relax. Have a good time. Do the hokey pokey. That’s what it’s all about. What the fuck’s the matter with you? You have got to get your shit together. Tonight’s your night, you fucking faggot ass idiot. Jesus cocksucking Christ, just make it happen for once.

I bobbed my head and tried not to look desperate. Glued to the gloriole of televisions above the bar, I tried to look way too good for this stupid shit. Yeah, I’m just passing through, babe. Do you come here often? Not me: I’m really something else.

Fuckin’ a, dude. I couldn’t help but leer at every blue blonde on the floor. My eyes followed them like a haunted painting. They didn’t seem to notice me.

They probably have boyfriends. Whether an imaginary boyfriend or boyfriend material, a crazy ex-boyfriend or a boyfriend boyfriend, women always have a boyfriend.

I backed against a wall and crossed my arms. I couldn’t have looked like fun, but I didn’t care. What a waste of time. Should have stayed home and beat my cock.

I gazed into the crowd and accidentally locked eyes with a sister. I quick looked away. But she was watching me. Dumbstruck, I looked around and pointed at myself. She nodded. The crowd parted as she waded toward me.

“I been wantin’ to talk to you,” she slurred. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

We both acted surprised.

“Do you stay around here?”

“What?”

“Where do you live?”

“I don’t live around here.”

“How did you get here?”

“Say what? Sorry, I’m deaf in this ear.”

“I said how did you get here?”

“I drove.”

“Okay. Cheers.”

She bonked her cocktail against my empty High Life and knocked back. I faked a swig.

“Do you party?”

“Sure.”

“Do you do ecstasy, coke? Do you smoke weed?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s have some fun.”

She looped an arm through mine and lurched toward the exit.

“Are you parked nearby? I’m wearing heels.”

***

My date waved down a cab.

“You got money to pay for this, right?”

“Yeah.”

I held the door. My date tumbled inside, ducked down, and immediately cut a rail of coke in her palm.

“Here’s yours, baby.”

She tried to airplane the rail up my nose, but I shooed her hand. I was afraid our cabbie might squeal.

“Oh shit,” she muttered. “You’re gonna do some coke once we get back to your car, right? You’re sure?”

“Yes.” I wrapped an arm around her waist. “Now finish your rail.”

***

I owed our cabbie four dollars plus change. I threw him a 20 for his trouble. My date made a face.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you, giving that man so much money? You’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m a generous man!”

“You’re too fucking generous. Let’s do some coke.”

I insisted my date ration no more than a bump. I eat lunch with Gramma and Grampa on Sundays, so I didn’t want to show up all tweaked out and sleepless. My date pouted.

“I thought you were cool. I thought you wanted to have fun!”

I shrugged. She seemed scared.

“How do I know you’re not a cop?”

“Because I’m not!”

“Hold up, I have to piss.”

My date rolled up her little black dress and squatted in a gutter. I handed her a dirty napkin so she could clean up.

“So how do I know you’re not a cop?”

I presented my license and the breathalyzer wired to my ignition. And I hadn’t said shit while she powdered her nose and pissed all over creation. But my date wasn’t convinced.

“You need to go to an ATM and take out ten dollars to prove you’re cool.”

I gasped. She expected me to accept upwards of seven dollars in fees to prove that I’m a civilian. I stammered and shook my fists, growing red in the face. Her eyes widened.

“I’m a working girl!”

Shit. I should have known. I’ve always been second banana and third wheel, rebound and last resort. But I’ve never been a john. It’s about time.

I slapped a wad of cash on the dashboard.

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s a hundred for a suck and fuck.”

I handed her five twenties. I didn’t even want to fuck. I just wanted to prove I’m not a cop. The working girl calmed down. She didn’t smile, but she seemed happy. I finally hunched over and snorted my bump.

“Thank you. Wow! This is good coke! You don’t by chance have any ketamine, do you?”

“What’s that?”

I smiled.

“You know, horse tranquilizers.”

“Tranquilizers? What the fuck are you talking about, tranquilizers? You had better not be no crazy motherfucker! I’m gonna get my mace out—”

“What? You’re going to mace me? You’re going to fucking mace me? Look, I’m not a cop and I’m not crazy!”

“You’re snorting tranquilizers. Shit they give to animals. You better stop before you fuck yourself up. That’s from one person to another.”

Her phone jangled once, twice, three times, but the working girl didn’t answer.

“Look, I just want to suck and fuck you, baby.”

“But not here, not in the car—”

“Yeahyeah, in the car! Do you have condoms?”

“No—”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t have a lot of sex!”

“Then why would you fuck up a chance to get some?”

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t you rather we head back to your place? Do some drugs, hang out?”

I imagined the both of us cuddled under a heavy comforter, snorting coke and watching Netflix. We would stay up all night and get to know each other. I’d give her a kiss on the cheek and smack her ass on my way out the door, friend her on Facebook and take her bowling next weekend. Take things real slow.

“Yeah we’ll do that, do you have condoms?”

“No. Let’s at least go someplace more secluded—”

“Why are you so paranoid? You had better not be insane!”

Christ. I’m neither a playboy nor a pastor nor a father nor a thug. I ain’t shit. Not much more than flesh and blood. And I’m high as fuck, so I’m as good as dead. There’s nothing to worry about.

I checked out her legs. Her plush thighs reminded me of waffle cones.

“Can I touch your thighs?”

“You can touch whatever you want, baby.”

I grabbed awkward handfuls of firm fat. Silver stretchmarks glittered like shattered glass between my fingers. The working girl squirmed. I felt like a cop and a rapist.

I let go and unbuckled my belt. The working girl immediately seized my crotch.

“You don’t have to undo your pants, baby, I can do it for you!”

The working girl split my fly and peeled back my boxers. My cock lay crumpled in a bush of snarled pubes. A pearl of pre-cum crowned its head like a dunce cap. She tried to resuscitate the idiot, but her phone jangled again. This time, she answered.

“We need to pick up my sister. The bitch is so goddamn stupid. But first things first—”

The working girl slurped my lifeless cock. I dipped my fingers in her greasy weave and tried to relax. My palpitant heart had scrambled my guts. I figured my appendix would burst sooner than my cock.

My ex is probably fast asleep in the arms of someone new. I would pay 100 bucks to fuck my ex again, but I would pay a fortune to relive our doomed love.

I glimpsed headlights in my rearview and freaked. Every car looks like a cop in the dark. The working girl snapped upright and fixed her hair as I hit the gas. It wasn’t a cop, but I drove back to the bar and parked beside a fire hydrant. Noisy drunks swarmed the sidewalks. Cops paced the street on horseback.

“I’m gonna go get this stupid bitch, I’ll be right back. Don’t tell her we did coke; she’ll be mad.”

I watched the working girl vanish into the crowd. I was eager to meet her sister. Maybe I would meet her parents, too. Maybe we would marry. She wouldn’t have to slang pussy anymore and I wouldn’t have to prowl dance floors anymore. We would stay home and watch Netflix.

I absently checked my pockets. All my money was gone. I searched the console, the floor, under the seat. What the fuck. She robbed me.

I got out of my car and circled the block. I was still high, but I didn’t feel good. There were no stars out; only cops and drunks. I slouched on the curb and stared at a pile of horse shit in the street. It had the dull shine of a magic eight ball.

What the fuck’s the matter with me?

I don’t understand. I’m a cheap date.

Let’s write our names in wet cement and sneak into the zoo. Sunbathe until the sun sets and stare at the moon until we go blind. Get up-down drunk at Pegasus and eat spumoni while Seinfeld reruns spray canned laughter like champagne. Take a six-pack by the train tracks and break their necks with rocks. Peel away our Band-Aids and chase each other through clotheslines of bed sheets. Escape over the edge of the world, our belongings stuffed in pillowcases.

It’s a bit much to ask someone to love you. I’m just a stray looking for a shady place to die, that’s all.