“Does it bother you,” I asked him, “the thought that another guy is now this very moment kissing her or even doing more?”
“I don’t really think about it.” Richard said.
Richard had an arrangement with his ex-girlfriend. He had gone out with her for five years but now they were broken up. But whenever he was back in Boston, she’d move out of her current boyfriend’s house and spend the week with Richard. Then Richard would come back to Pittsburgh and she’d go back to her current boyfriend. Her current boyfriend was okay with the whole thing.
“But I don’t understand,” I said, “she’d be with you and you’d even be inside of her and the very day before some other guy was inside of her. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Well,” Richard said, “I guess it does a little.”
“Like, literally, some guy’s penis was inside of her and was coming inside of her within twenty four hours of you coming inside of her. Sort of like a farewell sex before she had to go over to your place. And she was all excited for him while he was inside of her. That would have to bother you a little?”
“Yeah,” Richard said, “that would bother me.”
“Would she have orgasms with you or would she just save that for the other guy?”
The lights were out while we were talking. I could barely make out the outline of Richard’s face. Suddenly the woman sitting in front of us in the movie theater turned around and yelled really loud:
“WHO THE FUCK CARES!”
Wow, I said to Richard later, some people are really rude.
A girl I was going out with told me a story. Her best friend, Beth, had just gotten married. Beth and her new husband had gone to Hawaii for the wedding and honeymoon. They were having a great time. Hawaii is beautiful, it was romantic, the food was great, the dancing was great and lots of activities during the day.
One day they went scuba diving. It should be noted that Beth looked great in a bikini.
The scuba diving was over and they were walking back to the hotel. Beth said to her new husband. “Shit, I forgot my thermos on the boat.” Her husband said, ok, I’ll see you back at the hotel. Hurry up.
So Beth went back on the boat, in her bikini. And got her thermos.
And had sex with the scuba diving instructor.
“Wow,” I said to the girl that told me the story, “that really bothers me.”
“Listen,” she said, “I have to go. There’s a dinner planned.”
It was four in the morning. I was walking up and down the streets of Soho talking to her on the phone. She was in Hawaii, having just been in the wedding party of her friend, Beth. I couldn’t sleep at all that night.
Ezo was a professional madam from Liberia. She was also a regular on a popular radio show and lived right next door to me in the somewhat decadent building I was living in. Girls were all the time going in and out of her apartment to be “interviewed”.
One girl would look beautiful to me but Ezo said the girl was too fat for her clients. Ezo was gay and most girls would have sex with Ezo first before she would hire them to be prostitutes. “I can hook you up with a girl,” she would always tell me. We spoke almost every day. “No thanks,” I said, “A) all of these girls have diseases. B) why would I want to be with someone who is having sex with dozens of guys a week. C) Most of these girls don’t even like guys. D) why would I want to pay for sex?”
“You think you can get a pretty girl like one of these girls by yourself?” Ezo said. “Not a chance. These are the best girls in the world. This is your only way to do it.” Which further convinced me I didn’t want to do it.
One girl was particularly beautiful. Venus. “I charge $5000 an hour for her. And then she gets big tips on top of that. She has a boyfriend,” Ezo told me.
“Why doesn’t her boyfriend mind what she does for a living?”
“She just bought him a boat,” Ezo said, “do you think he asks any questions?”
When Ezo was finally arrested they found $215,000 cash in her apartment according to the NY Post, $619,000 in bank accounts, and a “70,000 limo”. Last I heard she was living in a mansion in Liberia and she was going to marry the son of the President of Liberia.
[Note: all names and countries were changed]
I like to listen to music when I write. I put on headphones so I don’t bother Claudia in the next room. I tend to listen to the same song over and over. Yesterday it was “This is not a love song” by Nouvelle Vague. I was thinking of listening to that song again.
When I sat down to write this morning, Claudia said to me, “are you going to listen to music? Because I can still hear it through the headphones.”
“I won’t listen to anything,” I said.
“Good,” she said, “because the rain outside sounds so nice and I want to listen to it and stay downstairs.”
So I’m not listening to music this morning. It’s not worth it. The world is a scary place. And I don’t want to scare her away.
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