Fuck, she thought. I only have four cigarettes left, and it's just Sunday morning. 2 am, Sunday morning, for a more annoying clarification. How are these supposed to last? At least it won't kill me to run out of cigarettes, literally. She's supposed to quit smoking, soon, but that's a hollow promise, as it is with all chain-smokers, who are so unable to control their substances, both licit and illicit. It's also a hollow promise to her friends, who've watched her quit, numerous times, even give away packs of cigarettes, then, not able to finish them, but days later out to buy a fresh pack. And it's never "now"; It's always "soon".
Her boyfriend didn't know how to comprehend this, also. He smoked as well, and now had to decide whether he should quit, so he could be supportive to her, so it wouldn't tempt her, and so perhaps he could do himself a little good to his health. She never asked him to quit as well, or quit with her. She didn't want to impede. But really, she did long for that; for good health, for her boyfriend to stay with her, and for the two to live long and healthy lives together. She realised the risk she's put herself in with every drag of the cigarette that she's taken, the momentous times she's had with her boyfriend, which so happened to involve a plethora of substance use, and finally realised what it would take to stop.
She pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and dragged.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
AI: Fantasies Revisited
I had trouble waking up the next morning. My damn alarm clock went off, in which I hid it in my closet, in an attempt to get me up to turn it off. It didn’t work. It never does. I slept through that at eight. Nine, my cell phone alarm went off. Didn’t work. Finally, ten-thirty, my watch alarm goes off. I finally realize that if I want to meet with my AI, I need to get out of bed. I was hungry, but wouldn’t have time to get any breakfast. Shit. I probably didn’t have time to shower either. I got fresh pants, and ditched my shitty and ripped khakis pants for a favorite pair of jeans. The types of jeans that are tight, but not too tight, yet give a bit of a bulge in the crotch. I pulled those on, not even bothering to change boxers, put on deodorant, or a shirt. I grabbed all of my useless composition papers, and busted ass to the restroom to take a piss.
I finally make it outside, forgetting where I parked my bike the evening before. I always fucking forget where I put my bike, and it’s embarrassing, looking for it. I find it, after two minutes of searching. It was near the loading docks. Two dormitory employees are smoking there. Can’t they ever be yelled at? I resent that I’m always yelled at by dormitory employees not to smoke anywhere besides the smoker’s tables.
I put on some music, some more Quantic Soul Orchestra, and bike off. Groovy, funky beats suddenly gave the university more diversity and wisdom, as though it were the 1960s in Harlem. It was a nice conception for a bike ride, and it was cool outside at least, and the breeze felt fantastic riding along 10th street. I debated as to whether I still had any active THC in my body. I also had no idea where this damn building is that I’m to meet with my AI in… I find an obscure street. From what I remember on the campus map, the building was on an obscure street. So really, I know nothing about this street. I take it anyways, and I suddenly begin to think about the AI. I can’t believe I get to meet with her. Alone. How wondrously terrible.
I found the correct building, and locked up my bike with my terribly impromptu bike lock, and hurried inside. It was 11:05, so I was five minutes late. So many damn stairs, I was out of breath by the time I made it to her floor. This was an old dormitory: These “offices” are just old dorm rooms. Are there beds in here? That would make things much more comfortable. I come up to the AI, at her desk, reading a novel. Her office is so bland, and didn’t include more than the desk she was sitting at, and a wall mirror to her right.
“Hey” I simply say.
“Oh hey Addison.” She says, putting down her book, “I guess none of the others are showing up.”
“Sorry, what others?”
“The other students in your group.” I forgot about this. We were alone. What could that equate to? She’s so cute. Today she’s wearing black. Black blouse, black pants. Yet, that same white-laced bra. It was adorable. A sweet spot of remnant THC kicked in just then. Those are a rarity, but always appreciated, particularly now in such a precarious situation. That we were alone did make me rather nervous, and it probably showed. The AI asked, “So it’s just you and me huh?”
Her figure was stunning. Freckles all over her body. Precious breasts, and supple, with the perfect pink-colored nipples. She’s slim, but she has that sexually attractive bulge in her belly, characterizing of a female, since they’re genetically fatter than men. Ah, and she even shaves! Wasn’t expecting that from an English AI… Her genitals were just as petite as her breasts were. Cleanly shaven, her labia creased so perfectly and symmetrically, hiding all that a man could ever desire. It was slightly pink in color. Maybe irritation from shaving? Or is it natural?
I’m a spectator, in that same chair, gazing.
“Wait, should we be doing this?” I asked, surprised that I said anything at all, rather. I can’t say I was too concerned about other intrusions onto our promiscuous sexual encounter, really.
“Don’t worry, this building is so desolate. No one ever comes up here.” The AI explains, removing her shoes.
She runs over to me, climbs on me, so that her forelegs are resting upon my forelegs, and proceeds to kiss me. She had that same lipstick on. It was so sticky, transferring from her lips to mine. She tasted of cherry. I adored to taste her because of that. I placed both of my hands on her breasts, and caressed. She grabbed for my penis. I was still dressed, but she was able to find my infinitely hardening penis. I felt flushed. She unzipped my pants, and pulled out my penis. My eagerly awaiting penis, and caresses it, masturbating it. She sits on me, holding onto my penis, and inserts it in her vagina. How sweet. I put my arms around her, and hold tightly, as we proceed to fuck, in a glorious manner. The door was open, but this place was deserted. No one would ever know.
Admittedly, I found this odd that something as absurd as an AI fucking one of their students could come true. The AI vocalized, and I couldn’t help but vocalize myself.
“God damn, this is wonderful. I’m finally deflowering you!” I panted. My resentment of the English AI suddenly came to life: I could have my way with this young woman.
“Oh come on Addison! Haven’t you ever put out before? Did you know that it’s rude to come before the girl does?” she taunts me. Oh man, taunting was literally dirty. I liked it though, so I continued the trend:
“Oh shut the fuck up! I watch plenty of porno, and I could outdo any guy from any movie.”
“Oh my. Well can you make me come then? No one else ever really does…”
“Absolutely.”
The AI gets off of me, and beckons me to get out of the chair, and she sits on top of her desk, spreading her legs wide open, presenting herself to me.
My penis feels so sweet now, ready to come. I penetrate her again, right on her desk. I don’t want to come though. Not yet, I want to appreciate the moment, taking full advantage of the AI that I loved and loathed. I wanted to deflower her, so badly. I was about to come. I said to her, “I want to deflower you so badly!” I penetrated her... I…
“What?” she asks? I was sitting in that same chair, with the AI reading over my essay. Both of us are still clothed, though I have a massive erection. None of that just happened, yet again. “You want to deflower me??’ she asks.
“Oh. Uh…” I stumble in my thoughts. Think Addison! Think! “I said I need to use the restroom, if that’s ok with you.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah that’s fine. Hurry back.”
“Ok.” I go to the restroom, and finish off in the stall.
I finally make it outside, forgetting where I parked my bike the evening before. I always fucking forget where I put my bike, and it’s embarrassing, looking for it. I find it, after two minutes of searching. It was near the loading docks. Two dormitory employees are smoking there. Can’t they ever be yelled at? I resent that I’m always yelled at by dormitory employees not to smoke anywhere besides the smoker’s tables.
I put on some music, some more Quantic Soul Orchestra, and bike off. Groovy, funky beats suddenly gave the university more diversity and wisdom, as though it were the 1960s in Harlem. It was a nice conception for a bike ride, and it was cool outside at least, and the breeze felt fantastic riding along 10th street. I debated as to whether I still had any active THC in my body. I also had no idea where this damn building is that I’m to meet with my AI in… I find an obscure street. From what I remember on the campus map, the building was on an obscure street. So really, I know nothing about this street. I take it anyways, and I suddenly begin to think about the AI. I can’t believe I get to meet with her. Alone. How wondrously terrible.
I found the correct building, and locked up my bike with my terribly impromptu bike lock, and hurried inside. It was 11:05, so I was five minutes late. So many damn stairs, I was out of breath by the time I made it to her floor. This was an old dormitory: These “offices” are just old dorm rooms. Are there beds in here? That would make things much more comfortable. I come up to the AI, at her desk, reading a novel. Her office is so bland, and didn’t include more than the desk she was sitting at, and a wall mirror to her right.
“Hey” I simply say.
“Oh hey Addison.” She says, putting down her book, “I guess none of the others are showing up.”
“Sorry, what others?”
“The other students in your group.” I forgot about this. We were alone. What could that equate to? She’s so cute. Today she’s wearing black. Black blouse, black pants. Yet, that same white-laced bra. It was adorable. A sweet spot of remnant THC kicked in just then. Those are a rarity, but always appreciated, particularly now in such a precarious situation. That we were alone did make me rather nervous, and it probably showed. The AI asked, “So it’s just you and me huh?”
Her figure was stunning. Freckles all over her body. Precious breasts, and supple, with the perfect pink-colored nipples. She’s slim, but she has that sexually attractive bulge in her belly, characterizing of a female, since they’re genetically fatter than men. Ah, and she even shaves! Wasn’t expecting that from an English AI… Her genitals were just as petite as her breasts were. Cleanly shaven, her labia creased so perfectly and symmetrically, hiding all that a man could ever desire. It was slightly pink in color. Maybe irritation from shaving? Or is it natural?
I’m a spectator, in that same chair, gazing.
“Wait, should we be doing this?” I asked, surprised that I said anything at all, rather. I can’t say I was too concerned about other intrusions onto our promiscuous sexual encounter, really.
“Don’t worry, this building is so desolate. No one ever comes up here.” The AI explains, removing her shoes.
She runs over to me, climbs on me, so that her forelegs are resting upon my forelegs, and proceeds to kiss me. She had that same lipstick on. It was so sticky, transferring from her lips to mine. She tasted of cherry. I adored to taste her because of that. I placed both of my hands on her breasts, and caressed. She grabbed for my penis. I was still dressed, but she was able to find my infinitely hardening penis. I felt flushed. She unzipped my pants, and pulled out my penis. My eagerly awaiting penis, and caresses it, masturbating it. She sits on me, holding onto my penis, and inserts it in her vagina. How sweet. I put my arms around her, and hold tightly, as we proceed to fuck, in a glorious manner. The door was open, but this place was deserted. No one would ever know.
Admittedly, I found this odd that something as absurd as an AI fucking one of their students could come true. The AI vocalized, and I couldn’t help but vocalize myself.
“God damn, this is wonderful. I’m finally deflowering you!” I panted. My resentment of the English AI suddenly came to life: I could have my way with this young woman.
“Oh come on Addison! Haven’t you ever put out before? Did you know that it’s rude to come before the girl does?” she taunts me. Oh man, taunting was literally dirty. I liked it though, so I continued the trend:
“Oh shut the fuck up! I watch plenty of porno, and I could outdo any guy from any movie.”
“Oh my. Well can you make me come then? No one else ever really does…”
“Absolutely.”
The AI gets off of me, and beckons me to get out of the chair, and she sits on top of her desk, spreading her legs wide open, presenting herself to me.
My penis feels so sweet now, ready to come. I penetrate her again, right on her desk. I don’t want to come though. Not yet, I want to appreciate the moment, taking full advantage of the AI that I loved and loathed. I wanted to deflower her, so badly. I was about to come. I said to her, “I want to deflower you so badly!” I penetrated her... I…
“What?” she asks? I was sitting in that same chair, with the AI reading over my essay. Both of us are still clothed, though I have a massive erection. None of that just happened, yet again. “You want to deflower me??’ she asks.
“Oh. Uh…” I stumble in my thoughts. Think Addison! Think! “I said I need to use the restroom, if that’s ok with you.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah that’s fine. Hurry back.”
“Ok.” I go to the restroom, and finish off in the stall.
AI: Dubious Evening Adventures
It had gotten substantially colder, so I put the hood of my sweatshirt on, fearing and loathing of the coming winter months. I loved the sweatshirt. I’ve had it since my freshman year of high school, and it never fails to serve its purpose of keeping me warm on an autumn evening. We’re confined to these annoying smoker’s tables, and aren’t allowed to smoke elsewhere, or dormitory staff will get shitty with us, and probably write us up. Obviously it would be worse with weed. So I proceed to the smoker’s tables. By tables, I mean a single table, which is raunchy, and has a terrible and distinctive odor of burnt, stale tobacco, as no one ever bothers to dispose of their cigarettes properly, thus the table is covered in ashes, butts, etc. I hate this, so much, and yet even I’m guilty of ashing my cigarettes on the table, usually because I’m inebriated. I see Luke and Matt seated at the table, talking to each other. Luke is packing his piece.
“Yo dudes.” I say.
“Hey Addison.” Matt replies. I grab a seat, filling the table so that none of us are sitting directly next to each other.
“You finish your Finite?” Luke asks.
“Hell no.” I sarcastically insinuate in a positive tone. “I wonder if I can finish it afterwards…”
“Yeah, sure, man.” Matt chuckles, “What are you smoking?”
“Oh, they’re cloves. Want one? Luke, you want one?”
“Oh man, are those blacks? Man those are blacks. I can’t smoke that shit. They’re so bad for you.” He proceeds to start his own cigarette, a Marlboro Blend No. 27.
“Oh Matt, you’re so conscious about your health…” I sarcastically joke.
Matt declines my offer, but Luke eagerly accepts. It IS his weed…
Luke finishes packing, and lights up. Flick, flick, and then a flame. I smell it, that familiar and warming odor of a plant. An illegal plant. Its scent made me long for it. It was such a gracious thing as well, since it was Luke’s piece and weed.
“Matt…Matt” Luke calls out, attempting to hand the piece over to him. Matt takes it: Flick, flick, and then a flame. Smelling it was intoxicating. I smelled the cold, clean air, comparing it to the warmth and aroma of the burning substance. She was so sweet.
“Addison.” I look up, and Matt is passing it to me. It’s warm to touch, and quite appealing to hold. Flick, flick, and then a flame. I inhale, bathing the weed in my flame, sucking up every last part of it. My throat hurt. I was probably getting sick. It burned, from the sheer amount of weed that I inhaled. I tasted the weed in my mouth. So familiar, and so friendly.
I lost track of time afterwards. It was probably 11:30 when I got out there. I checked my watch again, and it was 2:30. The three of us had proceeded to share three bowls together, but with an asinine amount of interruptions, ranging from students who were not very friendly to the users of marijuana, to students who simply mooched without ever chipping in elsewhere. At one point, I had grown so accustomed to the scent of weed, and it just absolutely dazzled me to smell honey, and clove. Oh right, I had given Luke another clove. I couldn’t help but think of such a scent, as though it were like Honey Nut Cheerios, though for careless adults. When Matt would smoke a regular cigarette, I couldn’t help but feel old and dirty, like the conception that I made of the elderly who would smoke. Maybe it was just that his cigarettes weren’t distinctively flavored as mine were. I wasn’t enjoying the cold. That I only had a sweatshirt bothered me to no end. Shit! I had to meet with my AI tomorrow at 11am to discuss a paper that was due the following week. If I ever wanted to function tomorrow, I had to go to bed now. I bade farewell to Luke and Matt, and thanking Luke for smoking me out, and went back inside. I wasn’t even tired, so perhaps this was just asinine to smoke late in the evening, only to plan to sleep immediately afterwards.
“Yo dudes.” I say.
“Hey Addison.” Matt replies. I grab a seat, filling the table so that none of us are sitting directly next to each other.
“You finish your Finite?” Luke asks.
“Hell no.” I sarcastically insinuate in a positive tone. “I wonder if I can finish it afterwards…”
“Yeah, sure, man.” Matt chuckles, “What are you smoking?”
“Oh, they’re cloves. Want one? Luke, you want one?”
“Oh man, are those blacks? Man those are blacks. I can’t smoke that shit. They’re so bad for you.” He proceeds to start his own cigarette, a Marlboro Blend No. 27.
“Oh Matt, you’re so conscious about your health…” I sarcastically joke.
Matt declines my offer, but Luke eagerly accepts. It IS his weed…
Luke finishes packing, and lights up. Flick, flick, and then a flame. I smell it, that familiar and warming odor of a plant. An illegal plant. Its scent made me long for it. It was such a gracious thing as well, since it was Luke’s piece and weed.
“Matt…Matt” Luke calls out, attempting to hand the piece over to him. Matt takes it: Flick, flick, and then a flame. Smelling it was intoxicating. I smelled the cold, clean air, comparing it to the warmth and aroma of the burning substance. She was so sweet.
“Addison.” I look up, and Matt is passing it to me. It’s warm to touch, and quite appealing to hold. Flick, flick, and then a flame. I inhale, bathing the weed in my flame, sucking up every last part of it. My throat hurt. I was probably getting sick. It burned, from the sheer amount of weed that I inhaled. I tasted the weed in my mouth. So familiar, and so friendly.
I lost track of time afterwards. It was probably 11:30 when I got out there. I checked my watch again, and it was 2:30. The three of us had proceeded to share three bowls together, but with an asinine amount of interruptions, ranging from students who were not very friendly to the users of marijuana, to students who simply mooched without ever chipping in elsewhere. At one point, I had grown so accustomed to the scent of weed, and it just absolutely dazzled me to smell honey, and clove. Oh right, I had given Luke another clove. I couldn’t help but think of such a scent, as though it were like Honey Nut Cheerios, though for careless adults. When Matt would smoke a regular cigarette, I couldn’t help but feel old and dirty, like the conception that I made of the elderly who would smoke. Maybe it was just that his cigarettes weren’t distinctively flavored as mine were. I wasn’t enjoying the cold. That I only had a sweatshirt bothered me to no end. Shit! I had to meet with my AI tomorrow at 11am to discuss a paper that was due the following week. If I ever wanted to function tomorrow, I had to go to bed now. I bade farewell to Luke and Matt, and thanking Luke for smoking me out, and went back inside. I wasn’t even tired, so perhaps this was just asinine to smoke late in the evening, only to plan to sleep immediately afterwards.
AI: Fantasies
So what else is planned for this evening? Tonight is Thursday, equating to ‘Thirsty Thursday’, in which I can drink myself perhaps to some new and terrible low. Or maybe I can just drink a little, and attempt to do homework, and then fall asleep. Or maybe I can stay sober and be a “student” for once this semester. I had recently acquired a bottle of bourbon; Unfortunately terrible, terrible bourbon. I can live with smoking extravagantly and drinking unscrupulously though. I decided to ride back to my dorm.
Ah but then there’s that AI. She was so gorgeous. Suddenly I could conceive taking full advantage of her, reaping the benefits of her lush and underdeveloped body. She’s wild for me and she’s frisky. Her hair is a total mess. She’s thrown her glasses to the floor, and with out further delay she undresses, panting, hungry and desperate for sex. Her figure was stunning. Freckles all over her body. Precious breasts, and supple, with the perfect pink-colored nipples. She’s slim, but she has a sexually attractive bulge in her belly, characterizing of a female, since they’re genetically fatter than men. Ah, and she even shaves! Wasn’t expecting that from an English AI… Her labia were just as petite as her breasts were. Cleanly shaven, her labia creased so perfectly and symmetrically, hiding all that I could ever desire. It was slightly pink in color. Maybe irritation from shaving? Or is it natural?
I’m a spectator, in a chair, gazing. She runs over to me, climbs on me, so that her forelegs are resting upon my forelegs, and proceeds to kiss me. She had lipstick on. It was so sticky, transferring from her lips to mine. She tasted of cherry. I placed both of my hands on her breasts, and caressed. I felt cold, and she was so warm to touch. She grabbed for my penis. I was still dressed, but she was able to find my infinitely hardening penis. I felt flushed. She unzipped my pants, and…
I was standing outside of my dorm room, unlocking the door. The AI isn’t on top of me. I’m not enjoying every second of this like I wish I was. I was just outside of my dorm. So none of this happened. Shit. Fucking shit. Now I have the wildest inclination to at least download some porn. I was suddenly feeling very sexually deprived, and yet I probably masturbated earlier in the day. But sexual deprivation is old news. I cannot attest to any sort of sexual escapade, or any legitimate relationship with a girl. I held a relationship with a girl in my freshman year of high school for a mere month, hence why I don’t consider it to be legitimate. So what’s the significance now if I’m fantasizing to get fucked by my English AI? I’m not entirely sure, I guess.
Suddenly I hear music emitting from my room. Shit. The roommate is in, and listening to bad music. So I can’t even stay even if I won’t go jerk off to some porn.
“Hey Evan.” I say.
“Hey.” he replies. It’s not like we hated each other, or I would hope. Evan is too boring for my tastes. He only hangs out with his girlfriend, who he’ll never fuck until he marries her. Seems like a waste, too. Andy lives in a single, and they could easily fuck, and I be it’d be grand for them. They should live a little, and scrap the Bible rhetoric bullshit. I can’t say I ever had a thing for Andy. She’s awkward to talk to when I run into her, yet I can have a normal conversation with anyone else, even Evan! She obviously has innocence, but she fails to appeal, sexually.
I guess it would be the lounge for me this evening. I get my laptop, and one of my water bottles from the fridge, which was a mix of bourbon and coke, and huddled to the lounge. A sole occupant occupied the lounge: Luke. He was a good guy. We take a single class together.
“Yo, Luke.”
“Hey man, what are you up to?”
“Ugh, Finite homework this evening. But it’s not English homework, surprisingly.”
“Heh. Yeah…I’m going to smoke in like thirty minutes. Wanna come?”
Smoke weed? When I should be doing finite homework? I shouldn’t even be concerned that I’m justifying this. I can always try my homework tomorrow, but I can’t just freely smoke weed tomorrow, in the open daylight.
“Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” I finally said. At least until then, I can do some finite homework, and I’ll probably, keyword: probably, work on it after I smoke. But first, there’s an email in my inbox. Steven Sewell sent me a message on Facebook. God damned Facebook. He always messages me on Facebook, over frivolous annoyances of his, and I just can’t ever get empathetic towards him. This time he’s whining to me about Sarah Palin. Bah whatever. I won’t even reply.
Finite turns out to be a disaster. I couldn’t pay attention the other day, partly because I had other homework to work on, like study for another exam. I wondrously prepared for that exam, and failed it. I go back to Facebook, and check up on Jeff and DJ, who are rooming together out of state, both on scholarships. I wonder how they’re doing…
Luke had left quite a while ago, I realized. I had two tabs in my browser open, one to the horrible university website to which I was to do my homework on, and the other, Facebook. I wasn’t even logged in to the university website. Luke pops his head back in the door. “I’m gonna smoke now.” He quickly says. I need to loosen up. I’m too uptight, on caffeine and nicotine. Surprise, surprise.
I pack all of my belongings, which at that point included my laptop, calculator, water bottle, headphones, etc. I stuff it all in my room, just saying “Hey” to Jeff again. I grab a lighter and my cloves, and hurry outside.
Ah but then there’s that AI. She was so gorgeous. Suddenly I could conceive taking full advantage of her, reaping the benefits of her lush and underdeveloped body. She’s wild for me and she’s frisky. Her hair is a total mess. She’s thrown her glasses to the floor, and with out further delay she undresses, panting, hungry and desperate for sex. Her figure was stunning. Freckles all over her body. Precious breasts, and supple, with the perfect pink-colored nipples. She’s slim, but she has a sexually attractive bulge in her belly, characterizing of a female, since they’re genetically fatter than men. Ah, and she even shaves! Wasn’t expecting that from an English AI… Her labia were just as petite as her breasts were. Cleanly shaven, her labia creased so perfectly and symmetrically, hiding all that I could ever desire. It was slightly pink in color. Maybe irritation from shaving? Or is it natural?
I’m a spectator, in a chair, gazing. She runs over to me, climbs on me, so that her forelegs are resting upon my forelegs, and proceeds to kiss me. She had lipstick on. It was so sticky, transferring from her lips to mine. She tasted of cherry. I placed both of my hands on her breasts, and caressed. I felt cold, and she was so warm to touch. She grabbed for my penis. I was still dressed, but she was able to find my infinitely hardening penis. I felt flushed. She unzipped my pants, and…
I was standing outside of my dorm room, unlocking the door. The AI isn’t on top of me. I’m not enjoying every second of this like I wish I was. I was just outside of my dorm. So none of this happened. Shit. Fucking shit. Now I have the wildest inclination to at least download some porn. I was suddenly feeling very sexually deprived, and yet I probably masturbated earlier in the day. But sexual deprivation is old news. I cannot attest to any sort of sexual escapade, or any legitimate relationship with a girl. I held a relationship with a girl in my freshman year of high school for a mere month, hence why I don’t consider it to be legitimate. So what’s the significance now if I’m fantasizing to get fucked by my English AI? I’m not entirely sure, I guess.
Suddenly I hear music emitting from my room. Shit. The roommate is in, and listening to bad music. So I can’t even stay even if I won’t go jerk off to some porn.
“Hey Evan.” I say.
“Hey.” he replies. It’s not like we hated each other, or I would hope. Evan is too boring for my tastes. He only hangs out with his girlfriend, who he’ll never fuck until he marries her. Seems like a waste, too. Andy lives in a single, and they could easily fuck, and I be it’d be grand for them. They should live a little, and scrap the Bible rhetoric bullshit. I can’t say I ever had a thing for Andy. She’s awkward to talk to when I run into her, yet I can have a normal conversation with anyone else, even Evan! She obviously has innocence, but she fails to appeal, sexually.
I guess it would be the lounge for me this evening. I get my laptop, and one of my water bottles from the fridge, which was a mix of bourbon and coke, and huddled to the lounge. A sole occupant occupied the lounge: Luke. He was a good guy. We take a single class together.
“Yo, Luke.”
“Hey man, what are you up to?”
“Ugh, Finite homework this evening. But it’s not English homework, surprisingly.”
“Heh. Yeah…I’m going to smoke in like thirty minutes. Wanna come?”
Smoke weed? When I should be doing finite homework? I shouldn’t even be concerned that I’m justifying this. I can always try my homework tomorrow, but I can’t just freely smoke weed tomorrow, in the open daylight.
“Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” I finally said. At least until then, I can do some finite homework, and I’ll probably, keyword: probably, work on it after I smoke. But first, there’s an email in my inbox. Steven Sewell sent me a message on Facebook. God damned Facebook. He always messages me on Facebook, over frivolous annoyances of his, and I just can’t ever get empathetic towards him. This time he’s whining to me about Sarah Palin. Bah whatever. I won’t even reply.
Finite turns out to be a disaster. I couldn’t pay attention the other day, partly because I had other homework to work on, like study for another exam. I wondrously prepared for that exam, and failed it. I go back to Facebook, and check up on Jeff and DJ, who are rooming together out of state, both on scholarships. I wonder how they’re doing…
Luke had left quite a while ago, I realized. I had two tabs in my browser open, one to the horrible university website to which I was to do my homework on, and the other, Facebook. I wasn’t even logged in to the university website. Luke pops his head back in the door. “I’m gonna smoke now.” He quickly says. I need to loosen up. I’m too uptight, on caffeine and nicotine. Surprise, surprise.
I pack all of my belongings, which at that point included my laptop, calculator, water bottle, headphones, etc. I stuff it all in my room, just saying “Hey” to Jeff again. I grab a lighter and my cloves, and hurry outside.
AI: Colleen
My other back pocket began to vibrate. It was my phone. Damn that thing.
“Hey Colleen.” I try to say in a pleasant voice. It was my aunt. I legitimately loved and enjoyed her. I just wasn’t in desire of a phone call. Am I ever?
“Hi Addison! I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Oh no, just got out of class. What’s up?”
“Dennis and I are going home on Saturday and wanted to know if you wanted a ride up with us.”
Did I want to go home? Bah. I hadn’t been down here for even a month. Plus that would mean no cigarettes for a few days. I wouldn’t be able to wear a lot of the clothes that I’ve worn this week, because they reek of cigarette smoke, and probably of weed as well. I wouldn’t be able to smoke! Honestly, what a horrid concept. That would also mean no drinking this weekend. They may as well castrate me.
“Oh, no I don’t think I need to go home this weekend. I should be fine. I’ll probably have a lot of homework to do as well,” Ironically, I wasn’t lying. God knows what I’d have to do this weekend, and God knows what I’d actually bother to do. I’ve never been efficient in getting anything done.
“Thanks though, I appreciate it.” I finished.
“Oh not a problem! Dennis and I will be going up nearly every weekend if you ever need it. How are classes so far?”
“Oh they’re good.” I lied. Already I was regretting signing up for all the classes that I’m taking this semester. They’re all a joke.
For example, Finite Mathematics for Social and Biological Sciences seemed legitimately interesting. When signing up for classes, what would interest you more? The already dull and loathsome Finite Mathematics or the crisp and refreshing Finite Mathematics for Social and Biological Sciences? I wish mathematics interested me, really. Then I wouldn’t have to fuck with so many English and Writing credits. I’d also appear to be more intelligent. I’ll laugh, hysterically when someone besides an employer labels me as intelligent. Besides, you’re never really intelligent in the eyes of an employer, when they take advantage of you and have you do bitch work for little incentive.
“Finite Math is particularly interesting.” Yet another lie. I’ve mastered lying by the time I was fifteen, particularly to hide that I was smoking weed or drinking, from my mother.
The first day of finite, the professor, who was everything that a professor was stereotyped to be, besides perhaps that he was without a pipe, greeted the class with “Good ‘math’ternoon!” Jesus H. Christ. I wanted to drop the class that instant. Class was deplorable, likely because I learned finite already from a damned survey class in high school. So rather, I would reduce myself to getting on my laptop, to play mindless computer games, or chat with people on Internet Relay Chat, people that I actually know from a specific website, but will never meet in real life. So I might be a nerd. A vegan, clove cigarette, weed smoking, and alcoholic nerd. And I guess overtly critical of myself.
One day in class, a girl complained to the professor about a glare on the large monitor. The blinds in the lecture hall, a terrible color, like a vomit-beige, were open, and the sun was beating down on the charts that the professor had hand written illegibly. The professor proceeded to leave stage, and go over to the blinds, and fiddle, for at least ten minutes with the blinds, while two hundred students just sat and watched, not learning anything, until they were just right in his eyes. Another instance, and God knows why he even bothered, the professor felt that the lecture hall was insufficiently lit, and tinkered with the lights to the point that we all sat in the dark, and for at least another fifteen minutes, until he was able to get the lights to warm back up. I constantly marvel to my friends and family that it’s tuition well spent.
“…Addison?” said Colleen, still on the telephone. Oh shit. The nicotine was affecting me, surely. I lost control of myself for a second, appreciating the crackling of black clove cigarettes, and while gaining control of the present state of affairs. There was something so notoriously sweet about that that cigarette…
“Oh! Sorry Colleen. I’m just trying to get the lock off of my bike…Hey! You know what? I wouldn’t mind going home now that I think of it. I’m sure I can pick up some stuff that I meant to take down with me initially.” Argh, what am I doing? Suddenly the atmosphere here on campus just wasn’t so friendly, as though a terrible vibe had developed over the weeks, and I very suddenly wanted to be home on familiar grounds. Jesus, am I certain I want to commit to all that would ensue, and what would be highly lacking of?
“Yeah!” She replies, “Maybe it’ll be good for you to go home, and your parents would obviously appreciate it.” Ah but of course she would insinuate that I should bother to communicate with my parents besides when they call inquiring about numerous things. “When are you ready to leave? Tomorrow?”
“Yeah” I reluctantly said, “I can be ready to leave like an hour after my final lab, which would be like 4:30 or 5pm.”
“Dennis and I will be ready to leave at 5:30 if that’s fine.”
“That’s not a problem at all.” I said, smiling, to be grateful for the fact that I’m getting a ride.
“Great! We’ll call shortly before we’ll pick you up. Talk to you tomorrow Addison!”
Click. The line goes dead. Jesus she can talk a lot. I should appreciate the phone call and for the ride home, though. I look at the phone, and the call only lasted for three minutes and forty-two seconds. Maybe my perception of time is just off this evening, rather.
“Hey Colleen.” I try to say in a pleasant voice. It was my aunt. I legitimately loved and enjoyed her. I just wasn’t in desire of a phone call. Am I ever?
“Hi Addison! I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Oh no, just got out of class. What’s up?”
“Dennis and I are going home on Saturday and wanted to know if you wanted a ride up with us.”
Did I want to go home? Bah. I hadn’t been down here for even a month. Plus that would mean no cigarettes for a few days. I wouldn’t be able to wear a lot of the clothes that I’ve worn this week, because they reek of cigarette smoke, and probably of weed as well. I wouldn’t be able to smoke! Honestly, what a horrid concept. That would also mean no drinking this weekend. They may as well castrate me.
“Oh, no I don’t think I need to go home this weekend. I should be fine. I’ll probably have a lot of homework to do as well,” Ironically, I wasn’t lying. God knows what I’d have to do this weekend, and God knows what I’d actually bother to do. I’ve never been efficient in getting anything done.
“Thanks though, I appreciate it.” I finished.
“Oh not a problem! Dennis and I will be going up nearly every weekend if you ever need it. How are classes so far?”
“Oh they’re good.” I lied. Already I was regretting signing up for all the classes that I’m taking this semester. They’re all a joke.
For example, Finite Mathematics for Social and Biological Sciences seemed legitimately interesting. When signing up for classes, what would interest you more? The already dull and loathsome Finite Mathematics or the crisp and refreshing Finite Mathematics for Social and Biological Sciences? I wish mathematics interested me, really. Then I wouldn’t have to fuck with so many English and Writing credits. I’d also appear to be more intelligent. I’ll laugh, hysterically when someone besides an employer labels me as intelligent. Besides, you’re never really intelligent in the eyes of an employer, when they take advantage of you and have you do bitch work for little incentive.
“Finite Math is particularly interesting.” Yet another lie. I’ve mastered lying by the time I was fifteen, particularly to hide that I was smoking weed or drinking, from my mother.
The first day of finite, the professor, who was everything that a professor was stereotyped to be, besides perhaps that he was without a pipe, greeted the class with “Good ‘math’ternoon!” Jesus H. Christ. I wanted to drop the class that instant. Class was deplorable, likely because I learned finite already from a damned survey class in high school. So rather, I would reduce myself to getting on my laptop, to play mindless computer games, or chat with people on Internet Relay Chat, people that I actually know from a specific website, but will never meet in real life. So I might be a nerd. A vegan, clove cigarette, weed smoking, and alcoholic nerd. And I guess overtly critical of myself.
One day in class, a girl complained to the professor about a glare on the large monitor. The blinds in the lecture hall, a terrible color, like a vomit-beige, were open, and the sun was beating down on the charts that the professor had hand written illegibly. The professor proceeded to leave stage, and go over to the blinds, and fiddle, for at least ten minutes with the blinds, while two hundred students just sat and watched, not learning anything, until they were just right in his eyes. Another instance, and God knows why he even bothered, the professor felt that the lecture hall was insufficiently lit, and tinkered with the lights to the point that we all sat in the dark, and for at least another fifteen minutes, until he was able to get the lights to warm back up. I constantly marvel to my friends and family that it’s tuition well spent.
“…Addison?” said Colleen, still on the telephone. Oh shit. The nicotine was affecting me, surely. I lost control of myself for a second, appreciating the crackling of black clove cigarettes, and while gaining control of the present state of affairs. There was something so notoriously sweet about that that cigarette…
“Oh! Sorry Colleen. I’m just trying to get the lock off of my bike…Hey! You know what? I wouldn’t mind going home now that I think of it. I’m sure I can pick up some stuff that I meant to take down with me initially.” Argh, what am I doing? Suddenly the atmosphere here on campus just wasn’t so friendly, as though a terrible vibe had developed over the weeks, and I very suddenly wanted to be home on familiar grounds. Jesus, am I certain I want to commit to all that would ensue, and what would be highly lacking of?
“Yeah!” She replies, “Maybe it’ll be good for you to go home, and your parents would obviously appreciate it.” Ah but of course she would insinuate that I should bother to communicate with my parents besides when they call inquiring about numerous things. “When are you ready to leave? Tomorrow?”
“Yeah” I reluctantly said, “I can be ready to leave like an hour after my final lab, which would be like 4:30 or 5pm.”
“Dennis and I will be ready to leave at 5:30 if that’s fine.”
“That’s not a problem at all.” I said, smiling, to be grateful for the fact that I’m getting a ride.
“Great! We’ll call shortly before we’ll pick you up. Talk to you tomorrow Addison!”
Click. The line goes dead. Jesus she can talk a lot. I should appreciate the phone call and for the ride home, though. I look at the phone, and the call only lasted for three minutes and forty-two seconds. Maybe my perception of time is just off this evening, rather.
AI: Tedious, Loathsome, Cute
My short story for L200, Sex, Dreams, and Altered States of Consciousness
---
She had a childish, nervous, and perhaps promiscuous resemblence. She was such a child. She reeked of resemblance of a nine-year-old girl, and not just through her appearance but even tone and demeanor. Is it wrong to have the damning urge to deflower an associate instructor in college, 25, who conveniently looks to be nine?
How awful. Any student, or better yet the AI themselves, to even conceive such a raunchy concept should be shunned by the media, in even greater importance to spam my newsreel for the next several weeks. How awful.
“You shouldn’t plagiarize!!” She exclaims, “You will get caught!” She proceeds to giggle, nervously. Jesus, why would she giggle? Somehow she’s correlating that perhaps if she plays off serious business, business as serious as plagiarizing, in a lighthearted manner, she won’t come off as a bitch.
Dark blonde hair, lightening as it slightly rested upon her shoulders. Cute glasses. Cute jewelry. She looked adorable. Maroon blouse, white-laced bra. The size of her breasts were suspect, likely enhanced by that bra, that white-laced bra. Small breasts seem to evoke innocence. The instructor was completely and utterly innocent. What a wondrously evil idea. Ah but class has ended; people around me began to stand up and pack their belongings. Now I was assigned chains, chains that would be my homework damning me for the weekend, and making me publically loathe her to my classmates and my friends. Yet, I secretly loved her. I wanted her. I wanted her, to want me.
How is my life outside the dismal world of elementary composition? I was hungry and needed a cigarette. I only possessed for the latter need. They were cloves, at least. Oh could they ever suffice for food? I’ve loathed food since coming here. My newfound veganism turned out to be awful. I feel as though I can’t eat anything, for fear that it may be laced, laced of all things, with some sort of animal product, but I hate to be an impudent bastard about it. I stepped outside finally…all those God damned stairs. They were notoriously worse going up, of course, and particularly to be a smoker conquering the stairs. I fumbled my back pockets for my cigarettes. They would be crushed. The next search was for my lighter. The taste of an unlit clove cigarette dangling in my mouth in midst of the search for a lighter has gained appreciation in my life. The taste was so sweet, yet so wondrously toxic, like that AI. Maybe her lips could taste like cloves. And once it’s lit, it’s somehow different. Geeze, and I had made it at least five minutes without thinking about her. Am I a man of contradictions? I loathe big business, but I love cigarettes. I don’t like the image that smokers are given. (Plus, I’ve liked too many other girls, who didn’t smoke. So innocent… Fuck them for living the plain life of being a straightedge.)
---
She had a childish, nervous, and perhaps promiscuous resemblence. She was such a child. She reeked of resemblance of a nine-year-old girl, and not just through her appearance but even tone and demeanor. Is it wrong to have the damning urge to deflower an associate instructor in college, 25, who conveniently looks to be nine?
How awful. Any student, or better yet the AI themselves, to even conceive such a raunchy concept should be shunned by the media, in even greater importance to spam my newsreel for the next several weeks. How awful.
“You shouldn’t plagiarize!!” She exclaims, “You will get caught!” She proceeds to giggle, nervously. Jesus, why would she giggle? Somehow she’s correlating that perhaps if she plays off serious business, business as serious as plagiarizing, in a lighthearted manner, she won’t come off as a bitch.
Dark blonde hair, lightening as it slightly rested upon her shoulders. Cute glasses. Cute jewelry. She looked adorable. Maroon blouse, white-laced bra. The size of her breasts were suspect, likely enhanced by that bra, that white-laced bra. Small breasts seem to evoke innocence. The instructor was completely and utterly innocent. What a wondrously evil idea. Ah but class has ended; people around me began to stand up and pack their belongings. Now I was assigned chains, chains that would be my homework damning me for the weekend, and making me publically loathe her to my classmates and my friends. Yet, I secretly loved her. I wanted her. I wanted her, to want me.
How is my life outside the dismal world of elementary composition? I was hungry and needed a cigarette. I only possessed for the latter need. They were cloves, at least. Oh could they ever suffice for food? I’ve loathed food since coming here. My newfound veganism turned out to be awful. I feel as though I can’t eat anything, for fear that it may be laced, laced of all things, with some sort of animal product, but I hate to be an impudent bastard about it. I stepped outside finally…all those God damned stairs. They were notoriously worse going up, of course, and particularly to be a smoker conquering the stairs. I fumbled my back pockets for my cigarettes. They would be crushed. The next search was for my lighter. The taste of an unlit clove cigarette dangling in my mouth in midst of the search for a lighter has gained appreciation in my life. The taste was so sweet, yet so wondrously toxic, like that AI. Maybe her lips could taste like cloves. And once it’s lit, it’s somehow different. Geeze, and I had made it at least five minutes without thinking about her. Am I a man of contradictions? I loathe big business, but I love cigarettes. I don’t like the image that smokers are given. (Plus, I’ve liked too many other girls, who didn’t smoke. So innocent… Fuck them for living the plain life of being a straightedge.)
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
In the Stall
For the Collins Escapades that I never finished.
--------
I had ten minutes to get to class... I didn't finish the calculus homework. I intended to get help on that, even if it meant not receiving credit. I needed the help. However, I had a more loathsome dilemma: I had to pee. Jesus, how could a glass of milk go through so fast? How small is my bladder? Ugggh.
I proceeded to the restroom on my floor. I find a stall, enter, and sit down. I hear a girl in the next stall, coughing, hysterically. Whatever. I begin to pee. What a relief! Then I hear scuffling in the next stall, and before I know it, the girl who was coughing hysterically proceeds to crawl under and stick her head out into my stall.
-the fuck?
"Do you have a tampon?" she asks
Seriously, what the fuck?
"uuuh. No."
"Shit," she replies, "I definitely hit my period today and forgot to pick some up this weekend... Do you know where I can get some?"
"I don't fucking know! Why the fuck are you sticking your head underneath into MY stall to ask?"
"I'm sorry.." she stammers
"Jesus, ask the RA or someone. Get out of my stall!"
She doesn't comply.
"Go on! Get out!"
Still doesn't comply.
"Get out!"
I proceed to kick her head, until it was back into her stall. I then vowed never to pee on my own floor ever again. I hope she doesn't live on my floor...
--------
I had ten minutes to get to class... I didn't finish the calculus homework. I intended to get help on that, even if it meant not receiving credit. I needed the help. However, I had a more loathsome dilemma: I had to pee. Jesus, how could a glass of milk go through so fast? How small is my bladder? Ugggh.
I proceeded to the restroom on my floor. I find a stall, enter, and sit down. I hear a girl in the next stall, coughing, hysterically. Whatever. I begin to pee. What a relief! Then I hear scuffling in the next stall, and before I know it, the girl who was coughing hysterically proceeds to crawl under and stick her head out into my stall.
-the fuck?
"Do you have a tampon?" she asks
Seriously, what the fuck?
"uuuh. No."
"Shit," she replies, "I definitely hit my period today and forgot to pick some up this weekend... Do you know where I can get some?"
"I don't fucking know! Why the fuck are you sticking your head underneath into MY stall to ask?"
"I'm sorry.." she stammers
"Jesus, ask the RA or someone. Get out of my stall!"
She doesn't comply.
"Go on! Get out!"
Still doesn't comply.
"Get out!"
I proceed to kick her head, until it was back into her stall. I then vowed never to pee on my own floor ever again. I hope she doesn't live on my floor...
What Did You Do Last Night?
This is an old exercise
-----
You reek of vomit, shit, jungle juice, cigarettes. You're absolutely trashed, with no sense of purpose beyond an explosion of pain, emitting from your head. What did you do last night? You can't exactly recall, beyond house hopping, sweaty, smokey garages, and then that random inclination to vomit. It's also in your bed.. You're inclined to clean it up, but you'd rather take a detour to get some painkillers, shower, and probably dispose of the clothes that you're wearing. Too bad. They're really nice, and a bit expensive. Maybe it can be salvaged, but then you have to handle that nasty shit on your shirt, like a chewed up, swallowed, regurgitated bean stalk, that tastes like pink lemonade, inexpensive vodka, and vomit.
Oh what did you do last night? It had to have been memorable, that is if you didn't black out, too much. You probably did though, hence why you're asking yourself, or to the angels above: What did you do last night? Maybe next time you'll cut back. You owe the angels at least that. They probably loathe you for prancing around the streets in awe and daze, your mind appearing to be as fast as a hummingbird. You forgot that you smoked weed, and probably took some kratom. You were a complete fiasco last night. You congratulate yourself.
You congratulate yourself for losing your glasses. You'll need those for tomorrow. Today you'll just look blind, particularly since you're inclined to go out for cigarettes. What did you do last night? You made an ass of yourself, and lost your glasses. You don't have a backup pair either. You can at least get cigarettes. You need cigarettes. But you also need to shower, and change clothes. Maybe you can clean up those clothes later, after a smoke. You deserve one. It was a hard evening, and the best way to kill the pain is to drown it with nicotine. You shed yourself of your clothing, and hide it, that foul and reeking ensemble, in your closet, never to be unearthed again. You'll clean it up later.
-----
You reek of vomit, shit, jungle juice, cigarettes. You're absolutely trashed, with no sense of purpose beyond an explosion of pain, emitting from your head. What did you do last night? You can't exactly recall, beyond house hopping, sweaty, smokey garages, and then that random inclination to vomit. It's also in your bed.. You're inclined to clean it up, but you'd rather take a detour to get some painkillers, shower, and probably dispose of the clothes that you're wearing. Too bad. They're really nice, and a bit expensive. Maybe it can be salvaged, but then you have to handle that nasty shit on your shirt, like a chewed up, swallowed, regurgitated bean stalk, that tastes like pink lemonade, inexpensive vodka, and vomit.
Oh what did you do last night? It had to have been memorable, that is if you didn't black out, too much. You probably did though, hence why you're asking yourself, or to the angels above: What did you do last night? Maybe next time you'll cut back. You owe the angels at least that. They probably loathe you for prancing around the streets in awe and daze, your mind appearing to be as fast as a hummingbird. You forgot that you smoked weed, and probably took some kratom. You were a complete fiasco last night. You congratulate yourself.
You congratulate yourself for losing your glasses. You'll need those for tomorrow. Today you'll just look blind, particularly since you're inclined to go out for cigarettes. What did you do last night? You made an ass of yourself, and lost your glasses. You don't have a backup pair either. You can at least get cigarettes. You need cigarettes. But you also need to shower, and change clothes. Maybe you can clean up those clothes later, after a smoke. You deserve one. It was a hard evening, and the best way to kill the pain is to drown it with nicotine. You shed yourself of your clothing, and hide it, that foul and reeking ensemble, in your closet, never to be unearthed again. You'll clean it up later.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Her Vagina Was Too Small
So perhaps the following short narrative is merely result of alcoholic and sexual ventures, rendering all efforts to keep us wondrously blissful in ignorance, useless. This is a true story, though I've altered character's names.
-----
A friend invited me to a small seminar pertaining to figure drawing. Such seminars are usually difficult to attract participants, unless the gluttonous incentive of, oh let’s just say…pizza is involved. So, there was a slight obligation to come and participate.
I find the room where the seminar is being held, and come to meet an ensemble of friends. There was Jacki, Christy, Margaret, and Lisa, who was modeling, and there was Addison and Luke. And finally, there was this girl...
I inclined myself to talk to her, and kept thinking to ask her of her name. She began to talk politics, which I found to be inappropriate for figure drawing, and perhaps viceful, just as it is viceful to talk politics at the dinner table. But that’s just in the States. She was chatty, and touted her internship with several prominent candidates. So she’s got quite the resume already.
I couldn’t help but notice how sexually overt she was. She had immensely developed breasts, an exposed bra, and a loose shirt, as she later explained. But, as she was talking politics, she began to mention some perhaps unmentionable things:
“When we won the primary, my mother gave me shots of tequila! I was so excited, and drunk, and when the media came to report on the win, I couldn’t help but say “HOW EXCITED I WAS!” I must have said it seventeen times. I don’t think they ever aired me because of that…”
An interesting anecdote to divulge in the middle of a figure drawing seminar, but she continued. She began to describe her experiences with other substances that she had abused, and her interest in sexual psychology. I attempted to pretend to be interested in what other drugs her mother suggested that she try, but perhaps I failed, or perhaps, this girl had her mind elsewhere.
The participants were finished drawing Lisa, and this unknown girl excused herself for a few moments before it was her turn to model. Perhaps her brief absence took a wild and familiar tangent. She returned to sit on the table that we all surrounded, and posed, but not until she was so inclined to divulge that she fancies margaritas, and how she’s had four just today. Her interest in sex immediately picked up, and she began to describe, vividly, various sexual experiences she had with, various people. Her openness to her promiscuity was just baffling, but alas, she had a number of margaritas to drink.
She even mentioned names in her sexual escapades, and perhaps unfortunately people that I’ve known and until today have known in another fashion. Luke and Addison perhaps shared my feelings of awkwardness, to the extent of “She seems repulsing” or “She certainly likes an orgasm!”
All of this happening, we had difficulties to draw her, as she would turn her head to talk, really to no one, as I couldn’t see how one could hold interest in such a topic. She would also annoyingly send text messages, asking if she should fuck a particular person, and how she would want to fuck her best friend. We asked Lisa to pose again, and unfortunately she was subjected to sit up with this nameless, yet interesting girl. The alcohol set in further, and she just divulged so much information on her sex life, to the very extent that one sexual partner claimed “her vagina was too small”. Lisa understandably was just as repulsed as Luke and Addison were. She asked Addison and Luke to include penises in her portraits and the nameless girl even inclined herself to question Luke and Addison about their penis sizes and overall sex lives, in which Luke was taken aback by such prying questions. Though surprisingly she did not inquire anything to my sex life.
The seminar proved to be very peculiar, and we all finished, our rather awful drawings due to some impeding factors. The nameless girl made an edit to Luke’s drawing, like that of phallic imagery to which she had previously suggested, bumbled around the room, and proceeded to gather her belongings, and leave, to which I ask the hostess, “Who WAS that girl?”
-----
A friend invited me to a small seminar pertaining to figure drawing. Such seminars are usually difficult to attract participants, unless the gluttonous incentive of, oh let’s just say…pizza is involved. So, there was a slight obligation to come and participate.
I find the room where the seminar is being held, and come to meet an ensemble of friends. There was Jacki, Christy, Margaret, and Lisa, who was modeling, and there was Addison and Luke. And finally, there was this girl...
I inclined myself to talk to her, and kept thinking to ask her of her name. She began to talk politics, which I found to be inappropriate for figure drawing, and perhaps viceful, just as it is viceful to talk politics at the dinner table. But that’s just in the States. She was chatty, and touted her internship with several prominent candidates. So she’s got quite the resume already.
I couldn’t help but notice how sexually overt she was. She had immensely developed breasts, an exposed bra, and a loose shirt, as she later explained. But, as she was talking politics, she began to mention some perhaps unmentionable things:
“When we won the primary, my mother gave me shots of tequila! I was so excited, and drunk, and when the media came to report on the win, I couldn’t help but say “HOW EXCITED I WAS!” I must have said it seventeen times. I don’t think they ever aired me because of that…”
An interesting anecdote to divulge in the middle of a figure drawing seminar, but she continued. She began to describe her experiences with other substances that she had abused, and her interest in sexual psychology. I attempted to pretend to be interested in what other drugs her mother suggested that she try, but perhaps I failed, or perhaps, this girl had her mind elsewhere.
The participants were finished drawing Lisa, and this unknown girl excused herself for a few moments before it was her turn to model. Perhaps her brief absence took a wild and familiar tangent. She returned to sit on the table that we all surrounded, and posed, but not until she was so inclined to divulge that she fancies margaritas, and how she’s had four just today. Her interest in sex immediately picked up, and she began to describe, vividly, various sexual experiences she had with, various people. Her openness to her promiscuity was just baffling, but alas, she had a number of margaritas to drink.
She even mentioned names in her sexual escapades, and perhaps unfortunately people that I’ve known and until today have known in another fashion. Luke and Addison perhaps shared my feelings of awkwardness, to the extent of “She seems repulsing” or “She certainly likes an orgasm!”
All of this happening, we had difficulties to draw her, as she would turn her head to talk, really to no one, as I couldn’t see how one could hold interest in such a topic. She would also annoyingly send text messages, asking if she should fuck a particular person, and how she would want to fuck her best friend. We asked Lisa to pose again, and unfortunately she was subjected to sit up with this nameless, yet interesting girl. The alcohol set in further, and she just divulged so much information on her sex life, to the very extent that one sexual partner claimed “her vagina was too small”. Lisa understandably was just as repulsed as Luke and Addison were. She asked Addison and Luke to include penises in her portraits and the nameless girl even inclined herself to question Luke and Addison about their penis sizes and overall sex lives, in which Luke was taken aback by such prying questions. Though surprisingly she did not inquire anything to my sex life.
The seminar proved to be very peculiar, and we all finished, our rather awful drawings due to some impeding factors. The nameless girl made an edit to Luke’s drawing, like that of phallic imagery to which she had previously suggested, bumbled around the room, and proceeded to gather her belongings, and leave, to which I ask the hostess, “Who WAS that girl?”
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