Tom Waits once wrote a song entitled “I Hope that I Don’t Fall in Love with You”. I didn’t really get it until I went out a significant amount. Now I understand. I’ve fallen in love with girls I’ve met for five seconds, and I’ve fallen in love with girls I’ve known for five hours, but I have yet to fall in love with a girl I’ve talked to for more than a day. This entry is about several women of varying degrees of intimacy, and I know not the names of any of them.
Once I was on the train to see a friend from work. I was heading down toward the south land, when a man stepped on the train, blasting his speaker to some FM radio station. Luckily they were playing 80’s music. I noticed that my smile matched a lovely wavy blonde girl’s facing me on the train. I moved over to the seat in front of her, and we sparked a conversation about the man’s music tastes. “You know,” I said, “he really shouldn’t be playing his shit that loud on the train, but since it’s solid 80’s music I can’t really complain.” She laughed, agreed and we chatted briefly about the music. The conversation began to fade and I decided, probably too early, to throw in the towel. She wasn’t interested in me. So I let myself shut up and began to turn around. She kicked my chair. “Keep talking! You came over her to talk.” Instantly I was invigorated. Couldn’t get more forward. I loved it. We chatted for quite a bit, about her next stop, evening plans, etc. until said homeless man sat across from us, spewing information about how he had escaped house arrest, showing us an ankle bracelet. I looked and saw that we were nearly at the mystery woman’s stop. I tried to shoe the man away, but could only do so in time to say “This is your stop coming up.”
“Oh shit.” She began packing her things.
“Too bad we’re not going to the same place.” I said.
“Well, maybe I could get your number and we could hang out sometime.”
She swung around her seat. Her face was inches away from mine. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to think. I was literally breathless.
“Too late.” She whispered, and walked here long legs right out of my life. No more words were exchanged, no more were necessary. I was in love. I had just missed the love of my life as she walked off the train. My heart rolls up and down like a yoyo every time I tell that story. If I sit on the train in the future and a man fights his way on with a boombox, the thoughts of Jordan will be replaced and I’ll cross my fingers that an electrical malfunction on the rails electrocutes all of us so that I can satisfy the selfish desire to die thinking of a woman I love.
There was a little dive bar in Chicago I know Sam would have loved. It was called Delilah’s, and I will forever associate that name to the fiery petite redhead I met there one night on my lonesome. I go out alone frequently, and honestly it doesn’t bother me. I’m social enough that I can enter groups that are out and make friends for the evening. This is such a story about such a time. I was at Delilah’s enjoying their $2.50 shots and $5 shot and beer combos when in walked three girls. One in particular stood out, and wouldn’t you know it? She sat right next to me. I sparked up a conversation one way or another (details are for James Joyce and Quentin Tarantino), and soon they were buying me rounds and we were best friends. While redhead’s friends stepped outside for a cancer intake, I turned the conversation sexual. She reciprocated and talked of how she enjoyed rough sex, but was missing that gentle side, and also missed the familiarity of a boyfriend. His knowledge of where and how to touch her increasing with every session, until he knows just right what makes her climax. She came back full circle, however, and admitted that rough sex was indeed fun, then appeared to go off into a past sexual situation.
Her friends returned and purchased another round. I guess they had all graduated that day. Redhead was an accountant who was finally done with school. Not knowing anything interesting about accountants, aside from Crazy Stupid Love, I changed the subject to music. I brought up my top three, breezing through them since no one liked or knew who they were. Then it happened. She said she saw Bruce Springsteen live.
Holy shit I’m in love! She described sitting in the rain and listening to him jam out and I couldn’t hide the expression on my face if I wanted to. Only once before had I met a woman who liked The Boss and I’m pretty sure she was lying. But this one knew names of songs! Not Born to Run, or Born in the USA or Badlands or Hungry Heart, but songs like Local Hero and Rosalita and Backstreets! I had to pause writing this recollection to fan myself.
Lordy lordy lordy.
After closing time we drunkenly stumbled out of the bar. I offered to catch a cab to her place and she accepted. Some drunk dude tried to come in and steal her from me, but it didn’t work. We hopped in a cab and made out passionately and roughly. The cabby stopped the car several times to stop us. We made it to her apartment and burst in, unable to control ourselves. We were soon on the ground in her living room with my fingers underneath her panties. With one eye closed and the other rolled back she moaned. We heard keys jingle in the knob and immediately jumped to the couch, turning on the TV just in time for her roommate to arrive, who was one of the girls at the bar. She walked right into her room.
When the door closed we continued our ritual in redhead’s bedroom. After an undeterminable amount of time she stopped writhing and said, “You have to leave.”
“Yeah you gotta go.” I paused, appalled and took my fingers out of her. She got up and I followed her to the door, which she was so kind to open for me. “Um…okay well I guess I’ll talk to you later, then.” I proceeded to step forward and that’s when the door shut in front of my face. She stood there hands on her hips; at least that’s how I remember it.
“You don’t get it do you?”
She wanted me to say no. She wanted me to say I wasn’t going to leave until I got what I came for. I’m fine with rape fantasies, but I say this to all women, don’t expect me to assume such a thing. She pulled her panties off in the hallway and I spun her around, fucking her against the wall to her roommate’s room. We moved to the bedroom where I threw her on the bed and mounted her. She had the best breasts I’d ever seen. Fucking her was everything I’d ever wanted. Except I had no condom on. I pulled out and pinched it off, running to the bathroom to let out the come.
When I came back I went down and began eating her out, but that’s where my recollection ends. I woke up the next morning at the sight of the sun and those amazing breasts uncovered in all their glory, scanning down her flat stomach, rolled over at the waist and perfect ass. I had to work that day. I needed more sleep, but after spending so long sleeping alone, it was hard to sleep with someone. I got up and looked for something to write my number on. Nothing was there, so I left. I wish I hadn’t. She was great in many a way. Although I know deep down it wouldn’t have worked out, and one of us would’ve ended up worse off. So I never saw her again. If I ever have the gumption to order a prostitute again and she introduces herself as Delilah, I’ll be letting the redhead flood my thoughts as the faux hooker pulls a gun out from her purse and shoots me in the back of the head before robbing me of what little money I’ll have.
Then there’s Ally. That’s not her name, of course. As I said at the beginning, I don’t remember their names. They definitely told me, but I’m bad with those. I met her doing Live Band Karaoke at Clarke’s with Tim. She was with friends. I offered to migrate to Delilah’s. She said she loved it there. She said she would ask her friends but would most likely meet me there. I nodded and left with Tim and his girlfriend to Delilah’s. Upon the realization that the walk was about a half a mile, they decided they didn’t feel like making the trek, so we turned around and went back to Clarke’s. I found Ally still there, and she was equally surprised to see me. We flirted back and forth frivolously, and she decided to leave with me to go to Delilah’s.
We barely made it outside before tucking into an apartment entrance next door, where we went at each other like animals. It was sloppy. It was great. Sloppy is always great at the time, but never after. The guy checking ID’s outside Clarke’s was clever. He saw us making out like savages, and immediately shouted, “Way to go bro!” very, very loudly.
He gave me rock on signs. Ally laughed. Everyone walking by stared at us. She tugged on my hand, pulling me in the direction of Delilah’s. She spun around at the end of the block. “Oh my God, have you ever been to Headquarters?!” Headquarters was a free arcade bar.
“Yeah, it’s awesome!”
“Let’s go there!” She tugged on me again and led me down the street, pulling me into another apartment entrance where we continued our previous ritual. We were on the move again shortly and that’s when it showed up.
She saw a wide open space occupied by no one and pulled me in. Beside a dumpster we went to second base. She pulled me deeper into the alley and got on her knees in a back alley stoop. She pulled my pants off and began a blowjob. This woman didn’t give a shit who saw, if anyone, as she was doing sinful things to me. I pulled out of her mouth and off her panties. I climbed on top of her in a drunken stupor and we fucked on that stoop, while dogs barked and people enjoying balcony beers were heard. What a wonderfully naughty night that was. We even took a cab to my place, where she unzipped me again and in-between gagging on my cock she told the cab driver that we had been together for five years and were working on having a child. Oh my God I’m in love.
If I ever pass by an alley, I see us writhing on the ground not twenty feet deep, and I instantly get turned on. If a mugger so happens to shove a knife through the back of my neck in an idiotic attempt to paralyze me, I’ll fall to the ground, fully erect, thinking of Ally.