I went out with Mary only a couple of times. She was a cute girl, but she was just too awkward and shy for me. I decided after the second date ended in a curiously strange kiss in which she stuck her tongue through her teeth that I wasn’t going to see her again. This is America, however, and everybody gets three strikes.
A month after our encounter I got a text out of the blue early on in the week. Mary wanted to go out that coming weekend. I had no plans and it had been along enough for me to forgive her awkward kiss and shy personality for another try. We agreed to meet at The Wise Fool’s Pub, a place close to hers where we met on our first date. I showed up wearing Rob’s leather jacket and asked the bartender if there were any specials. “That depends. Are you in the band?” I laughed.
“No.” She named some draughts on sale and I ordered a whiskey coke. While I watched the band set up I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. Before I could even turn my head, Mary spun right round, baby, with a smile on her face. “Hey!”
“Hey.” I replied, surprised at her energy. She immediately ordered a shot and a glass of whatever I was having. We grabbed a seat in the corner by a fake wall of books glued to the shelves. She said she was getting over an ex the last few times we hung out, wich seemed to explain her odd behavior.
What it didn’t explain was why she was getting up every ten minutes to get herself another shot. I had a flask I was drinking out of and even I had trouble keping up with her. By the end of the second act she had pulled me to her side and was “making out” with me in that odd serpent-like fashion. I asked if she wanted to leave an she nodded. I walked her home and she said, “You can come in, if you want.”
I went in and awaited the inevitable. She began getting fresh and I expressed worry. “You’re pretty drunk.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah, but I’m not that drunk.”
“Then you should drink more.”
What the fuck?
Before I could protest she had poured quite a large cup of red, red wine. I drank it. Eventually our clothes were on the floor and I was on top of her. Her breasts were enormous on her tiny body, and her lips pursed when I sucked on her nipples, which had a few long black hairs surrounding them.
She asked if I wanted to have sex, and I grabbed a condom from the inside jacket pocket. When I put it on and attempted to put it in, she jerked around in a peculiar fashion. I pressed as hard as I could, but my dick just wasn’t going in. I tried again and again to no avail. “What’s wrong?” She asked.
“You’re really tight.” I grunted.
“Oh, you have to break my hymen.”
She said it in a Sam-like tone. “You’re a fucking virgin?”
“Yeah.” She nodded and gave me the notion to hurry up and get it in. It was so tight that I started to get soft out of frustration. It didn’t help that she was clearly inexperienced, wiggling her hips around and moving back and forth. It was as if she didn’t even know where her own vagina was.
I succeeded in breaking said hymen, but not much else. Three condoms went by before I called it quits. I didn’t think there was a worse way to end the night.
Then she started to cry about her ex.
I let myself out.
That night messed me up for a long time. I’ll never forget it,and I’ll always think about it anytime someone accuses me of being in a band, which really sucks because that happens a lot. Growing up around musicians has always instilled an intrigue in me to hopefully become one. As I’ve said before, I can’t stand poetry, so I find it difficult, nay, impossible, to write a song.
Maybe one day I’ll pick tht trumpet up again, though. A band’s a band, right? Maybe I’ll find some cool cats to wear some berets with me while we smoke up a jazz club. The bartender will ask if I’m in the band when I come up for a drink. This time I’ll open my mouth to say yes when at just that moment, my tuba playing bandmate is on the second floor, lugging his instrument over his shoulder. He, however, is a bumbling idiot who I never wanted in the band in the first place, and it’s debatable whether or not the tuba accidentally slipped out of his hands and over the rail, falling directly on me. That cartoonish carnage that will send me to the other side with brass class will happen at the perfect time I’m reminded of the Virgin Mary, and her snake-like charm.