Break-Up

I remember falling asleep next to my last girlfriend. She'd have these horrible nightmares sometimes — I'd spoon up closely to her and rub her shoulder, whispering soothing nothings in her ear until she calmed down in her sleep. I remember thinking how good it made me feel to make her feel better and watch over her even when she was sleeping.

I'd sit up and listen for her breathing to slow down to normal again.

Then— POW! Right in the shitbox with the ol' dirty cock.

Anyway, we broke up.

I remember this other time coming home from work and finding my girlfriend in tears. She'd just gotten off the phone with her mother -- her grandmother had passed away in the night.

Standing there in the hallway, feeling small for my work problems, trying to comfort her, not knowing what to say, it was the first time I remember ever feeling a barrier with her — a sense that there was something wrong that I couldn't fix, that there was a part of her I didn't know.

Then I thought back to the day that my grandmother had died, and I suddenly realized what I needed to do.

"Honey? Do you remember when my grandmother died? Do you remember what you told me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And what did I say?"

"You said you wanted to put your dirty ol' cock in my shitbox."

"That's true, I did," I said, liberally distributing a few inches of the filthy ol' cock out of my pants. "Now, I've got a crazy idea here, I want you to hear me out..."

And then suddenly I'M the one getting kicked out of the apartment. People grieving suck ass, man.

 
"Excuse me, garcon— shitbox for one. I believe you'll find the reservation under a Mr. Floppy O. Cock."

"Jay, for the last time, I'm working. I'm not wearing that stupid maitre'd outfit." [type type type]

"Perhaps THIS will refresh your memory."

"Twenty dollars. Yes, great, thanks. I really need to get back to work." [type type type]

a pause.

"Perhaps THIS will refresh your memory."

"Jay, that had better not be what I think it is on my shoulder."

a pause.

"I drew a moustache on it."

"Get out!"

 
"Alright, Jay. My parents'll be here any minute. One more time. What won't you ask me?"

"mumblemumble..."

"Louder."

"If I can stick it in your dumper."

"What won't you stick in my dumper?"

"My filthy ol' cock."

"And what won't you call your genitals at ANY TIME tonight?"

"My filthy ol' cock."

"And what will you not -- under any circumstances -- even if you think it's called for, or if you misinterpret that someone wants to see it -- pull out of your pants tonight?"

[reluctantly] "My filthy ol' cock."

"And what won't you say tonight?"

"Anything."

"Good. Okay. Remember. Smile. And you're a mute."

[knock knock knock]

"That's them. How do I look?"

[leering, making move for pants zipper]

"Nevermind. Mom! Dad! How are you? How was your trip?"

"Horrible traffic off I-90. Your poor mother was a wreck."

"Well, let me take your coats. Mom, Dad, this is Jay, my mute boyfriend."

"Hello, Jay."

"Hello, Jay."

[mimed friendly hello]

"Can I get you anything to drink, Mom? Dad?"

"I'll have a sherry, dear."

"I'll have your mother up the shitbox, dear."

"DAD!"

"What? I will. Jay— you had this little number up the shitbox yet?"

[eyeing girlfriend nervously] "I'm... not at liberty to say."

Girlfriend runs out of room crying. Jay waits for the sound of door slamming.

"Okay, yes."

- by Jay Pinkerton

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