Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Jul 17, 2008
For a moment I thought I couldn’t be seen with this girl, that she provided the definitive proof I was a lech. It didn’t help that the pink tank top she wore made it appear as if her breasts weighed half as much as she did, nor did it help when I took my wife’s hand and Joy said, gleefully, “I’ll take the other one!”
She walked with a slight hunch. This is understandable. I felt bad enough that I offered to walk behind her and bear her heavy burden.
***
I contentedly munched popcorn as we watched the film. Joy’s left hand found my thigh. Her right hand found Leslie’s. This presented me with a dilemma: enjoy my popcorn or respond to her touch? I couldn’t do both at once as I was holding the bag in such a way that I wouldn’t coat my lap in grease.
I set the bag on the floor and then placed my hand over Joy’s. After a minute or so I retrieved the popcorn and went back to stuffing my face. I felt satisfied to have devised such an ingenious plan.
***
When we arrived at the Bad Man’s regular night spot, Leslie and Joy settled into a booth. I remained by the bar chatting with him.
“Lex!” the girls called out in unison. They wanted me to come sit with them.
“Just give me one minute ladies,” I said over my shoulder, before turning back to Bad Man. “I don’t know why I make my life so complicated.”
“You have what I call a high-quality problem.”
***
Joy bounced in my lap. My arms were wrapped around her slender waist. “You’re my little Sexican,” I said.
She giggled. “Sexican!”
***
The girls left in search of a pharmacy, leaving Bad Man and I alone in the booth.
“What’s wrong with Joy?” he asked.
“Um, well, she has a UTI.”
“Oh.”
“I had one of those once. In high school. The pain was… indescribable. Every time I took a wiz I wanted to kill myself.”
***
Whatever Joy had taken had made her feel much better. “Is your pussy open for business again, dear?” I asked her.
Bad Man immediately began shaking his head, “Oh man!”
She grabbed my inner thigh and laughed. “Yeah.”
Recognizing some people he knew, the Bad Man rose from his seat and shuffled to the bar. I joined him a few minutes later. “Everything cool?” I asked.
“Everything’s fine. I’m just trying to stay out of trouble… I’ve already gotten a lecture about our behavior.”
I chuckled, rolling my eyes. “If either of us were in here sucking face with a date they wouldn’t say anything.”
“I don’t want to get in the way either.”
“Don’t worry about it. This was a last-minute thing — I was going to leave them after the movie but I figured you’re the one guy I know who wouldn’t lose his shit. And she thinks you’re great so obviously I wasn’t mistaken.”
***
When I returned to the booth Leslie held her fingers under my nose. I smiled at her, “You didn’t…” But the scent of pussy told me everything I needed to know. “The two of you are getting Bad Man in trouble.”
Joy didn’t appear too concerned. “Where’s your penis?” she cooed, pressing her hand against my fly. “Oh, there’s your penis.”
If we were going to be in trouble anyway, I reasoned, we may as well have fun with it.
***
We stopped in a park on the way to Joy’s and I reached into my jeans to retrieve my cock, whereupon my wife squatted in front of me.
Suddenly shy, Joy protested: “But we’re in public!”
I slipped a hand down the back of her pants and pressed her hand to me. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
***
I suppose I am a lech. It is all I can do to keep up with the girls.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Advice | Jul 09, 2008
I reject your reality and substitute my own
-Adam Savage, Mythbusters
The Bad Man wrote a post on seeking rejection as a means to finding success with women, and though I trust his judgement enough to leave him with the new girl I’m not 100% sure about while Les and I step out for a smoke — which is to say, quite a bit — I have to decline membership in his rejection club.
Because there really is no such thing as rejection. The concept of sex as a competition to be won or lost was foisted upon us, in biblical times, by the evil corporation that owns Just For Men, aided and abetted by the beer, nightclub and automobile industries, and, in more recent times, by irritatingly nasal guys posing as pickup artists.
Rejection is for loan applications. In seduction you can only lead the way. It does not reflect poorly upon you as a man or a human being if a woman cannot or will not walk the path with you. Seduction is a mutually pleasurable and often unpredictable set of escalations. The question isn’t where is this going next but am I having fun right now?
What does rejection even mean?
I fled a woman’s apartment once. She probably thought she’d offended me but in reality her place was tiny and I, um, really had to go to the bathroom (yes, it was a George Costanza moment).
I was blown off multiple times by an extraordinarily contrarian woman who, it turns out, had no problem with me inviting Leslie out on our second date. The three of us were lovers for six months.
A woman fooled around with me once only to flip out on me two days later, calling me a “half-breed.” In this case she did me a favor (as Mistress Matisse helpfully reminds us: never stick your dick in crazy).
And then there was Harker, the girl who chose another man over me only to confess, two years later, that I was the most interesting man she’d met.
When I was doing my bit with the Pope shirt probably half a dozen women scurried away from me in what might have been genuine terror. Did I feel rejected? No. For all they knew I could have been a maniac. Nor did I reject them. I’m sure they were nice girls. I was looking for someone who wanted to play a game with me. And when I found her I picked her up.
What is rejection? I don’t know.
It strikes me that if you go out looking for rejection from women you’re most certainly going to find rejection. If, on the other hand, you go out looking for fun you’re most certainly going to find fun. And having fun with people leads to all kinds of wonderful things. Whenever I feel like I’ve lost my mojo — when I become too serious and start to see rejection as something real — I take it as a sign I need to learn how to have fun again.
I am all for clubs, however. I was a founding member of Slut Club and I am the designated emergency penis for the Bisexual Girls Club. Maybe it’s time for a Meet as Many Interesting People as Possible and Just Have Fun With It club. Who’s in?
UPDATE: Calico and Bad Man have each weighed in. (Thanks to Viviane for the heads up.)
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jul 06, 2008
Yankee Stadium, 2008
Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer
-Depeche Mode, “Personal Jesus”
Joy
“I know it’s hard for you to be less than perfectly honest but you have to flake on her tonight,” said I to my wife. “Trust me, it’s the only sane option.”
Molly
Called her on the phone. Spoke for a few minutes. Kind of a soft blowoff. Other than her pussy, the reason I was into her was that she laughed when I told her I dumb myself down when I’m speaking to other Americans because Americans are stupid.
“You shoulda come out tonight,” my wife told me later on. “The girls wanted to meet you.”
“For future reference, making the after-party sound like a carnival of cock is not the way to get me to reach for my dancing shoes.”
Dinner
Things were looking up by the next afternoon. My best man was in town for gay pride weekend. He brought his amusing Southern friend. They were staying at ours.
I was playing No More Heroes while everyone watched. I was killing some guys. Killing some guys is fun. When I finished killing some guys I put on the silkscreened Pope shirt, the one that sez Christ Our Hope and has a picture of the Pontiff holding up his hands like he’s raising the roof.
Dunno why I went to see the Pope. He’s German so there’s that. And I took European History in high school so I’m sure Mr. Dudley (God rest his homophobic soul although I’m not quite certain he’s dead) would be proud that I went to see the Holy Roman Emperor. Catholics believe in eating their deity, something I find both silly and oddly appropriate.
Jesus is love though. That time I was walking on the beach and there was only one set of footprints? He was totally carrying me. If I had to make out with a guy my first choice would be Jesus, followed by Johnny Depp if for some reason the J-man weren’t available.
The four of us went to dinner, our gay friends in their tuxedos, I in my Pope shirt and Les in her fuck-me jeans. We must have made an odd foursome.
House Party
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as triple-dees,” I told my wife.
“She insisted she has triple-dees.”
“When you say that I keep thinking of that girl from Total Recall with the three breasts.”
I don’t know if she really did have triple-dees but her breasts were large. She was tall. She had sleepy eyes. “My friends went to see Eartha Kitt,” said I to the tall chick.
“Eartha who?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Catwoman?”
“Um.”
I met a young Indian dude, a percussionist who aspired to play for the Philharmonic. I wished him luck. The drinking games started. We left.
“When you reach the age of majority,” I was saying, “there’s no reason to make a game out of drinking. You just fucking drink.”
Dubai
I wore a paper lamp shade on my arm, light emitting diodes on my fingers. People were, of course, asking me for drugs. Someone offered me shrooms, but I misheard him, thinking he was asking for shrooms and so I pointed at the lamp shade on my arm, saying, “If you eat one of these you’ll get really high.”
The Pope shirt was a hit, as were the lights. I bathed each woman I met in the technicolor radiance of my holy LEDs; I asked each woman I met whether she had accepted Jesus Christ as her LORD and SAVIOR. The few who didn’t immediately run away turned out to be quite fun.
Rachel
A young woman handed me a party flier. I squinted at the glossy paper. “You’re holding it upside down,” she deadpanned.
“Really?” I made an exaggerated show of rotating the flier. “Naw, it definitely looks better the other way.” She laughed. I studied the mole on her cheek. “You look like Rachel Weisz.”
Batting her eyelashes, she said, “I’ve never heard that before.”
“If it weren’t so hot tonight I would pick you up — but let’s face it… we’re both disgusting right now.” My eyes stung from all the sweat. “Though I suppose we could shower at my place.”
“Some guy already tried to entice me with the promise of a shower.”
“If you see him again then you should smack him for stealing my material.”
By the time I had the young woman’s number Les had convinced her to doff her top. Remembering, belatedly, that we already had two overnight guests, I sent my ladyfriend on her way. “When you do come over for that shower, I have someone I’d like you to meet. I won’t tell you his name but his initials are J.C.”
Sometimes I’m brilliant with women. Other times I’m a perfect idiot. I never know which Lex will show up until the words start tumbling out of me. This phenomenon keeps things interesting.
Score
“If you eat those things you’ll get really high,” said the guy.
“Oh hey, it’s you. I thought I’d pissed you off.”
“Not at all. That was hilarious.”
“On a more serious note, how much?”
Joy Again
My wife spoke with Joy the next day. Joy and Molly were no longer on speaking terms, the result of an incident that had occurred around the time I’d called Molly. I rolled my eyes at this, as young chicks often have dramatic falling outs, but at least it explained the brush-off.
“If I have to choose,” I said, “then obviously I choose Joy. I’m drawn to her, even though I’m positive this won’t end well.”
Rachel Again
“Just so I know I’m speaking with the right guy, you’re the one with the lights on his fingers who was saying crazy shit about Jesus, right?”
“Yup.”
“I’m glad you called.”
Another Party, Days Later
“If you eat those things you’ll get really high,” said the hot bartender.
“Wait… what? How do you—”
“Word gets around.”
“And to think I wasn’t even high when I said that. Hey, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. I won’t tell you his name but…”
And on and on and on and on until the break of dawn.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Snaps | Jul 05, 2008
Independence Day, 5:24 AM
There were one quadrillion nations in the Universe, but the nation Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout belonged to was the only one with a national anthem which was gibberish sprinkled with question marks.
-Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions
Earlier…
Posted by Lex Konrad in Snaps | Jul 03, 2008
Fire dancer
Ever feel that, y’know, burning sensation… down there?
Credit to Leslie for the pic.
