Emmet and I are walking through the Eaton Centre—Toronto’s biggest mall—still drunk from the night before, when I notice a bulge in the bottom of my pant leg where the shin meets the ankle. Lifting my pant leg, I pull out a pair of briefs…
Emmet “What the fook! Where did those come from!?”
Liam (like a child) “Inside my paaants...”
Emmet laughs his ass off while I embarrassingly toss the underwear into the garbage bin of the Old Navy. We had been walking around for the better part of the afternoon before I noticed. Seriously, it had been like five fucking hours and I didn’t realize I HAD A PAIR OF DIRTY FUCKING BRIEFS IN MY PANT LEG. This is more or less where my head was throughout my entire first year in Toronto, especially during those three months in the hostel. I wouldn't change it for the world, man.
This is the opening story to part 2 of the chapter, “The Taking a Greyhound to Toronto and Living in Hostel Diaries.”
Occurred: June 2015
There’s an old expression, “The eyes are the window to the soul,” meaning you can understand the entire spectrum of someone’s emotions and thoughts, simply by looking into their eyes. In my younger years, my blue eyes may well have been brown, because I was full of more shit than a toilet after an enema procedure. I would say the most outrageous shit to try and get laid, wondering why I would go home and masturbate most nights. I have learned over the years to be brutally honest with what I am looking for as well as NOT go out with the sole intention of getting laid. Go out, have fun with the fellas, and get hammered. No expectations beyond those.
For me, it’s a coalescence of being sexually direct and mischievously playful when it comes to talking to women. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t—but I honestly don’t give a fuck about rejection and that helps. Filter? What filter?
There’s no scent more undeniably obvious and more unpalatable than that of desperation—seriously, you may as well spray yourself head to toe with pussy repellent. I work at a nightclub and have a first-row seat to this shit. It’s one of my favorite perks of the job. I consistently witness these fucking neanderthals dragging their knuckles on the ground, as they walk around scowling, angrily sipping on their vodka Redbulls, thinking if they STARE at a girl long enough, she’ll end up on the receiving end of them; a fucking salivating troglodyte—grunting as he seizes on top of her—assuming he’s the best lay she’s ever had. Or it’s the opposite, which looks like this: Guy walks up to girl. He makes a completely witless comment, like how short her skirt is as if she doesn’t already fucking know. Girl walks away. Guy calls her a bitch or contradictorily, a slut, wondering what on earth HE did wrong. HOW DARE SHE NOT WANT TO FUCK ME! These cellphone lickers are my favorite. If all you’re thinking about is what her pussy will look like with your penis inside of it—by night’s end, all you’ll see is what your hand will look like with your penis inside of it. Look man, there is an abundance of ways of creating a sexual vibe and sexual tension with a girl without explicitly stating it overtly.
Alright, so my eyes have assisted me with getting laid more times than I can count on one of my comedically small hands, but I never got laid solely on them until I meet “Perth.” During my hostel stint, a large majority of my time was spent charcoaling my liver for free at this pub called Baton Rouge with the lads. An eloquent little watering shit-hole that Emmet and Gaz had found. Emmet is as charming as he is obnoxious, so the bartenders fucking loved him, and we all drank there for free by default. Like I said in part one, we all helped keep one another consistently intoxicated and the Baton Rouge was of most prominence when it came to free booze. Gregory ended up managing a restaurant a couple of months into our stay and we would drink there for free as well. Make friends with hospitality workers and you’ll always save a few bucks, believe me.
This day started the same as every other, which was:
1.) Wake up.
2.) Drink.
This was the extent of my life for what seemed like a soused motherfuckin’ eternity. This is a timeline of the afternoon:
12:15 PM Gaz and I are still at the hostel and most of the boys had been at the pub since the first call, so we had some serious catching up to do. Before heading out to the pub, we go to the back patio section of the hostel to see if any lonely souls were wanting to consolidate with us and fill the empty void in our hearts with copious amounts of alcohol. There are two Irish women, an Irish guy and a mysterious brunette girl in the far corner of the patio. She is eerie and pasty-skinned like a Tim Burton character, but hauntingly beautiful and although we are only there for like thirty seconds, her presence fucking intoxicates me. It was as if without even making eye contact she had me under her spell. We ask if they want to join us, they give us a wildly vague answer, and Gaz and I leave for the pub to remedy our withdrawals.
12:20 PM Japaddy, Emmet, Crazy Robot, and a couple of girls from the hostel are already half-cut and sitting at the bar by the time we get there. I quickly drown my low spirits with spirits of the whisky variety and a few beers. I think we even had a beer and a shot of Jame-O each waiting for us upon arrival. Shout out to the Baton Rouge homies.
12:55 PM I can’t stop thinking about the hauntingly eloquent damsel. The fuck kind of witchcraft did she perform on me? I saw her for like half a minute.
1:05 PM I look up from my Tim Burton fantasy and FUCK! THERE SHE IS! The four of them are walking in and they sit at the opposite side of the bar from where I am. It’s a 360-degree square bar and we now occupy an entire side. After about 15 seconds, as I’m scanning the room, our eyes connect. Upon connection, she gets up from her seat. Fuck. Fuck. I watch her walking in my direction as my heart pounds in rhythm to each quick step she is taking toward me until she reaches my seat and along with her feet stopping, so does my heart. Without so much as a single word, she parks on the seat next to me, shuffling her stool so it’s resting against my stool and has her body squared up with mine. Her dominance on its own is probably the sexiest thing about this mistress of fucking darkness. Her face is so close to mine that I can taste her spearmint flavor toothpaste. Fuck me, man, I could pretty well see my soul vacating my body and entering hers.
We start chatting and she is from Perth, Australia. I am completely powerless to most accents, so she already has me doing laps in the palm of her pasty fucking hand.
Perth “So, I saw you at the hostel earlier and I was entranced by your eyes, I had to come down here to see you, Mr. Canada.”
My Canadian flag is now sitting at half-staff; I get vanity boners. Attention and compliments make Liam the 1st excited. I can never show my cards though, so I keep it cool.
Liam “That’s creepy. Should I start filling out the restraining order now, or?”
She is laughing provocatively and if the drool dribbling out of her mouth is any indication of how wet her pussy is, there’s a puddle pooling by her feet by now.
Liam “How long are you staying in Toronto for?”
Perth “Your eyes. Your eyes. I want them.”
What is she, the creature from Jeeper’s Creepers… she wants them?? She is just staring at me, not listening to a word I am saying. Good gravy, this girl, this girl… this girl is me.
Liam “Well, they help me see pretty girls like you.”
Perth “They’ll help you see my pussy.”
WHAT! *DING NEW MATCH* This girl is even filthier than me. My Canadian flag is now sitting at ful– fuck it, I have a fucking, pulsating boner and am needing a warm place to hibernate this afternoon.
I say something incredibly stupid, can’t remember what it was, but when I’m under the influence of an erection, I have trouble being smooth and forget how to be funny. Not that I was needing any assistance. Honestly, I could say anything and with Niagara Falls flowing under her panties, she could barely hear a word I was saying. The entire time we’re chatting, I catch Emmet smiling at me and shaking his head. He is very observant as well as nosy as fucking anything. Fuck you, Emmet.
Perth “By the way, me and my sister hook up and we’re keen to find a guy to have a threesome with.”
AHHHHHHH! *BWAAAAAP* my urethra may as well be spitting out warm ejaculate into my underwear. This is every guy’s fantasy, whether he is willing to admit it or not. Simultaneously sleeping with two sisters is the proverbial dream.
Liam “You and y-y-your biological sister f-f-f-f-fuck”!? I stutter. I had a stammer as a kid, and it comes back sometimes when I’m ridiculously h-h-h-h-horny.
Perth “Yup. We do. She’s in Australia, though.”
This is a first. I have never been continentally cock-blocked before.
Liam “CHEQUE PLEASE! And a one-way ticket to Perth, Australia!”
Perth “Come with me to the washroom.”
I am still relatively sober, but excitedly hop up as Emmet is slouching, chin on his pint glass, still shaking his head and laughing at me. We head into the men’s washroom, literally brushing by a couple of guys and into the stall.
1:30 PM Game on. Like a girl on Christmas morning, already knowing what she is getting, Perth quickly unbuckles my belt and rips my pants off with uncontrolled enthusiasm. She then kneels like an experienced plumber fixing the toilet, not before grabbing her most prized tool. I have known Perth for twenty-five minutes and she already has bruised kneecaps as I am inches down her throat in a public stall. This is a new record for me. She maintains perfect eye contact the entire time and it looks like she is staring past my eyes and into my soul, trying to consume more than just my penis. Bitch, you ALREADY POSSESS IT. After about fifteen minutes, she pulls me out of her mouth and is struggling to breathe, as she says: “jezz all over my face, baby!” She starts licking the head and jerking me off so quickly that my entire body is being propelled toward her and backwards, like an owner preventing its hostile dog from attacking. “Cum, baby!” She is yelling. I like to have facial consent before doing so because I have something called “Hyperspermia,” which is a real condition and when I’m done her face resembles Mrs. Doubtfire in the famous scene where he stuffs his face in the cake to avoid being seen as his true identity by Polly Holliday. “HELLOOOOOOO.”
Perth “Wow, I can’t fackin’ see right narr mate, that’s a fack ton of jeeeez,” she says as she is wiping away cum from her eyes with both hands.
1:50 pm We leave the stall and Perth walks directly to the sink. She is wiping her face in the mirror while guys confusedly walk in and out. After seeing her, one guy even asks if this is the women’s washroom. She has zero shame and could not care less though. I walk up to her and awkwardly try to help her clean off the clumps of semen that reek of bleach and mommy issues. She ain’t having it.
Perth “Hey Blue Eyes, I’m good. We’re good.”
I stand there awkwardly and unsure of what to do. She more or less shoos me away, so I leave the washroom and go back to the bar. Everyone starts cheering and clapping as I walk out like I just won the Indy 500. I bow to my audience and sit down. I have a celebratory shot and beer waiting for me. Cheers, Emmet.
That night, Perth and I take a trip to the Fuck Room. I rip off her pants and am staring at the Great Harrier Reef. Some people don’t like hair, but I couldn’t care less. I’m just grateful people will still sleep with me. I have her doggy-style:
Perth “Stick it in me fackin’ aassss!!”
I pull out of her and easily stick in what I think is her ass.
Liam “You like that, baby? You like it when I fuck you in the ass!?”
Perth “That’s still my pussy!!”
I’m fucking hammered and clueless. Or maybe I am simply justifying being a fucking moron. In either case, since I suffer from “PTSD” (Post Traumatic Shit Disorder), I am not the biggest fan of anal anyway and don’t end up venturing up north. The entire time we’re fucking, she is squeaking like an indoor basketball game and yelling Australian obscenities. I swear she even mentioned her sister multiple times, but that was probably my wishful-thinking imagination. We finish up, head back to her room and knock bunks with her roommate sleeping inches away. Perth leaves the hostel the next day. I hope she and her sister are happy.
Endnote: If you’re reading this, Perth… I’m single and you still owe me a sister. No cruel teasing this time either.
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