Let’s talk about sex for a minute here...
There aren’t many things that I enjoy more than getting drunk, connecting with someone dope and then having passionately, animalistic relations of a sexual nature. As much as I love it though, it’ll never trump making love to someone that I connect with on an unconditional, loving level. I’ve been in love twice in my life and there was nothing more intrinsically beautiful for me at the time. There is no purer connection and life is significantly better. Perhaps most importantly, sex is way fucking better. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no bigger advocate for drunken meaningless sex with strangers than me, but I’ve had plenty of both, so I can speak on it. Here’s the thing, I’m really good at having a relationship for the night, it’s when I’m in my element and I shine. My buddy, Sweet Pukey and I used to speak on this topic at length. I think it’s because I can control the situation and I know that there is no commitment beyond a long, salaciously steamy night. What I’m not good at is being in relationships. Both of my long-term relationships were just under 2 years (long for me) and for differing reasons, I was not a good partner. I had my moments, sure; I'm affectionate, loving, generous, phenomenal with families (my own is a different story) etc. But ultimately my demons always outweighed my strengths… Unrestrained Jealousy, possessiveness, stubbornness, codependency and a debilitating fear of commitment were battles I was constantly facing. So, I was too mentally exhausted to be a good boyfriend and they could never see the best side of me. I have a lot to fucking give, man.
Although I have never had issues with being vulnerable or speaking from the heart, I never let my guard down far enough for them to really see me for who I am. It’s like this, I have NO issues with connecting with my friends and showing them that side of me, even complete strangers, whether it be at the bar or at the fucking grocery store and anyone who knows me knows this. It’s because a lot of these interactions are momentary, but your partner is always there and if they truly love you will always call you out on your bullshit. I’m a stubborn, complex motherfucker and get defensive when backed up into a corner. So, as you can tell, I’m a paradoxical nightmare and this is how it goes down: Find someone beautiful. Connect. Obsess. Fall quick. Fall hard. Ignore them. Miss them. Love them. Hate them. Oh, hey, someone new!
All that said, as easy as it is for me to connect with women on more than just a surface level, there will always be a certain type of dame that stands out for me. I don’t really have a specific “type,” I’m not that narrow-minded, but if you’re unconventionally striking and can make me laugh, I’m in the labia of your vagina and you can probably get me to do just about anything. I make myself laugh daily and I’m a pretty vain person, so ideally, I would love someone who is just like me, right? Here’s a story on just that:
Liam Falls in Love With Himself:
Ever wonder why it’s so tough to turn away from a car accident as you’re passing by? It’s because your Fight or Flight Response is triggered and from a biological standpoint, people are naturally drawn to destruction.
Let me assure you I’m not trying to rationalize or acquit even a smidgeon of my destructive behaviour just because someone far smarter than I am says it’s completely normal to be attracted to things that are damaging. But hey, incidentally, I chase women who are more toxic than hydrogen cyanide, which if ingested, prevent the cells of your body from using oxygen and ironically, these are the women who always take my fucking breath away. Having said that, I ain’t shitting out sunshine, butterflies and rainbows myself, man. Fucking hell, I’m so toxic that I make Chernobyl look like a healthy and safe environment for a family vacation and I will always be the first to admit that.
I’ve had my heart stolen on many occasions but can only recall only a couple of times where I was so blown away, both physically and emotionally, that I was at a loss for words. Coincidentally, both these fallen angels shared the same descent, physicalities and name, “Luci.” Now, I have an entire department of inner demons working within me and that is where they are confined to. I had never physically encountered one of them before and like car wrecks that you can’t look away from, “Luci” was a fucking 666-car pileup…
It was a shift at the pub just like any other; cracking the filthiest jokes possible and flirting with every girl and their mother as you do at work. I walk behind the bar to ring something into the POS system, completely oblivious to the intense presence that was lingering within arm's reach. My back was toward the bar when co-worker “Ree” puts his arm around me and is laughing. Nearly whispering he says:
Ree: “Wait until you see this girl sitting at the bar, man…”
Ree and I were bar partners and worked side by side for years. We had the same infatuation with thicc women. He was black, so you know we talking THICC, they don’t fuck around. We had a method for when hot women walked into the bar which was more or less, “Duuude, you gotta see the fucking BOOTY on this one!” He’s one of the few people I know whose libido is on par with mine, which makes sense because he is also a connoisseur of the foot.
I turn around, instantly making direct eye contact with the staggering deity.
*cue slow motion drool hitting the floor*
If time had ever come to a crashing halt in my life, it was at this exact moment. No one in this world existed, except for me and this perfectly flawed specimen, painted eloquently by both God and Satan. My heart, falling short of my penis drops into my stomach. My ears are pulsing in time with my heartbeat and preventing me from hearing anything she is saying.
Luci: “THUD. THUD. THUD.”
I couldn’t formulate a sentence, only staring and standing there paralyzed with confusion when Ree, who had prior dialogue with her, sees how flustered I am and steps in to save me.
Ree: “Hey so, this is Luci. Luci, this is Liam.”
Liam: “Hahahaha.”
I didn’t know how to speak. This hasn’t happened since I was a baby and didn’t possess the biological instinct and brain capacity needed to speak yet. All I could do was laugh. “MAMA,” I swore I said after. I swear, dude. Without saying more than a few words, this Princess of Darkness ripped away any wit and charm I had RIGHT out of my body. I was like a baby staring at her in awe and curiosity. We chatted for a few minutes with me mostly mumbling nonsense and trying to keep the drool from vacating my mouth that I couldn’t seem to close.
I can’t fully explain it, but when you know you know: Luci was one of my inner demons and she was incomparably fucking majestic.
WHO IS HE?!
Picture this: Hair as distinguished as Golden Hour right before sunset, endlessly glowing and irradiating her uncharacteristically faultless face. She wore the slight bump on her proportionately large nose with brimming self-assurance and it worked competently with the rest of her face. She had the “Inverted Triangle Face” shape, like a Scarlett Johansson or a Jennifer Love Hewitt, so the nose worked to her advantage. Ree loves women with bigger noses, so he was hooked. When I was a kid, my dad’s buddy used to say, “women with big noses give the best head.” He was a former rocket scientist with brain damage after getting hit by a car and was a fucking idiot (not because of the brain damage, he was just a general dickhead) but I won’t fight him on this one, man. She had those deceiving, WIDE open, doe-eyes that appear innocent. I know women that pay for this look, they literally sell “Bambi mascara.” Don’t get these eyes confused with “Crazy Eyes” either. Although both big and wide, there’s a significant difference between them and “Doe-Eyes.” Even if respected parties are insane, Crazy Eyes aren’t attractive, it just looks like you’re fucking constipated. Whereas Crazy Eyes typically conceal narcissistic neurosis, Doe-Eyes typically conceal a freak. These eyes are my ultimate fucking weakness. Have mercy on my soul.
On top of that, they were a greenish-grey and looked like I was witnessing the Northern Lights. Her smile oozed unrivalled confidence I had never seen before. So, those eyes with that cunningly subdued smile and the slight downward head tilt as she looked up at me… Man, that look could destroy the most stable of marriages. You know the one. This extraterrestrial being that was gleaming and sitting within heart-ripping proximity of me, could easily illuminate the Antarctic sky in the dead of winter just by stepping outside.
WHO IS HE?!
I never thought a body would be such an afterthought, but it was merely a bonus feature to this already thought-provoking, spellbinding Blue-ray film. This kinda framework would give anyone honored enough to have her walk by them, whiplash, guys and girls alike. Suddenly, I was interested in physiology, I needed to figure out the chemistry and physics behind how this body functioned.
She was funny, eloquently spoken and incredibly charming. I was fucking fucked.
FUCK.
Not I could talk. Not I could walk. Ustrgfsske. See!
My heart was beating so hard that it surely left a visible bruise on my chest and I was having difficulty breathing. I was paralyzed and she had me trapped in the purgatory of her heart. It wasn’t even a sexual thing, she was intoxicating and it’s like she had me under her spell. You know in Hocus Pocus when Sarah Jessica Parker's character sings “Come Little Children” (as fucking creepy as it is) and all the kids are on the street, walking towards her like zombies under her control. That was me.
What the fuck, man?
I vanished from behind the bar and head back onto the floor to collect my thoughts. I’m rubbing my temples when my co-worker, “Flip,” snaps me out of it.
Flip: “Hey man, you see that ass sitting at the bar, holy shit. It’s perfect. The things I would do…”
I’ve never been so fucking jealous of a barstool before. I wanted to smell the seat.
Ree quickly walks up to me:
Ree: “Liam, they’re leaving soon! You need to get her number. She is too sexy to let slide by.”
Liam: “Dude, you saw me out there! I was like tripping on my words. I couldn’t speak, man. When does this ever happen?!”
I’ve had women ghost me after giving me their number, so digits mean fuck all, but it’s still like part of foreplay for me and I enjoy asking for it. It’s all part of the process. So, Ree offers to get her number for me and walks up to Luci as she and her friends are about to leave. I was at a table taking payment, but watching the interaction between Ree and Luci with my peripherals. I see her sitting at the bar for a solid 30 seconds writing on a piece of paper. My customers were yammering away about something, but all I could hear was the teacher from Charlie Brown, “WOMP WOMP WOMP” and I’m just replying with generic adverbs and adjectives: “Yes.” “Okay.” “No.” “Why.” ”Sure.” “Good.” Probably threw a noun in there, too: “Weather!”
Even though the note didn’t say anything sexy or funny, just her number and something about the city we both grew up in, I was still so turned on and tempted to use it to clean up the mess I was about to make it my pants. After she leaves I turn to Ree:
Liam: “I am forever in debt to you, man.”
Ree: “Just make sure you sleep with her and we’re even. I wanna see pics tho.”
Liam: “Anything, man. You see her nose? She had a bit of a bump on the bridge and a bruise, so you know she’s fucking insane and gets down.”
Ree: “Haha nah man, didn’t notice that.”
We text for a couple of days when she says, “How do you feel about me making your weekend for you?”
I don’t care what anyone fucking says, there aren’t many things sexier than a confident woman who asks you out. The world needs to see more of this. It only added to her allure.
So, we meet the following weekend at a bar called “Bar Isabella.” I show up half an hour early and do four anxiety-riddled laps around the street that the bar is on and make a few phone calls to further procrastinate. My heart was pounding, my chest was tight, I was dizzy… I was literally having a panic attack and had to calm myself down enough to not look like a raving derelict before I met her.
I eventually dispose of the tampon in my vagina, head inside and sit at the corner of the bar. I knock back a couple of drinks to ease this sloppy anxiety that is currently diddling my asshole and since the Male G Spot is in the anus, I start to finally relax.
Bar Isabella is super dark and as I am taking a sip of my drink, I notice the doorway lighting up in my peripherals. Walking in is Luci and after picking up my jaw from the top of the bar where it was resting on, I signal for her to come over to me as I mime myself sucking a penis with one hand and pointing at myself with the other because I was as nervous as I am immature.
She asks if I want to suck her dick as she pretends to unbutton her jeans and hugs me. It’s a Canadian February and she is as sweaty as I am. Perfect.
As I mentioned in the intro, I’m constantly falling in love. And throughout the book, you’ve seen my penis and brain constantly at war. But like having an arm wrestle with someone in a coma, the lil fella wins by a landslide every time. So, where I would usually be distracted by the massive swelling in between my legs, my melting heart was keeping my penis at bay and my brain was here for it.
Liam the 1st: “Fuck. I got nothing, pal…”
Liam the 2nd: “That's because there are a pair of nerves that run up the neck called ‘the vagus nerves.’ They connect me with a few of the internal organs, including the heart. So it was only a matter of time before we overthrew the emperor, Mr. 1st. The heart and I have started to establish a relationship as of late. Liam, I am sincerely proud of you. We can move forth with the next chapter…”
Liam the 1st: “I have a pair of something that’ll run up on you, bitch! And I’ll fucking connect you with them. After they’re done, you can pump some of your boyfriend’s blood in me and then fucking sit on me. How does that sound?”
Liam the 2nd: “Repulsive! And the heart is clearly a female.”
I ask Luci what she does for a living, you know, besides devouring depraved hearts like the Egyptian demoness, “Ammit.” In Egyptian folklore, Ammit, who was equal parts, lion, hippo and crocodile (the 3 largest man-eating animals), would devour hearts that were deemed to be un-pure. I should keep my distance. She knows what purpose she is here to serve.
She makes a joke and then says she’s a model.
Liam: “Like you got some amateur photographer trying to build up their portfolio, to take a few pictures of you at the beach that you then posted on Instagram? Dime a dozen, I tells ya.”
Truth be told, I believed her. I was just being an asshole. Man, It would be a fucking crime for someone who looks like this to not get paid to look like this.
Luci: “Aww, you think I’m a dime?”
She then shows me legitimate model shoots that she had done and other gigs that she had lined up, even had one the following morning. Talk about an insecurity complex!
She mentions she has to go to church the following night, it’s part of her Sunday rituals. I am picturing her at confessions talking to her priest. She is wearing lacy, see-through lingerie and crotchless panties:
Luci: “Forgive me, daddy, for I have sinned,” as she is licking her lips and running her hands up and down her body and her fingers in and out of her most impure of demoness parts.
Priest: “YOU WILL BE BANISHED TO HELL, SINNER!”
Luci: “You’re only sending me home to daddy.”
I pound back a few more drinks and am composed this time around and in my zone. I’m charmingly hilarious and adorably inappropriate. She was digging me and I could feel the scorching hot moisture emanating out of her like she had a warm mist humidifier on her lap. So, I go for the kiss and get the face turn. I’m crushed and the humidifier was now on my face. Look, I’ve been rejected hundreds of times, it goes with the type of life I live, so it wasn’t a shot to the ego so much as it was puzzling, because we were vibing so well. I figured the mortgage had been pre-approved and my penis would soon be signing all the necessary documents on her clitoris to buy and live inside of her pussy.
Mortgage Loan Status: DENIED.
Liam the 1st will be homeless for another night.
It’s silent, but I can’t look away from her and embarrassment soon transitions into puppy love. It was like I needed her attention even more than before. I had a worshipful, nearly desperate affection for her. She knew exactly what she was doing. I do that shit all the time.
Luci: “I’m not gonna kiss you in public.” She finally says.
I don’t respond to her and after a few awkward seconds, it goes back to normal. We hang out for a while longer before leaving the pub shortly after last call. We're walking down the street holding hands and get to a street corner when she grabs my already extremely erect penis and is rubbing it as we start making out.
Freshly cocky and with a bladder full of urine, I take a piss in the bush two feet away from where we were. I zip up and as I’m walking back, I see her running onto the streetcar. Either she’s unbelievably childish or a teasing genius… I was hooked either way.
My buddy and his family owned a beautiful Italian restaurant and Luci and I decide to meet there the following weekend. I show up early and am sitting at a table in the very back of the large venue sipping on my vodka soda and waiting for Luci when Time Will Tell by Bob Marley comes on. The lyrics go “You think you’re in heaven but you’re living in hell.” It was symbolically fitting.
Not long after, a collective hush falls over the restaurant and it was eerily quiet. Everyone had stopped doing what they were doing. Customers weren't eating or conversing, bartenders weren’t pouring drinks, bussers weren’t clearing tables. It’s no exaggeration to say the entire restaurant had their heads turned nearly in unison in the same direction, both men and women. It was like everyone had their breath held in sync and though the life had been sucked right out of the restaurant, it had so much life. It’s when I see Luci promenading down the runway, nearly floating like she was standing on a moving walkway at the airport. You know in those late 90’s teen movies when the new bombshell walks into the school and instantly has the animated attention of everyone she walks by? That’s what the restaurant was looking like. There’s a communal exhale as she sits down and everything goes back to as it was before. I look over at my buddy standing by the bar and he’s giving me a look like “How?! She’s with you?” I return it with a shoulder shrug. Perhaps the most mystifying part about it is she was hardly even dressed up, she just radiated that elusive glow that is hard to come by.
My buddy kept bringing drinks and fancy dishes over, always making sure our drinks and bellies were substantially full. I think it’s only because he wanted a closer look at this celestial being and found any excuse to come back. I barely even knew the guy, he was a buddy of my GMs.
As the night went on it was evident Luci was like Jim Carey as she fired off voices and impressions, both verbal and physical. She asked me a question and as I was answering it she started staring off at a customer sitting at a table behind me in concern while she took a sip of her drink and flicked the straw with her tongue comedically perfect. Luci was doing the EXACTLY same weird shit that I do. She was even making wordplay and puns out of everything as I do. Shit, she was doing me better than I do me and I couldn’t believe it. She had me laughing more than any other girl ever has. I was hyperventilating in ways that only my buddies and a handful of comedians can.
But just like when I hang out with my comic buddies, it becomes like a comedic competition, each one trying to top the next guy. So, I was giving one of my best performances to date.
Luci: “You know, you make me feel calm and mellow.”
Liam: “Really? But I’m a nutcase. How does that calm you?! I’ve never heard that before haha.”
Luci: “Well, because I’m the crazy and funny one in my group, so I’m always on and it’s exhausting! So, it’s nice to have you in that role right now. I’m here for it.”
She was starting to show her unguarded side and throughout the night kept saying “are you having fun?” and looking for my acceptance.
Every time she said this I would strike quick with a snarky response and she would coyly laugh and then follow it with a funny voice or a joke. That was the only time she would show her cards and I would get a short glimpse of unadulterated vulnerability. I couldn’t believe someone so physiologically flawless could be so insecure. The most attractive people are typically the most insecure as they’re either overcompensating for an unresolved issue or need constant external validation and carry with them thorough anxiety to always please. It’s like seeing a gorgeous Instagram “model” posting a half-naked picture with a motivational quote about happiness underneath it that has NOTHING to do with the picture like: “Nobody can make you happy until you’re happy with yourself first! XX” I’m sure your parents are thrilled that creepy old dudes have access to your life and are masturbating to your quotes about how to fulfill happiness. It’s for likes, comments and an overall surface-level rush of social media adrenaline, man, that’s all it is. The validation is a necessity for short bouts of happiness, but like everything superficial and shallow, it’s transient.
Add to that, the funniest people are often the most depressed and making people laugh is like an addiction. That quick fix makes you feel instantly better. It’s like doing a bump of cocaine and feeling fucking exhilarated momentarily. The high doesn’t last long though and you need another bump and another etc. The laughter wears off and so does the high it gave you, so you need another quick comedic affirmation. Also, having people connect with your joke when it hits is similar to a release of dopamine in the brain. It feels like your brain is ejaculating and who in their right mind doesn’t like ejaculating?
The restaurant closed at midnight, so we pay the bill and she gets up and starts walking outside.
Liam: “Yo, where you going?”
Luci: “There’s a bar across the street that I’m going to that is open until 2.”
I’m just standing there befuddled and twiddling my thumbs as she crosses the street.
Luci: “You can come if you want!” She yells before walking in.
Like a love-struck, pussy-whipped cuck, I follow her in without any more hesitation. Stupid, beautiful vaginers. She knew what she was doing. She knew damn well that unless I got hit by a vehicle, I was following her in. She’s sitting at the bar already looking at a menu when I walk in.
Luci: “Oh, nice of you to join me, pal!”
She’s out-Liam’ing me and I hate it, but it’s turning me on.
We spend a couple of hours drinking a large majority of their inventory and talking about family issues. Look man, I have no problems speaking vulnerably so as not to dump, but to relate to other people's shit that they’re going through and if my journey can be of service to others, that’s great. I’ll never voluntarily tell my story, but if you ask and I can help, I’ll go into intricate detail and depending on how drunk I am, I’ll make it either wildly hilarious or relatable. She seemed genuinely curious and after I was done speaking, she starts going off about her own burdensome issues she had with her mom and tearing up. I couldn’t believe she had broken and then I remembered we’d drank everything in the pub but the toilet water. She quickly thereafter realizes her emotions have become unshielded and the subject changes to sex because much like me, she consequently used sex and vulgarity as a psychological crutch.
It transitions into oral sex and she tries calling me out. When it comes to oral and I, it’s a no joking matter and well, I let my mouth do the talking…
Luci: “You don’t know how to eat pussy. Being a good talker doesn’t make you orally inclined.”
Liam: “Oh, woman, you’re playing with fire here.”
Luci’s starry eyes along with her intoxicating aura of pure, raw sex appeal were driving me fucking insane and it was becoming far too much of a burden to bear.
Luci: “Yeah? Can you back it up?”
Liam: “Of course, what’re ya thinking?”
She raises her eyebrows and gives me that sexy shoulder and head shrug. She wasn’t speaking, but had every box of body language ticked as to what she wanted:
- Facial: The slight downward head tilt (that I was talking about earlier.)
- Gesture: She was twirling her hair with one hand (body language 101, kids.)
- Touch: Her other hand was weaving through my fingers.
- Posture: With her rousing eyes, she made sure to let me know her legs were spread apart.
- Space: She moved in closer and you know when you feel like you’ve connected with someone on such an incredibly sexual level that the tension alone feels like you’re already fucking? That’s where I was.
I couldn’t take it anymore. We pay the bill and guzzle down the rest of our drinks. Without more than a couple of words, we head downstairs to the handicapped washroom. I can’t remember who initiated it, but it doesn’t matter. I take her pants off and like a diving shorebird-swan, have her clam in my mouth in seconds. After a few minutes, she removes my pants and goes down on me.
She then bends over the sink and is giving me a look, like, “you know the drill, daddy… draw me like one of your French girls” and as if we’re a couple of teens who never made it out of the parking lot on prom night, we start going at it. I’ll never forget the precise moment we locked eyes in the mirror. It was so devilishly passionate that it felt like she was burning a hole in my soul and consuming my entire being. I was no longer Liam Peters, I was simply a robotic shell of who I once was. She had me, man. If it was tongue in cheek before, it was suddenly consequential now. She soon snaps me out of this limbo existence:
Luci: “Spank me. I am disobedient!!”
That’s one thing she said a lot, Not just during sex, but generally speaking. She said it in that cute way that women do to get what they want. I was telling a buddy about it and he said it makes him sick and he couldn’t fathom why I love it, during sex or any other time. He also thinks I should publish my book under a pseudonym, so fuck him anyway. What does he know?
Luci: “Is that all you got? You can do better!”
Liam: “Oh fuck, lemme show you what I got!”
She was almost challenging me, so I begin doing the “Double Dutch Windmill.” The skin breaks and she is bleeding. That’s not a turn-on for me, I don’t like any bodily fluids during sex aside from the obvious ones. I felt guilty. Some people are into that torturous, humiliating-type sex and that’s fine for them, I’ll get down and filthy and I’ve done some weird shit in my time, but that shit ain’t for me. So, I stopped.
Liam: “Oh, fuck me! I am SO sorry!”
She couldn’t care less and started taunting me. Fucking taunting me!
Luci: “It’s just a little bit of blood. C’mon, don’t stop. You can fuck me better than that. You can go harder. You can work it better.”
The sink and mirror are shaking like they are about to break and I’m drilling for fucking oil at this stage.
*BANG, BANG* Someone starts screaming on the other side of the door.
Doorman: “Get the fuck out!!”
As I’m putting my clothes back on I realize my phone wasn’t in any of my pockets or anywhere in the washroom. With Luci leading the way, we walk past the steaming doorman and head upstairs where I find my phone sitting on top of the bar. I grab it and apologize profusely to the bartender who wouldn’t acknowledge me. Luci had all but run outside and is nowhere to be seen by the time I walk out the front door. I call her and she has no idea where she is, so I tell her to give me any significant street signs or markings that could help me find her. The woman tells me she is on some street by some houses. I couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me or not because it’s what I would have done. I spend 30 minutes trying to track her down, walking down seedy alleyways and side streets. She sent me on a wild goose chase and every time I got to where she said she was, she wouldn’t be there. That’s when I realized she WAS fucking with me. What did I do? I continued the great search through the Canadian winter tundra in search of this girl who just used me for sex and was now making a mockery out of me. Yup, even though she was stringing me along like I was a complete moron, which I was, I CONTINUED FUCKING SEARCHING FOR HER. I eventually find her sitting on a bench outside of a school and erupt!
Liam: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
Luci: “What?”
She says this completely straight-faced. I’m seething because this is what I DO, my poker-face is no joking matter. Something about tasting my own medicine?! Yayaya.
She looks up at me with her stupid, perfect doe-eyes.
Luci: “I’m disobedienttt.”
That’s all it took.
That’s all it took.
It was like she had snapped her fingers and my anger had immediately dissipated, turning back into infatuated attachment.
Since I get Vaginal Separation Anxiety (VSA), I needed sex again and we start making out. I quickly undo my belt and since the bench is frosted over, I make sure to keep my briefs on as I pull my jeans down so they’re halfway down my thighs. Even though the thin fabric covering the flesh doesn’t prevent my ass from becoming ice-cold, it’s enough of a barrier for some comfort, albeit not a fuck of a lot. My penis then flops out of his gloomy habitat for the second time in the last 45 minutes like a wound-up Jack In The Box.
Liam the 1st: “POP GOES THE MOoOoTHAFUCKIN’ WEASELLL!!”
We take her pants off collectively as a team. It’s a beautiful thing, man. She hops on and the weasel makes contact with the labia. You know when a girl sucks on an ice cube before going down on you? That’s what it felt like as soon as the head brushed up against her lips. It was like sticking my dick in a fucking slushie. She jumps off as quickly as she jumped on though.
Luci: "I don't like having sex in public!"
Oh, only in public washrooms? It was also the middle of February in Canada, so I won’t completely fault her on it. We go to A&W, scarf back a couple of burgers and she calls an Uber.
Liam: “Nooo, aren’t you coming over?”
Luci: “I have a shoot in the morning. I can’t, buddy.”
There’s no worse scent than that of desperation. And motherfucker, the desperation in my voice coupled with my body language… The shit was oozing out of all of my orifices. It was disgusting. She was enjoying it too, I could see it in her eyes. She got what she wanted.
The next morning I meet up with my buddies, "Sweet Pukey" and "Creemore" at a pub called “Hunters Landing” for some food and drinks. I was desperately needing to assassinate my hangover and they had an endless mimosa special on weekends, which was $8 to start and then $2 for each refill. It’s pretty much just juice, so they let us order multiples at a time. I was still drunk from the night before, so it takes about 5 for me to lube up the ol’ membrane enough to feel like a functioning member of society again.
Liam: “Dudes, I’m in love.”
Sweet Pukey: “With the chick from last night?”
Liam: “Yeah man. Your boy is loooved up.”
Sweet Pukey: “What? You’ve been on like two dates with her, c’monnn…”
Liam: “Yeah, but I fucked her in the pub washroom last night, so it’s official.”
Creemore: “HAHA she’s a fuckin’ piss-puss, dude!”
Liam: “We got thrown out. Man, she’s way hotter than me and even funnier than I am. FUNNIER! Have you ever had that with a girl before?”
Creemore: “Haha I’ve never had that, man.”
Creemore is a professional comedian and comedically, is easily the quickest person I have ever met in my entire life, so I believed him. We drink until they run out of juice and Prosecco when Sweet Pukey starts giving me a super concerned look.
Sweet Pukey: “Dude, what the fuck? Is your nose pierced?”
Liam: “Yeah man, I was waiting for you to notice.”
Sweet Pukey: “When the hell did you get that done? Creemore, did you notice this?”
Creemore: “Yeah, but I always just thought it was like a part of him thooough.”
Creemore is also one of the biggest potheads I know and is from the prairies so his O’s are looong. It’s like one flat sound, so the “o” vowel seems longer. Mix that with his strange Californian-surfer, long-drawl and you have an accent that is truly one of a kind. He sounds like a Minnesotan Canadian from California.
Liam: “I got it done last week haha.”
I had been day drinking with my Irish buddy, “Emmet P” and on the way home, at about 7 PM, I was walking past a tattoo shop and without thinking twice, got my nose pierced. Picture a hammered adult, bleeding, snotting and crying in a tattoo parlour. I can’t believe she even pierced it in the state I was in. Don’t drink with the Irish.
Luci and I hung out a few more times. It was one of those situation-ships where each one of us would wait for the other to initiate the first contact. It wasn’t easy for me either like it usually was. If you have an iPhone, you’re familiar with the “Tapback” feature. Which is the function of tapping on the message and having the option of selecting a list of reactions for it like “thumbs up,” “exclamation mark” etc. So, Luci wouldn’t hear back from me and would react to a message from a day or two beforehand with a “thumbs down” to remind me of her existence by passive-aggressively and playfully heckling me. It worked too because I would instantly message her afterwards. This girl was breaking me down in every way imaginable and I barely knew her.
We went out for dinner one night and as we were outside, I went in for the kiss. I get the face turn for the SECOND time. At this stage, we had slept with each other and similar to at Bar Isabella, besides me holding back sniffles and tears, it’s silent. Still, the more she rejected my advances, the more I needed her approval. I was nearly broken, but my heart was engulfed in flames, my hormones were off the fucking charts and my mind was racing faster than it normally does. These feelings were inconceivable.
Luci: “I’m sorry... Hey, you paid for dinner. Let me pay for your Uber!”
Liam: “Absolutely not.”
My Uber pulls up. She grabs me and we start making out. It feels like that scene in The Notebook when they’re making out in the rain after they have that argument in the rowboat. It was even raining too, just to add to the corny-ass moment.
As I said before, Luci never really dressed up, so I had given her shit every time we met up because she would wear these hilariously childish shoes and flood capris. I called her Hannah Montana. So, a few days later we met at a live jazz bar that I’ve wanted to go to for years and of course, she loved live jazz. She shows up wearing heels.
Liam: “My eyes! Where are the Baby Gap shoes, Hannah Montana?!”
Luci: “You kept making fun of me for them! So, I had to show you that this bitch can indeed dress up.”
There’s just something about women in heels for me. It’s like the foot cleavage and will always have my undying support. And also fuck me, she rocked them peep-toes with convictionnn. We ended up leaving there and going shot for shot, tequila style and drink-for-drink at a different pub before getting kicked out and ultimately banned when she tried to reach over the bar to pour herself a beer from the tap. We went back to my place, fucked all night and she woke me up at 7 AM, to say she was leaving for a fitness boot camp and then heading to a model shoot. First of all, how dare you wake me up. Secondly, fucking hell, rising out of bed, walking to the bathroom to pee and then to the kitchen to drink a glass of water is like a fitness boot camp for me after a long night of riding the booze train. That was the only time she stayed over.
Another morning, after a heavy night out, she was up around the same time for a modelling gig and sent me a flawless selfie beforehand, like she wouldn’t even need to see the hair and make-up department. She was just one of those girls who would get annihilated until 4 AM and be up first thing, full of energy and looking like she had a full night's rest. I told Ree this:
Ree: “Dude, I dated a girl like that… She would be up all night drinking and then be up for a jog like first thing in the morning. She was around 21-22, too. These girls exist, man, they’re out there. Do not date this girl, they’re the most insane. Also, stay FAR away from girls named Sarah.”
He was always adamant about that second one.
Liam: “Crazy? Please… don’t insult me, man. You know damn well who you’re talking to here.”
Ree: “Haha, this is true!”
The day after she tried stealing the beer I was roasting her over text for being a moron and getting us kicked out, then not tipping on top of that. She was getting defensive. (Verbatim texts)
Liam: “She can dish it, but she can’t take it.”
Luci: (4 separate texts)“I thought I made it pretty clear last night
there are at least two things in this world she CAN take
Tequila shots and fat cocks
put that on my resume”
Liam: “LOL! Is that why you couldn’t take mine”
Luci: (2 separate) “yea
miniscule”
Three more things to add to the already extensive likeness between us:
- Her love for Tequila.
- Her disturbing the shit.
- Her getting kicked out of places.
Our similarities were becoming all too destructively evident.
To say she was the most attractive woman I have ever laid my eyes on would be too easy, but it was never even about that:
- Luci was charming.
- Hilarious.
- Did voices when she was uncomfortable.
- Had unresolved mother issues.
- Was as vain as she was insecure.
- Had a crippling fear of commitment.
- Used humour (often vulgar) to deflect her extreme emotional anguish.
Luci was me.
Fuck.
Luci was me.
It was my Fight Club realization moment. When Edward Norton is in the hotel room talking to Brad Pitt’s character, Tyler Durden. And he realizes that he IS Tyler Durden. So, He’s thinking back to all the times he was with Tyler and it’s a montage of the scenes they were both in, but it’s Edward by himself. He’s talking to himself, fighting himself, drinking by himself. Tyler was just everything that Edward’s character wanted to be: He looks how he wants to look. Fucks how he wants to fuck. He’s a smarter and more capable person. Most importantly though, he’s free in all the ways he is not. “Tyler” tells him that people do it every day. They see themselves as they would like to be, not who they are. To a lesser extent, Luci was my Tyler Durden. I started remembering all the times we were together: I’m at the pub doing obnoxious voices and laughing maniacally while everyone watches in fear. I’m turning myself down as I try and kiss myself multiple times. I’m getting kicked out of the handicapped washroom for jerking off. Nearly doing the same thing on the frosty park bench… You get the idea.
Now, in my situation, it wasn’t nearly that complex because Luci wasn’t everything I wanted to be or even anything close to. It was more like she was everything that I THOUGHT I wanted in someone else.
We were both so quickly self-deprecating and it was almost like we were using each other to alleviate the pain we had by relating on such an intimately comedic level and it worked, but only for a blip in time. Without the proper self-work, relationships like this can never work, at least in my case.
Listen, don’t get me wrong, I love me; I’m the life of the party, I’m a loyal friend, I’m hygienic. But when it comes to dating and dealing with my true emotions, I’m a complete fucking disaster of a human being.
I’ll save you the non-exciting details on how it ended. I wish I could tell you there was some massive domestic blowout, but there wasn’t. It just kinda anticlimactically fizzled out. It’s like this: If you line up two magnets so that the poles are facing each other, they will repel and push away – this is what is known as “repulsion.” No lie. Being the same emotionally destructive person, we were like two magnets trying to get together and without much, we distanced ourselves and it just ended.
Luci Epilogue: About 6 months later I went out on a date with this girl, “QT Therapist,” who I had met on the dating app, Hinge. Before we met she wanted to video chat, so we FaceTime’d a couple of times before meeting up. I see nothing wrong with women requesting to video-chat beforehand as it exudes a certain sexy confidence and from a women’s standpoint, can also weed out the creepy dudes and so forth. However, I wanted to fuck with her so when she called me, I answered the phone wearing a surgical mask and was on my absolute worst behavior. I was firing off voices, bouncing off the walls and was just generally obnoxious. She was super pretty, funny, very sweet and on top of that, she put up with my shit each time I fucked with her.
We chatted for another week before meeting at a pub. She hopped out of the Uber just as I was getting there and we head inside. This is one of the first things she says when we sit down:
QT Therapist: “You were so insane that first time we FaceTime’d. I had never experienced that kind of energy before. I couldn’t peg you like you were so crazy, you barely even let me talk. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to meet you after that first chat.”
Liam: “Haha so why did you decide to meet me then?”
QT Therapist: “Well, you seemed like you’d be a fun time and when I first saw you on Hinge before I commented on your pic, I took a screengrab and sent it to my friend and said ‘look at this gem’, so ya know…”
We were sitting in a booth across from each other and after ordering our first drink, she unsolicitedly tells me she has a “4 Date Rule.” She won’t sleep with a guy until the fourth date minimum and will by no means go to a guy’s place before that.
By the second drink, she’s sitting on my side of the booth.
By the third drink, our thighs are creating friction and she’s giving me the look. You know the look. We all know the look. C’mon, we’re adults.
By the fourth drink, we’re swapping each other’s unflossed bits of dinner and feeling each other up like a couple of concupiscent teenagers unable to control their urges. I’ve walked on plenty of concrete sidewalks softer than I was at that moment. I start rubbing the back of her neck and whispering in her ear:
Liam: “You coming over, baby?”
QT Therapist: “Well, I have wine at my place, if you want to come there instead? Up to you.”
We hop in an Uber back to hers. I think she meant to say she has a "4 Drink Rule," I must’ve misheard her. I know some women won’t sleep with you for several dates and that's cool, I totally respect whatever the fuck you want to do completely free of judgement. But they don’t tell you they won’t, they just don’t and it’s as simple as that. It’s like how the biggest talkers are full of the most shit. Overcompensation at its finest. It’s the type of woman that also says:
“I don’t usually do this.”
“I’m not that kinda girl.”
“I swear I never do this!”
These girls categorically fall under the “4 Date Rule” girls. Where did we go so wrong in society that we can’t be honest with our actions and what we want?
Alright, so we’re on her couch, drinking wine, chatting and listening to music. I’ve mentioned this before, but those moments before a first kiss is like sex for me. The anticipatory factor of what’s about to happen ignites something incandescent inside of me. It’s the whole affair: Getting close, refraining, whispering something cheeky or charming in her ear, hearing that sexy giggle, caressing her inner thigh, refraining a few more times. Knowing that this will be the only time you’ll ever be in this position with her. It’s like masturbating and stopping RIGHT before you’re about to cum and continuing etc. I’m a sentimental person, what can I say?
Even though we technically made out at the bar, it was sloppy and we were surrounded by people. Not that I mind an audience because I don’t, but I need an intimate setting to really connect on more than just a sexual animalistic level. That part comes afterwards.
She had a dope spot. A huge living space, lots of plants, a super cushiony couch with about 10 different types of pillows because women fucking love their pillows. We’re kissing when she stops.
QT Therapist: “Hey so, when was the exact moment that you knew you wanted to kiss me at the bar?”
Women always ask this question. I’ve been asked it so many times. In short, the answer is if you have a nice face and lips uninhabited by blisters, odds are I want to kiss you right away. I can’t remember what I said, but I do know the moment I saw her hop out of that Uber, I wanted to rip her pants off with my teeth while I marinated her entire body with my tongue, before bending her over the mailbox and fucking her imprudently heedless of consequences and that’s God’s honest truth. Chances are I said something along those lines too. She looked like a Greek Goddess and had that scrunched-up Jennifer Aniston type of face, along with blonde curly hair that was so thick and long you could swim laps in it. QT Therapist was one of those girls that don’t work out, eats and drinks what she pleases and still maintains a perfect body, so she wears nothing but tight gym clothing to show it off. She was the embodiment of every woman’s deep-seated jealousy.
We head into her room and are about to fuck when she restrains me from entering her. This is never good.
QT Therapist: “Do you have a condom?”
This is an instant boner-deflating question. It’s like taking the cap off of an inflated air mattress, stepping on it and watching life slowly suck away from it until you’re left with nothing but a dispirited piece of complete uselessness.
Liam: “No no, baby, don’t worry, I’m clean!”
“I’m clean.” This is always my immediate defence. Even though I had unprotected sex with someone else three nights before, I was indeed clean (I get regular checkups.) Also, no second thought to unplanned pregnancies...
QT Therapist: “I always make new guys get tested and show me the results before I sleep with them without a condom. I have some in the drawer of my bedside table.”
This girl was efficient and far smarter than I was giving her credit for. So, I put on the rubbery ironic cock-block and we fuck for a while. This is our post-coital pillow talk:
QT Therapist: “Well, I didn’t quite expect that tonight.”
Liam: “What exactly did you expect, babe?”
QT Therapist: “Well, not sex. I don’t sleep with guys that quickly. I told you.”
Liam: “Yeah, me neither…”
Throughout the night she had been talking about this guy, “Matty,” she was seeing on and off and how he didn’t want a monogamous relationship with her and how much I reminded her of him.
QT Therapist: “I seriously need to stay far away from guys like you and Matty. I was even talking to my therapist about it.”
Liam: “It’s probably for the best, yeah. Fuck, at least we’re honest in what we want though.”
This is when the vibe completely changed. Ya see, for whatever reason, Luci was very much in my head all the time. Certain songs reminded me of her in a huge way. I always saw her in other women. I was always thinking about funny inside jokes we had. It had been like half a year and I was still VERY much hung up on her. I BARELY EVEN FUCKING KNEW HER!
QT Therapist: “Do you have a Matty in your life?”
Liam: “I uh, I do, baby. Her name is Luci. She is an angel and a demon. We only hung out like a handful of times, but I honestly think I fell in love with her.”
QT Therapist easily cracked me and now had me in the palm of her adorably vulnerable hand. She asked me what happened and I tell her the whole story.
QT Therapist: “You know what, Liam? You need to reach out and tell her exactly how you feel. Like life is too short to not find your soulmate and not tell the ones that you truly love how you really feel. I think it’s beautiful.”
Though she didn’t flat out say it while she was giving me advice, she was clearly projecting HER wants and needs on how to deal with Matty. It still didn’t go unappreciated, QT Therapist.
Liam: “You know what, you’re totally right. I need to tell her how I feel!”
Keep in mind, it had been less than five minutes since my penis was inside her most sanctified of human cavities and she literally STILL had bits of dried cum on her chest. Nevertheless, here we were talking about how we love other people and would rather be with them right now. Humans, man. We’re such a predictable, yet convoluted species.
Therapist: “Seriously. You need to text her!”
Liam: “Yes! But what do I even say? It’s been so long. What if she doesn’t feel the same wayyy?”
QT Therapist: “All you need to do is tell her how you feel. If you don’t, you’ll never know how she feels, babe.”
It was super fucking embarrassing. She was holding and consoling me and we were like kids talking in a teen drama. We spoke about it for like 20 more minutes before falling asleep. We wake up the next morning, cuddle for a bit and when I go to leave she says “I was so drunk last night, you totally could have convinced me to not wear a condom.”
I obviously never reached out to Luci because at the end of the day, whatever fleeting connection-ship we had, it was only that. And however colorfully intimate as it may have been, I think of people like seasons; some change, some are cold and dark, some are warm and bright, some come and go. But it’s never without the symbolism of something far greater and excuse me for sounding like a hippie for a second. The key element of the entire experience was that I incidentally learned so much about myself through Luci.
It’s how I try and always live my life now. Much like finding enlightenment through suffering, I also find it through connections and relationships when and where I can. I have an aching excitement to learn from everyone I meet, so whether it be good or bad, if I gain an understanding of something from our interaction, I’m as happy as Liam without a condom on.
Many happy trails and fails, my friends!
Sincerely, LP
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