Confessions of a Fuck-Up Artist
Aug. 18th, 2013 03:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonAt the Drunken Kilt, I lean back on the bathroom wall while she bends over in a short black skirt to do a bump off the sink. I try to find a spot on the ceiling, the corner of the floor, the bolt on the lock that will keep me from looking at her ass. I'm riding rough into a four month virginity. All fucked up in the head with my balls asking - "Yeah... what's that got to do with me?"
I take a sip of my Jameson's. No mixer. Just ice and a friendly smile please. Drinking different of late now. As if tapping into the whiskey of my ghosts will allow me to tap into their lackadaisical charm, bastard's luck and unparalleled courage.
So being a gentleman but not a saint I settle for staring at her face's reflection in the mirror. She looks up from an eagle's swoop that evaporated the trail of snow beneath her."Sure I can't twist your arm?"
"Tempting, but 'fraid not ma'am."
"Don't call me ma'am. You make me sound so old."
"Y'know, I never get that with you ladies." I light up a cigarette and puff a stream into the empty ceiling. "When did 'Ma'am' come to mean old? It's an honorific, it's a way for a man to address a woman he's not overly familiar with while letting her know he's not addressing a girl"
"Like a cowboy?" Her reflection pinches her nostrils and licks residue blow off her fingers from a serpentine tongue all without ever once taking their eyes off me."
"A knight actually." I shrug thinking it through, "But a cowboy's as close as we American's get."
"Know what I think?" She turns around and props herself backwards on the sink.
"That one of your two boyfriend's out there is gonna come looking to kick my ass when you accidentally scream my name tonight?"
"I don't 'think' that... I know it." She doesn't slide the 40 bag back into her pocket, she doesn't bury the mirror back in the purse or hide the joy she takes in the proximity of her body to my own."But what I think is that you're not completely honest with yourself, are you?"
"Yeah?" I roll my eyes. "Well lay it on me Polonius, how am I not to my own self true?"
"I think you're a little afraid of me."
"No... I'm afraid of where you'll lead me to. Ass kicked and balls blue."
"I think being afraid turns you on."
"Here we go."
"I think you should have a little more confidence in yourself."
"Tch, yeahhhh... I get that a lot. Thing is no one ever sees it my way."
"How's that?"
"That maybe they should have a little less confidence. That maybe they're not all that and in no position to tell me what I should or shouldn't be. That maybe a modicum of doubt can go a long way to making an individual try, write, fuck harder. Know what I mean?"
"Show me."
And before I can grab her by the neck, turn her around, bend her back over her blow and end this season long dry spell...
... I open my eyes and remember I'm sitting on the patio of the Drunken Kilt. Around me a birthday party. Around me festivities and open revelry. Around me beautiful women to whom I am rendered invisible. The Jameson's still in my hand, I down it, nod at the conversation around me, laugh in the right spot and let the rain fall cold out of this August night down the back of my shirt.
I take a sip of my Jameson's. No mixer. Just ice and a friendly smile please. Drinking different of late now. As if tapping into the whiskey of my ghosts will allow me to tap into their lackadaisical charm, bastard's luck and unparalleled courage.
So being a gentleman but not a saint I settle for staring at her face's reflection in the mirror. She looks up from an eagle's swoop that evaporated the trail of snow beneath her."Sure I can't twist your arm?"
"Tempting, but 'fraid not ma'am."
"Don't call me ma'am. You make me sound so old."
"Y'know, I never get that with you ladies." I light up a cigarette and puff a stream into the empty ceiling. "When did 'Ma'am' come to mean old? It's an honorific, it's a way for a man to address a woman he's not overly familiar with while letting her know he's not addressing a girl"
"Like a cowboy?" Her reflection pinches her nostrils and licks residue blow off her fingers from a serpentine tongue all without ever once taking their eyes off me."
"A knight actually." I shrug thinking it through, "But a cowboy's as close as we American's get."
"Know what I think?" She turns around and props herself backwards on the sink.
"That one of your two boyfriend's out there is gonna come looking to kick my ass when you accidentally scream my name tonight?"
"I don't 'think' that... I know it." She doesn't slide the 40 bag back into her pocket, she doesn't bury the mirror back in the purse or hide the joy she takes in the proximity of her body to my own."But what I think is that you're not completely honest with yourself, are you?"
"Yeah?" I roll my eyes. "Well lay it on me Polonius, how am I not to my own self true?"
"I think you're a little afraid of me."
"No... I'm afraid of where you'll lead me to. Ass kicked and balls blue."
"I think being afraid turns you on."
"Here we go."
"I think you should have a little more confidence in yourself."
"Tch, yeahhhh... I get that a lot. Thing is no one ever sees it my way."
"How's that?"
"That maybe they should have a little less confidence. That maybe they're not all that and in no position to tell me what I should or shouldn't be. That maybe a modicum of doubt can go a long way to making an individual try, write, fuck harder. Know what I mean?"
"Show me."
And before I can grab her by the neck, turn her around, bend her back over her blow and end this season long dry spell...
... I open my eyes and remember I'm sitting on the patio of the Drunken Kilt. Around me a birthday party. Around me festivities and open revelry. Around me beautiful women to whom I am rendered invisible. The Jameson's still in my hand, I down it, nod at the conversation around me, laugh in the right spot and let the rain fall cold out of this August night down the back of my shirt.