How to Piss in Public (19 page)

The Honda took an immediate right and the insanely hot slut driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and asked, “Where we goin’?” I told her about the burger joint in the East Village we always go to and Pinky piped in with, “It’s just by Saint Mark’s Place—in the vicinity at least.” When this black man opened his white mouth, every girl in the car turned around like he just said, “I’m a bomb,” and blew up. Though Pinky looks like every other black dude in Bed-Stuy, he is from Canada and talks like a white news anchor with a pickle up his ass. He’s about as African-American as Nelson Mandela. After staring at him for a second they looked at each other and giggled.

“OK, we go there then,” my ho added. I had already chosen the driver as my mate but there were three of them and I figured the best way to do this would be to switch it up regularly for the duration of this long-term relationship. I thought of the Beastie Boys song where they say, “And we all switch places when I ring the bell.” Maybe we’d
get a bell. We’d go up to the Bronx twice a week for sex parties with our new steady girlfriends. We’d bring dildos and double dongs and watch them fuck each other before whipping out our real dicks and showing them why man is better than machine. Then I started getting mad at all my cynical friends. “
Penthouse Forum
is a lie,” they’d scoff. “Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life.”

“Oh yeah,” I thought, having a silent argument with people who weren’t even there, “then what’s this? Huh? I’ll tell you what this is. This is sexual people with big libidos who aren’t chained down by societal norms. We are post–sexual revolution, post-AIDS, post-fear. We seize life by the sex organs and mash them together until they explode into a sea of secretions. We are the New Millennium Lovers!” I was so far gone, I already had a name for our sex cult. Then I caught my girl staring at me with her green eyes. I was sitting directly behind her and she couldn’t take the sexual tension.

“Oooh, you fucking fine, you know that?” she said.

“They both making my pussy wet,” passenger-seat ho said. Pinky started to seem uncomfortable and I remember getting pissed at him. Was he just another one of these naysayers who hate the exciting and spontaneous world we live in? Then the girl with the ankle socks grabbed my fucking package and said, “I bet this one got a big ol’ dick.” Even though I wasn’t remotely hard, I pulled down my track pants and underwear to my ankles and she ran her hands up and down my hairy inner thigh. I felt like I was cheating on my driver girlfriend, but this was an orgy, so fuck it. Then my girl said, “Where you live? I need to get that fucking dick.” I’m still ashamed of how nerdily I said this, but I gots ta keep it real. I said, “Well, I’m down on Ludlow Street but it appears you ladies are a little too horny to wait that long so maybe we should just—”

Before I could say “pull over,” she had screeched into an empty space next to a fire hydrant. We were barely three blocks from Passerby and it was on. In one fluid motion, she yanked up the parking brake, turned completely around, and shot her chair back so the top of it was pinning me to my seat. Then she got right in my face and said with those alien eyes, “Oooh yeaaaah. I’m gonna suck your dick and you
gonna fuck me in my ass. You know that?” As she put her arms around me, she stuck out her tongue and flicked it up and down like a horny cobra. It had a diamond in the center and I was hypnotized.

As she continued to rub her hands and tongue all over my neck and ears, I looked over to my right and saw the girl in the middle was opening a box of wet wipes. “Wait a minute,” I thought, finally gaining some sanity, “why would she have a box of wet wipes? She didn’t know we were going to meet tonight. She didn’t even know the New Millennium Lovers existed. Shit! Has she done this before?”

I looked over at Pinky. We were in a car full of crazy-looking prostitutes slithering like snakes and moaning like alley cats in estrus. And they brought wet wipes! Pinky was as bug-eyed as I was and out of nowhere I started an involuntary panicked chant: “Too weird. Too weird. Too weird. Too weird. Too weird. Too weird.” Then Pinky chimed in, “Too weird. Too weird. Too weird.” We were not trying to be funny. The New Millennium Lovers were fucking scared. We kept our necks straight like Beaker in
The Muppet Show
and started swerving our torsos back and forth doing a petrified robot dance and repeating, “Too weird. Too weird. Too weird. Too weird.” Like the whole system was shutting down and it did not compute.

With my pants still at my ankles I began scrabbling for the door handle. Pinky did the same and our mantra was getting louder: “Too weird! Too weird! Too weird!” Our hostess looked equally sketched out as I finally jiggled the door open around the same time Pinky did. I stumbled out of the car and fell on my ass in the middle of the road, and Pinky rolled onto the sidewalk. As I frantically scurried backward to get out of the way, the car SCREECHED out of its spot and laid rubber all the way down the block, almost swerving into the parked cars on the other side of the street. By the time I pulled my pants up and walked over to Pinky, they were gone.

“Did we just blow the greatest opportunity of our lives or did we just save our lives?” I asked him.

“I don’t think they were horny,” he replied.

“But how did they know we weren’t criminals?” I asked. “How did they know we didn’t have guns? They must have had their own gun in
the glove compartment. Holy shit, we almost died!” I grabbed Pinky freaking out. “Pinky!” I pleaded. “Please tell me my wallet is still in your pocket.”

He hit his hand against his hip. “It is,” he said, relieved. Then he looked up at my face and asked, “But where’s your gold chain?” I touched my neck and felt nothing but neck. That hypnosis had cost me $1,000.

It’s New York. I got hustled.

Asian Cocaine Orgy (2000)

I
always did pretty well with poon tang and it’s because I just keep going for it. I’m always down and girls can tell. They know I want to smell their ass. They can smell it on me. Nothing is out of bounds. If a woman was menstruating I’d just say, “Well paint my dick white and call it a tampon because I’m horny.” Shit, to this day my only problem with women breast-feeding in public is they don’t wink back.

For a while I didn’t even care what her personality was like. If she wasn’t funny, I’d take her back to my place early. “Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.” Some, like Stéphanie, Nancy, and Jasmine, were potential wives. Others were just colostomy bags for my cum. I couldn’t imagine life without pussy. When I think of a guy buying a blow-up doll not as a joke, it makes me want to cry.

When I was in a band, my currency was up and I could fuck almost anyone I wanted to. When the bands were done and Vice was broke I marked myself down to 50 percent off and fucked fatties, AKA “slumpbusters.” I managed to lay a good three hundred women over the course of twenty years and they were usually in the 7 range. That sounds like a lot of bitches but over seventeen years of fucking, it’s just over one a month.

I was never into buxom blondes because that’s what my mother is and I have a reverse Oedipal complex. They had to be brunettes, and that left mostly Jews, Chinks, Negroes, and Pakis. If you ever get the opportunity to fuck a Jewish broad, grab it by the short and curlies and hang on for dear life. Their dirty talk is so raunchy it will straighten out your dick. “Kill me” replaces the usual “Fuck me” and it’s not unusual to get an e-mail from them the next day that says, “Thank you for raping me last night.” I can’t talk about it anymore, or I’m going to get a boner.

After seeing Blobs for the first time I could feel I was getting toward the end of my single days. I was starting to get bored. I’d give myself handicaps to make it interesting. I’d try to fuck two Jennifers in a row. It took a mountain of planning but I once fucked five different Asians in five consecutive days. Another way to keep it fun was threesomes. I preferred two girls and me but I often spit-roasted chicks with a buddy (dick in the cunt while she sucks him off). I’ve had people say to me, “Isn’t that queer? Being with another guy?” Anyone who says that hasn’t tried it. You’re way too busy taking care of business to care about a nude dude over there. It’s like two mobsters digging a hole for a dead body. Your focus is on the hole and if your shovels happen to clink, big whup. Shit, I once tried so hard to double-stuff a woman I didn’t realize I had actually pushed my dick past her asshole and into her vagina, where it was snuggled next to the other guy’s dick. It was weird for about a third of a second, then I beat off into her hair.

Vice retained a Montreal office after moving to New York and we’d occasionally go back there to do boring stuff like check on the books or see how a new employee was doing. This time it was my turn and I was looking forward to it. For the first time ever, I had some money in my pocket and could afford a nice hotel and some serious partying. Ideally I would get a few grams of Gary Glitter and have a threesome with some drunk French sluts. Then I’d go get drunk with my buddies.

Threesomes are a cinch if you’re good-looking and famous. I’m ugly and hated so I had to work hard to set them up. I was also lucky enough to come across an insatiable whore named Sally Woo who was a reporter and was quite possibly the solar system’s naughtiest girl. She
also had a pussy so tight, I wouldn’t have been shocked if her pee came out as mist. I met her doing a feature on
Vice
and after flirting with her for about two minutes, I noticed she had no panties on and she had moisture dripping down her leg like a horny teardrop. I’m not kidding. That’s how much of a filthy whore she was.

Her voice sounded like a frog was being strangled but she was hot and like many Chinks, her body was perfect.

The night we met and many nights after, I abused the shit out of her with my dick. There were no limits with Sally: anal beads up her butt, a ball gag in her mouth, I could tie her up with rope or duct tape … Shit, I could sit on her face if I wanted to. I once fucked her butt with so much relentless gusto, her anus looked like a baby yawning. Her name was written in stone in my little black book and it stayed there the entire time I was single.

Sally lived in Quebec City, which is a few hours’ drive from the Montreal office I was visiting, but she was such a horndog she agreed to make the trip and meet me. “But here’s the deal,” I said on the phone from New York. “There’s going to be another girl there, my ex-girlfriend. Her name’s Genevieve and I can’t guarantee she’ll be into this so we’re going to get sneaky.”

She was “totes ’trigued,” as she liked to say because abbreviations are popular in the girl community.

“I’m going to say you’re a gift I bought for her,” I said.

“Like a whore?” she asked in her witchlike voice. Before I could come up with a nicer synonym, like “masseuse,” she blurted out, “I love it!”

Genevieve is half-Filipino, which means you get to have your cake (Asian) and eat it too (fat ass). Not only had she avoided the Asian curse of no butt, she could drink like Dean Martin. She was small and cute and looked like a squirrel would if it modeled for fashion magazines. Oh yeah, she also came from being fucked in the ass.

The hotel was a new, overdesigned, fancy-pants joint called the Saint Paul in Old Montreal, and when I got there, Sally was already sitting in the lobby on a strange spherical chair. I checked in without saying hello and then silently pointed to the elevator, where she was
instructed to join me. We rode the elevator in silence. I was pretending to be furious and it was turning her on. I was thirty at this point and old enough to know women like to be abused. Not “Cook me some fuckin’ eggs, woman” abused but “Get on your knees, slut” abused—BUT there needs to be some moderation employed. You can cum all over a bitch’s face while telling her she’s a fucking whore as long as you get out of that zone immediately afterward and run to get a towel so she can clean up. It also helps to ask, “Who did this to my baby?” as she wipes it off so she knows the bad man is gone.

But the bad man had just arrived so I walked into the room, slapped the smile off her face, and told her to get some fucking shoes on. “Ankle socks first!” I commanded as she scrambled around the room getting set up. I made her take everything else off and then said, “Bend over and show me your asshole,” which looked delicious. Then I walked around the room staring at her as she waited for her next command. “You like to show me your ass, don’t you, you fucking pig?” I asked with a schlong so engorged with blood, it could easily have smashed a coconut. She obediently nodded and I pretended that set me off. I grabbed her by the arm and pushed her on the ground, where she got her mouth impersonally fucked like she was a blow-up doll. The gagging sound was so “out of order,” as the British would say, that I almost blew my load right there and had to stop. “Is something wrong?” she asked. You can’t break character during these things and I couldn’t say, “Oh, sorry, that just felt so nice, I nearly ejaculated,” so I dragged her to the bathroom and made her get on all fours with her head over the toilet.

As I nailed her from behind, I decided it was time I took this shit to the next level and actually push her head in the toilet. That would be a new level of degradation and my cap could do with the feather. But for the first time ever, Sally resisted. The harder I pushed her head down, the harder she pushed it back up. This is a tricky situation. You have to say the Serenity Prayer and try to figure out if forcing it would make her cry—thereby ruining everything—or if she is testing you to see how much of a man you are. Sometimes tests like this can pull both of you out of it and the whole thing is ruined, like in
Bitter Moon
when
Emmanuelle Seigner pushes the guy in the pig mask off her and says, “You ruined it! Pigs don’t talk.”

I decided not to push it and pulled things back a smidge by positioning her on her back next to the sink and drilling her like a fucking jackhammer until I felt that telling tingle and it was time to give her eyes a pearl necklace.

The whole event looked like a disgusting rape movie that turned out to be a snuff film, but as soon as that last Silly String of jizz hit her eyebrow and I finished my ten seconds of postorgasm twitches, we were Ken and Barbie. I passed her a hand towel and washed the ass juice off my face in the sink as she took off her stilettos and found
Finding Nemo
on demand. Sally was not a member of Mensa and this wasn’t a kid’s movie for her. Within minutes she was completely engrossed. Fine. I ordered burgers and we sat there like a married couple with a deep, dark secret. We had set back feminism a hundred years.