Tuesday, November 30, 2010

CraigFails 2.0

I received her phone call around 4:30 that Friday. Although she always exuded poise and grace, to me her voice just oozed sexuality.

“Hey, how about we get a couple of drinks after work?”

Being completely infatuated with her, I was always keen to hang out but could obviously never let her know that, for we had been friends for a while however this friendship was only something born from my fear of revealing my true motive. You know how it is, people only seem to strategically reveal enough that doesn’t give away their whole hand. And although I tend to be more straight up, I knew that straight turning her inside out was part of my destiny.

I manage to convince my colleague, Asif, who is also an acquaintance of hers, to come with. Work strangely finishes early and together with another colleague, Paul, we start to walk downtown. Both Asif and I are grilling Paul about some girl he is trying to p0wn. I must admit, hearing the civilised desires of my contemporaries only make me realise just how clandestine my own should remain.

This conversation then becomes a joke about how badly I’ve been busting my ass with this girl. Nine months of ‘friendship’ isn’t exactly the result I desire, usually most women have been regretting sleeping with me for 8 months by now. In fact, the whole affair has made me feel ineffectual. More like a spectator than a competitor. A snake without venom is just a belt.

I change the tack of the conversation onto something more mundane;

Craig: You guys see that show ‘River Monsters’? It’s crazy how most of the biggest freshwater fish in the world are some variety of catfish
Asif: Yeah! Last week the dude went to India caught this massive fish. A “Goonch” or something..
Paul: I saw that
Asif: Bro…fuck those things are ugly
Craig: What? You mean Indians??

Asif (who is Indian) gives me a knowing glance. He is conscious that I am joking, however unappreciated it may be, and knows full well that, with every burn, the portrait in my attic becomes a little more decrepit. Paul receives a phone call from his slam piece and boards the nearest bus. You can’t really hate on someone for bailing on drinks to get ass. Respect the game.

We meet her and some of her colleagues at the bar, which is unfortunately more club/bar than bar/club and includes vacuous clientele with even more vacuous music. If I ever met a ‘cultured’ woman I would marry her in an instant. But no, although oceans are deep most are too caught up in their reflection on the surface.

Now, I have totally resigned myself to the fact that it will never happen, so I generally now fill the time I spend with her enjoying her company and waxing lyrical. This night is no different and our playful banter is filled with me busting her chops. The goofy laugh, her total lack of co-ordination, the ‘real’ fragments of who is she is that shine through the mask we all put on. Perception and reality seldom reconcile and it’s those little moments that provides each dynamic, be it platonic or romantic, with the greatest intimacy.

I join her and Asif at a table inside where the latter makes another crack regarding my fruitless efforts. She seems strangely offended and I try to diffuse this by reasserting that the joke was at my expense. Suddenly she wants to talk to me and we move outside. Seated, she tells that she is indeed attracted to me and it’s a shame that I will be moving cities (which was the plan at the time) as she would have liked to see where things could go. Flattered, but kinda confused, I express my own attraction to her and echo her sentiments regarding my prospective change in environs.

One of the journeys in life is to find out what you want to do but at the moment all I know is that I want her. God I want her. To me, she totally embodies what Kerouac wrote about the people he wanted and how they must burn, “like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars”. I wish I could be her world. I wish I was one of the reasons that she would smile and light up the room. I wish we would wake up in the morning and she would look at me with half opened eyes and bed hair then roll into my arms for another hour of sleep.

We rejoin the group for another drink, which goes fairly quickly, and she queries me whether I could come with her and drive her car back to her apartment, as she is too drunk, and then we can just walk back to the bar. It all sounds kosher, she is certainly in no state to drive and, hell, you can always bank on Craig. After dropping off some of her colleagues at the casino, we are on the way back to her apartment when she suggests that we “stop and get some alcohol”.

Craig finally clicks.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, I dash from the car and get a dozen beers. I definitely have enough ‘bad ass’ to finish another box. At her apartment, I start chewing through the drinks. Just chewin’ ‘em. In fact, I am on a mission to have the drunkest sex (which is always the best kind) I could ever have. For I had dedicated some time to her and the conclusion was not gonna be short lived. I am going to destroy her.

We sit on the couch, all the while I am still throwin’ ‘em back, and she pulls out some book. “Time Magazines Photos of the World” or something. It’s a sloppy pretence for what is ultimately gonna be a sloppy act. She starts thumbing through the pages and commenting on each. A sly smile is spreading across my face, for I know what she is trying to do. You thought you were sneaky, didn’t you girl? I have laid so many of these traps before, I wonder if they all seem so contrived? Regardless….

I am so fucking ready.

The anticipation is rising. After years of whamming, bamming and thank you mamming I had dedicated almost three quarters of a year to someone who I thought unattainable. I know this feeling well, I used to get it popping receivers looking inside too hard after cutting on a post route or hitting someone just after they turned after catching a hook. Now, with football behind me, the only contact I am currently getting is being chaffed by my zipper.

Sensing that she wants to kiss me, I jump the route. Shocks of electricity run through my body, bringing forth life and enough passion to power a small city. She is a lot more forceful than expected which could only mean her own desires have been as strong as my own. All of a sudden the electricity hits me again. No…wait a minute, it’s my phone.

Craig hurried and unneccessarily loudly: HELLO!?!
Andy: Craig, what’s up man? Are you going to be out and about tonight?

Damn…that’s right, I really didn’t expect to be in this position and had made ‘later’ plans. Which is kind of sad really, I was already at the acceptance stage of my own rejection.

Craig: Hey man, can I talk to you tomorrow? I can’t explain right now..
Andy: You don’t need to say anything more

Yes. Understanding - the mark of true friends.

We continue to kiss on the couch, I am quite happy to take this thing as slowly as possible. This was the culmination of almost nine months of work and I want to slowly bath in her passion for as long as time will allow. That and, well, I’m not really too sure on her protocol. For she struck me as having strong morals and therefore this may not go any further on the first night. Her hands unbuttoning my pants tell me otherwise. Dirty bitch! She grabs my hand and leads me to her room.

The train is about to leave the station. It’s destination? Pound Town. Stab City. Craigtropolis.

Her room looks too sanitary for what I am about to do in it. Thankfully, I have a couple of drinks with me. One goes down quickly leaving the cup still half full (I’m an optomist!). Never have I been more mentally prepared for something and I just want to spray it all over her like a tube of toothpaste that has been hit with a hammer. I put my drink next to the bed (for easy access) before stepping towards her and kissing her passionately. I throw her to the bed and position myself in her guard. Passion surging through my body and she attempts to remove my polo shirt. I do and am reminded that I need to:

1. Shave my chest
2. Shave my balls
3. Do more cardio

Both of our clothes then seem to dissipate into the ether. I take a moment to observe her body. Smooth caramel skin gives vibe to luscious curves. Beautiful lips that shape beautiful words. A goddess, she is why cavemen painted on walls. She whispers in my ear;

“I’ve always fantasised about you”

My mind works furiously to isolate what exactly these fantasies would entail;

Me getting stoned and eating a whole pizza?
Being covered in sweat after furious exercise?
Hunched over a computer speculating on the world boxing scene?

This moment of thought allows me the time to demolish my last drink. You should always hydrate before anything strenuous. This final push has now made me a rolling mess and I am thankful that I won’t need all my co-ordination. We go at it and I am giving all I have, all the built up frustration and passion are harnessed and exerted in a universe where time has no bearing. At least that is what my body is telling me as even although hours have fallen off the clock and I'm covered in sweat, I still surge. She suggests that we flip this thing over however, as I lay down, the room starts spinning. She mounts me and begins to go to work but ceases suddenly and looks at me aghast;

“Are you alright? You look like you need to throw up??”

I respond affirmatively and, without time to make it to the bathroom, I am led out to the front porch. As I reach the sliding door I can feel it rising and cover my mouth with my hand in order to keep the vom as discrete as possible. This does little to suppress the flow though and, one step outside the house, the vomit explodes out of my mouth, ricocheting off my hand back on to my face, my naked body, my still erect-ness.

She rinses me off with the water from her water bottle and I am given a minute to collect myself. After showering, I feel a lot better and make my way back to her room. Now, you would think my chances of resuming action were fairly dire no? Defying the odds, Craig goes back to his maximum smoothness.

I awake sometime mid-morning. The room has all the marks of something ugly; condom wrappers, empty bottles, strewn clothes and the reality of what happened hits. We speak and, obviously being fairly embarrassed, I try to make light of the situation. She counters angrily,

“Craig – you had vomit on your PENIS!!”

I Am Legend.

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