Page 4 of Make Me Laugh

“Well, it’s about to get a lot better, cause you’ve got allllll this”—I slide my free hand down my torso until I reach the button on my jeans—“for an entire hour.”

The ladies are the loudest this time.

I have not one bit of shame that my average age demographic is women between twenty and sixty. Bring your mama, your auntie, and your granny—whatever sells tickets!

“It feels so good to be back inside you.” I settle into the middle of the stage as a woman in the front row yells something obscene about my dirty mouth. I laugh into the mic, wrapping the cord around my wrist and lean against the stool center stage, getting comfy. “Who said that?” I point into the crowd where the comment came from.

The woman’s friends point at her, standing around their table to catch my attention.

The hat helps keep the stage lights out of my eyes enough to see the first few rows, but with the size of tonight’s venue, it’s not really needed.

A blonde covers her face and tries to sink low in her chair. “Oh, now you’re shy?” I lower my eyes at her as she peeks through her fingers. “You weren’t being so quiet when you told myself, and our audience”—I motion to the crowd—“that you were already wet.”

The woman is mid-forties, pretty, with fake tits spilling out of her low-cut dress. I don’t have mommy issues, but I’ve been known to love a good MILF or two.

My grin says it all—I’m eating this shit up.

“They dared me!” she calls.

“Listen, the last time I was in Boston I got in some trouble with a MILF.” I puff a tight breath through my lips, and she and her friends choke on their laughter, along with the rest of the crowd. “This is a true fucking story, I swear,” I add. My stage laugh breaks my sentences up at the right time, earning laughs from the audience exactly when I want.

Stand-up comedy isn’t just about telling the right jokes; it’s about putting on a show. I have to act the part, have to give the people West Parker. It took me some time to find my niche, but once I found it, everything else fell into place, and my fan base grew too rapidly for the small clubs I was used to performing in while I lived in the U.K for two years with my best friend.

This tiny club actually reminds me a lot of the one I started at in London.

Comedy saved my life, and I’m still in awe I get to fuck around on stage a few nights a week telling stupid jokes like this is high school biology and none of us are paying attention.

“I got caught leaving her house in the middle of the night by her daughter—adult daughter… That matters. And sure, sure, I know what you’re thinking.” Waving my hand in the air, I push off the stool and walk closer to where the group of women are. “What’s so bad about being caught by her adult daughter?”

I pause for suspense, using it as an opportunity to scan the crowd from my new position, making a few mental notes on who to come back to later in the show.

Some people yell their answers, others sit, waiting with impatience in their eyes. “It’s bad when you get caught by the daughter… when she was one third of the threesome you had weeks earlier in a completely different city.”

The crowd loses it. Laughter has been what’s fueled me since the accident, making this the easiest job I’ll ever have.

I almost let myself laugh along with them. Almost.

Except the world stops spinning and everyone in the room disappears when my eyes lock on a pale and icy stare. I can’t tell what color her eyes are from here, but there’s one thing I do know: I’m going to make this woman my future wife.

All the blood in my body rushes to my dick.

Do NOT pop a boner on this stage, you fucking creep!

Her hair is dark, except for two platinum blonde pieces framing her face. It falls in loose waves past her breasts, which are sadly concealed behind an oversized T-shirt. Tattoos decorate most of the skin on her arms, and although I can’t see her legs from here, I imagine they’re covered too.

Her brow raises ever so slightly, and I snap out of my daze. The room and its laughter rush back the very second I’m able to drag my eyes away from hers.

What. The. Fuck. I chuckle an awkward, nervous sound, reaching to rub the back of my neck to play it off as part of the act.

The crowd's laughter subsides and thankfully, someone shouts, “I have a daughter you can date!” The remark gives me something to focus on besides the girl of my dreams sitting less than twenty feet away. “She’s single!” the woman continues.

I clock in on her location and notice a college-aged girl turning beet red in the chair beside her. “Well, typically when moms approach me about dating their daughters, that’s not the first thing I ask.” I’m not the dating type, and I’m certainly not about to get into anything serious at the turning point of my career. “I usually wanna know if mom is single first… If not, I at least know what my future holds.”

Laughter fills the room, a big man in the back screaming, “Amen!”

I make a joke to the mom about meeting behind the pews on Sunday. “We can confess our skins after.”

Of course, one day I want to move home to Michigan, build a house on a bunch of land, and pretend to complain every time my hot wife brings home a new animal to care for.