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But it gives me a chance to look around me. I mean, really look around me.
To girls who wear as little as possible and go out at night, hoping they find someone to go home with.
To guys looking for something cute to stick their fucking dick into.
To people looking to drink and forget.
To others looking to just forget.
Too many people talking too loud, trying to drown out the fucking silence.
I sound like I’m fucking high right now or something, don’t I? Well, I’m not. Because it’s starting to make sense.
These aren’t bad people. Strippers aren’t bad people. Hell, hookers, phone sex workers, models, web cam girls, these aren’t bad people. The people who provide and the people who consume, these aren’t horrible evil people.
I mean, I remember my Dad started out by writing smut and selling it online. That grew. He didn’t stop. Sure, he was sexual. I mean, I still remember the day outside Starbucks. I was just about to talk to some random gorgeous girl—what little of her that I remember reminds me of Ashley—when I saw him with his two new girlfriends.
I remember we fucking fought. That was the last time I saw my Dad. I traveled and stayed busy for the two months after that. And he died.
Because I was too proud to realize that Dad was making people happy.
We’re all fucking lonely. And some of us are lucky to have that one person or group of people who complete us. Who make us realize that someone out of 6 billion people cares whether we’re alive or dead. It’s a basic foundation of being a fucking human.
And that’s why we crave it. We read about it. We watch movies about it. We join Facebook to connect. Because as human beings, we want to connect on a deeper level than anything else.
Dad was providing one avenue for it. Sex.
Sure, there’s other ways. But I never realized how important that connection was because; up till Ashley I’ve been one of the most disconnected motherfuckers on the planet.
All of a sudden I have to go.
"Where are you going?" Sarah asks.
"Gotta get something done, babe," I say, drawn into the conversation. “I need to see about a girl.”
"Can I come with you?" she asks.
And there it goes. Boom. Why would I take you home with me when I’m going to go look after a girl? After just meeting you? What kind of fucked up alternate reality are you living in?
"No," I say, basically figuring a question like that only deserves a one word answer.
"Can I?" Deb asks, her face lighting up.
What the fuck? She thinks because I didn't take her friend, she now has a better chance?
I sigh and take a large drink of my scotch.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asks me, batting her eyelashes.
At least Dee is a bit more reserved. She just brings her fist to her mouth and makes a blowjob motion, then smiles at me.
I know what you're going to say to me, okay? Not every girl is like this. There's some with great personalities. I know what you're going to say. Three months ago I would have told you that you were just trying to be nice.
But now, knowing what I know, I agree with you. Because I’ve met the girl for me.
And I’d rather fucking die than give up on her and let her go without even trying.
“Goodbye, ladies,” I say and within seconds I’ve walked out of the club.
