The Friend Zone
(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to a man seeking love. It is a dimension as easy to fall into, as it is impossible to crawl out of. It is the middle ground between fear and joy, between desperation and devotion, and it lies in the mind of an associate, rather than the heart of a lover. This is a dimension of insecurity; Its an area which we call…The Friend Zone. (buhd-oo-bud-up!)
By: Michael Hempen
Brought to you by: Cous’n Hemp’n Entertainment
Featuring: The Ghost of Rod Serling
From Ukraine With Love
Ghost of Rod Serling: You walk into this relationship at your own risk, because it leads to the future. Not a future that will be, but one that might have been. ‘Passion’ is not a new emotion, it’s simply an extension of what began in emotions past. Rejection of that passion has patterned itself after every raw feeling that has ever planted the imprint of a boot on man’s neck since the beginning of time. Intimacy has refinements, pleasures…and at it’s end, it can have a sophisticated approach to the destruction of a man’s psyche. But like every one of the emotions that preceded it, desire has one iron rule; logic is an enemy and truth is a menace. Any ideology that fails to recognize the worth and dignity of a man’s desire to be in a monogomous relationship, is obsolete. ‘Commitment’ is but another case to be filed under ‘E’ for ‘Extinct’…in The Friend Zone.
I suppose I can find a problem with anybody, and since I’ve been lucky enough in my life to have dated some beautiful women, each beautiful in their own way, of course, I’ve found that good looking women can take things for granted. For instance, most women of great beauty, don’t like being told how beautiful they are; which puts a crimp in my romantistick. I’m a wordsmith, that’s kinda what I do; and in the seven kingdoms you’d be hard pressed to find a man who’s better at pitching woo than me. The problem with that is, in order for my woo-isms to be effective, I need a woman who’s receptive to them. And 9 out of 10 beautiful women aren’t, because they THINK they’ve heard it all before. Not that they’ve necessarily heard the same things, but they’re used to men trying to get in their pants by any means, and in a weird way they’ve come to expect, what they consider, ‘lines’.
And it’s not only my words that roll off of them, its actions as well; some women EXPECT you to open doors for them. Hell, in my experience I’ve gone on dates with beautiful women who don’t even reach out their hand to open a door because they’re so used to men doing it for them. Sometimes I have half a mind to not open it, and see if they walk into it like a bird flying into a window. Pull out a chair, light their cigarette, compliment their stunning beauty when they first show up at the restaurant…it all goes unnoticed and unappreciated. So how do I stand out? I be funny, that’s how.
Since I can’t use romance, and manners don’t seem to count, the only tool I have to set me apart from the handsome but dumb football players whom most of these women think they deserve…is humor; it throws them off. Of everything they’re expecting, dick jokes is not one. And they love it because someone is talking to them like an adult and not a Faberge egg with a vagina. The problem with using humor to get my foot in the door is that it has to be mixed JUST right with humility and romance. If I just make fun of people all the time, she’s gonna think I’m an asshole, which means I have to throw in some self deprecation, but not TOO much, because NO woman digs a guy with low self esteem; it has to be played right, so she KNOWS I’m joking. Next, I have to know when to be funny and know when to slam home a compliment. If she doesn’t see it coming, and it’s worded just right, it actually gets through the armor enough to make a dent. The formula is “Joke, Joke, self deprecation, joke, compliment!” and BOOM! She’s on the ropes. She didn’t see that coming and NOW, now I’m a sexual threat. You have to know when and how to stop joking long enough to become a sexual threat, otherwise you end up in THIS dreaded place we call…The Friend Zone.
Ghost of Rod Serling: Hey Hempen, union rules asshole. Only I’M allowed to say ‘The Friend Zone’
Me: Sorry Mr. Serling
Ghost of Rod Serling: You better be prick; you know NONE of these women like you, right? Now get this over with. I’ve got drinks at the dead Kennedy Compound tonight and I hear Mary Joe Kopeckey will be there; now that Ted’s up here, this is gonna be GREAT!
Ok, nobody knows who any of those people are? Good, I’ll move on.
Now much like the bad dog owner, the yoga instructor, and the stripper from Friend Zone’s past, some of the women I’ve dated have personality flaws that run so deep that the Marianas trench gets queasy looking down on them. Be it narcissism, anger issues, or addictions; I don’t really care how beautiful a woman is, because there has to be a mixture of beauty AND humility. Unfortunately, some women are so well put together, so intelligent and strong…that they don’t need me as anything other than a court jester. Fuck, this game is such a pain in the ass sometimes.
What I’m getting at, is that I recently recieved an email from a woman, who told me that she’d read something I wrote on my blog. She asked me: “Why do men feel they need to fix things?”, and a correspondence erupted between the two of us which told me that she was smart, well thought out, and witty. I was so engrossed in our talk, that I never even thought to ask for a picture. I was just enjoying…her. However, as can happen in a correspondence such as this, after her questions were answered she wrote that all too annoying line: “Good luck with your search!” Fuck that, this one I need to know more about.
She told me that her name was Sofia. Emails turned to texts as we continued our conversations, and texting became fast and frequent. It was during these texts that I came to learn that Sofia moved to Chicago from the Ukraine eleven years ago. This revelation presented a problem for me as I’m not a fan of accents, especially Eastern European ones. There’s an origin story behind this, but that’s for another time; for now let’s just say that accents aren’t my thing. Anytime I tell a man that I don’t like accents, he thinks I’m fucking crazy because apparently, other dudes find this hot. Well they can deal with it; accents just bring back bad memories.
I made a joke about accents and ‘prepositions’ to Sofia, and she assured me that her accent wasn’t too bad, after all, she’d been in America for 11 years. However, the text that she told that to me in, read like this: “Accent not being bad.” Girl, you TEXT in an accent, don’t tell me your accent isn’t bad. Plus, I hadn’t seen a picture of her yet and I kept imagining one of those big Russian ladies with huge boobs and a hairy gut, wrestling a bear or some shit. I really need to get more culture in my life. But, that would be just my luck from a woman who cold-emails me after reading my blog. But as I’ve said; Life is like a post on Craigslist…you never know what you’re gonna get.
Eventually we made a phone call date, and I found that Sofia’s voice was not only comforting, but relaxing as well. It sounded sweet, like a mandolin. Her accent was light, and made every sentence sound like a slow song. It wasn’t bad at all. On top of that, she was smart. We talked about Russian history and Sofia told me about the Ukraine, what she missed about her time there, and her likes and dislikes about America.
After a week, I still hadn’t asked for a picture. I wasn’t even thinking about what Sofia looked like as I grew to look forward to our conversations during that week. A mistake to be sure, but one I would not come to regret…for once. Now, it should be noted at this point that Sofia, told me that she wasn’t looking to be in a relationship. She told me that she was fulfilled in her life at the moment and didn’t feel that she needed a man to complete her. Once again…The Friend Zone rears it’s ugly head.
Ghost of Rod Serling: HEY!
Me: OK! Jesus, man.
But that didn’t really matter to me at this point, because I wasn’t really thinking of fucking Sofia. To be honest, I didn’t know much about her; I was just having fun talking to her, and I was really enjoying the cadence of her voice as we did so. Sofia didn’t offer up much information about herself, instead she philosophized and talked about my writing while asking questions about me. Now, don’t think me rude, I DID ask her a ton of questions about her, but other than ancillary stuff about getting her nails done and cultural things about the Ukraine…she just wasn’t that forthcoming.
After a week of this, I asked Sofia out on a date. “We cannot call it ‘date’, but I would like to meet with you, Michael.” She didn’t want to call it a ‘date’; OK, whatever. Again, if you don’t want to go on a DATE with me, then don’t tell me how wonderful you think my stories are. I’m pretty clear in ALL episodes of the Friend Zone, that I WANT TO GO ON A DATE; preferably with a woman who doesn’t make me want to jam a shrimp fork in my eye. Did you get that? I WANT TO GO ON A DATE! Let me give you MY definition of a date so we’re PERFECTLY clear on this point.
A DATE is a function in which the two of us go out somewhere, be it dinner or a bar or cow tipping; whatever, and the POSSIBILITY exists for fucking. I don’t expect anything, I don’t even WANT anything, and you’ll never feel pressure from me in that way. BUT, before you leave your house to meet me, you’re of a mind set in which you are open to a relationship and me flopping around on top of you at some point. If you’re saying to yourself “I just got out of a bad relationship and JUST want to fuck”…then we don’t need to go on a date. JUST come over here and fuck me. I’m sick of wasting my god-damned time on women who have their minds made up before they even leave the house. So if you’re reading this right now, you’re laughing your ass off, and you’re thinking “I’ve gotta get to know this guy better”, do it; but understand what I’M looking for ya selfish jerk, otherwise you won’t be laughing when you read the NEXT Friend Zone blog titled “The Filthy Who-er”. Got it? Good; let’s move on.
So, Sofia and I went out on a date, and there’s a reason why I’m calling it a date, so don’t think I’m just ignoring her admonition. She told me to meet her at a Jamaican bar on West Chicago Avenue, called “Mr. Brown’s Lounge” in the Ukrainian Village. When I parked down the street from the bar I couldn’t believe where I was. No bullshit, the apartment building that I parked RIGHT in front of was the SAME one, in front of which, I received mouth stuff from the stripper in FZ07 two years ago. High five to West Chicago Avenue.
Sofia wasn’t there yet, so I went into the bar and ordered a Red Stripe. I was the only white guy in the joint, which…no big deal. Most of the men were dressed in Rastafari gear, and the women were dressed to to impress. There was Reggae music playing and the guys on either side of me at the bar, were eating Jamaican food that smelled fan-fucking-tastic. It was 9:30 at night and I hadn’t eaten all day because I didn’t want to be all farty in case the beast with two backs were to make an appearance. Again, I wasn’t expecting sex but I always like to be prepared. Before I left my place I did the expected ‘manscaping’, and I even cleaned my apartment to avoid the embarrassment of it looling like a Frat House after pledge week, JUST in case we went back there later.
After my third beer, I was feeling pretty good. I was talking with a large black gentleman at the bar who was eating a goat leg as grease ran down his chin. His date sat next to him at the bar and I felt bad for ALL of the women there on dates. Every plate of Jamaican food I saw was full of cabbage and beans, not to mention that most of the dishes were ‘curry’ this and ‘curry’ that. I was surprised the bar didn’t smell like one big fart. I wanted to fart just looking at that shit. Dude gave me a piece of his goat leg to try after I told him I’d never had goat, and it was fucking delicious. My phone vibrated with a text message; it was Sofia telling me that she was coming in. I looked up as the door opened and Sofia entered the bar…my hunger pangs dissipated into pure desire…which made the ‘nervous farts’ come on regardless of my empty stomach.
Now, Sofia later told me that she HATES it when guys tell her how beautiful she is, and I imagine that when a girl looks like that…she get’s A LOT of compliments; knowing this, I try to keep my compliments to a minimum when I first meet a beautiful woman. Plus if you overly compliment any woman she’s just gonna think you’re full of shit. Actions speak louder than words; but although she’s probably gonna read this, fuck her; this is my story.
As she sidled up to me at the bar, the first thing I thought was “Fuck, THIS woman is never going find ME attractive.” I had to remember, that other than maybe a few pics on my blog, she hadn’t seen a picture of me either. This was the HOTTEST woman I’ve ever seen in real life. What I mean by that is; sure, Scarlet Johansson and Beyonce are hot, but fuck me, this was a level of hotness I’ve never seen up close. Sofia stood about 5’0” and she was wearing a little leather coat with a scarf and a Frank Sinatra hat. She couldn’t have weighed more than 105 pounds. I’m a face guy more than anything else, and her face was flawless; blue eyes that drank in the light around us and lips that could make an angel weep. Her hair was dyed blonde with black roots and it came flowing out from under her hat to rest on her shoulders. When she spoke to me, the picture I’ve just painted coupled with the voice I described earlier sent a shiver of desire down my spine as goose bumps formed on my skin. This…this was not what I was expecting; phyiscally or emotionally.
I offered Sofia a drink and she refused, which took me aback. Why ask to meet me at a bar if you’re not going to drink? I felt like an ass because I’d ALREADY been drinking. One of my ‘date’ rules is “You never drink more than your date”. It’s just rude and I know from experience that sober people don’t find drunk people as charming as they think they’re being: and I was already half in the bag.
Sofia sat with me at the bar, and I introduced her to my new Jamiacan friends, Lloyd and Amy. I ordered a glass of water for myself, thanked Lloyd for letting me try his goat leg, bought him and Amy a beer, and then excused Sofia and myself to a table at the back of the bar. Lloyd said “Y’go-on an do you, Michael; tank ya for da drinks, mon!” in a very cool Jamaican accent. After we sat, Sofia changed her mind and ordered herself a big ass Jamaican rum drink, and spent the rest of our time at Mr. Brown’s slowly drinking it. To be fair, the glass it came in was almost as big as she was.
Periodically we’d go outside to smoke which offered us the opportunity to hear each other as we talked, because it could get loud in Mr. Brown’s Lounge. Lloyd came out during one of these smoke sessions, and offered us a hit of his Jamaican table leg sized joint, which we graciously accepted. The three of us talked and laughed in an alley behind the bar. I was laughing and clapping Lloyd on the back as he went in and when the door closed behind him, I turned to see Sofia looking up at me very seriously.
“What?” I said, in surprise. This look was a stark contrast to the laughter we’d just been involved in.
“This is not what I expected, Michael. YOU…” she narrowed her eyes as the seriosness in which she was looking at me intesified. “…are not what I expected.” and she kissed me.
It was light at first. As small she she was, I was afraid to embrace her, or press too firmly against her…at first. But Sofia was not shy and she was voracious in her kissing, which made me bold in mine. I pushed her up against the brick wall in the alley, and she bit my lip hard while wrapping a leg around mine. I was Ginsu hard, and she could feel it. She grabbed my dick through my pants as we kissed, when the door opened and another couple came out back to smoke a joint. We stopped immediately and apologized through our smiles. “Good for you, mon!” the lady said, “This fucker right here could learn a few tings from ya.” and she slapped him on the chest as they both laughed at our embaressment.
We went back inside, and at around12:30, I suggested we try another bar that I was familiar with. Sofia told me she was having a great time, and thought it sounded like fun. We said goodbye to everyone in Mr. Brown’s Lounge and hopped into Sofia’s silver Mercedes SLS. THIS was a nice car, and I was immediately curious because as far as I knew, Sofia didn’t work. There’d be time for those questions later though; we headed to ‘Exit’ on Damon.
Sofia had never been to Exit, but I thought she might like it. However, I forgot that it was Thursday night…and Thursday night is “bondage night” at Exit. We went upstairs after going in, where a man was handcuffed to a floor-to-ceiling chain link fence on the dance floor while his exposed back was being whipped by women in leather and chains. Sofia didn’t bat an eye. We sat at the bar, and I apologized for bringing her there during this event. I asked if she wanted to leave and she said she didn’t mind at all. Another round, barkeep. We talked for another hour, occasionally bringing the bar tenders and the doms into our conversation. Sofia was even invited up to whip a different guy handcuffed to the fence, which she did without hesitation. We laughed, drank and had a blast; it seemed that we could be engrossed in each other no matter the surroundings.
Eventually, we went outside to smoke. In front of the building, there was a heavy set man in his mid forties being dominated by one of the dominatrix women, who was also smoking. The man wore coke bottle glasses and had zits all over his face. I would not be suprised to learn that he owns multiple cats and every season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD. Dude was enamored and beholden to the dom and did everything she told him too while Sofia and I watched. “Get on your knees” she said, barely paying attention to him; and he did. “Smack yourself” she said indifferently; and he did…hard. “Lie on your back between my legs and stick out your tongue”, again; he did as he was bid. With her legs spread above him, the dom squatted down as if to piss on him…and used his mouth as an ashtray for her cigarette. This guy was LOVING it, and we were enjoying the show.
Look, God bless whatever makes some fat dude in a Foghat concert t-shirt happy outside of a bar. But all I could think about as this beautiful Ukrainian woman stood beside me, was “there, but for the grace of God, go I.” How many more fruitless internet dates will I go on before I become this man? How many years before my search becomes too tiring, before my patience gives out and I fold my loneliness inside a cocoon of desperation? Will my failures force me to give up as this man seems to have done? To become cuckold at the thought of humiliation just to have the attentions of a woman? Have I been doing this all along, although not to this extreme? Just then a homeless man tapped me on the shoulder and brought me back to reality. “Can I have a smoke?” he asked. I gave him one. Sofia and I went back inside as I tried to shake off the dystopian feeling of dread that the sight of that man lying on his back with a cigarette butt poking out of his mouth, brought on within me.
We left Exit a bit later, and Sofia drove me back to my car. On the way, I told her to pull over and she did, parallel parking on a narrow city street. Just any random city of Chicago street. Maybe it was the sub outside of Exit, or maybe it was just her voice and how the street lights reflected off the rearview mirror into her eyes, like a black and white noir film…but I had to kiss her. I couldn’t wait one second more to feel her in my mouth again, to touch her face, to peel back the layers of indecision which have always plagued me and reveal the man I want, fuck…NEED to be. This was my stand, and this was the woman I wanted to make that stand with. Fortune favors the bold; never forget that.
She kissed, again…lightly at first; but as the minutes passed, her heart began a different beat. The more laborious her breathing, the more ferocious she became. Passion and aggression leapt from her and she was now kissing hard and fast; writhing, she climbed over the console and straddled me in the passanger seat; a quick move for such a small woman. As my hands devoured her ass, she pulled her top up and said “Touch my body, Michael”, in that fucking accent. With one hand on her ass, I grabbed her breast with the other and sucked on her pink nipple. She pushed my head into her breasts and I lapped them up furiously. We kissed again and she knelt down on the passenger side floor in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. Never taking her eyes off of mine, she took out my dick and smiling…breathed on it. Hot breath raised every ounce of muscle in it and I swear, made it bigger. She took my dick in her hand, spit on it, and pulled me close to kiss her as she stroked me. She kissed me hard, and after a few minutes, I came hard. She kept saying “oh!”, “oh!”, “oh!” in these cute little snaps with each pulse of cum that shot out of me. When I was done, she kissed me again, straddling me and getting MY cum on me. She bit my ear and said in a soft whisper “I like this. No man has cum this way for me before.”
She never put me in her mouth, but I did get cum everywhere. It was on her shirt, her breasts, here chin, the glovebox leather and even the window. I will come like nobody’s business with the right motivation.
I was glad that I made my stand. I tell you, sometimes it is good to be the fucking king.
After more kissing, followed by talking, Sofia drove us back to my car and parked behind it. While we sat there under the city street lights casting their cold lonely glow on empty sidewalks and store fronts, Sofia began to reveal more of her self to me. She told me that she was married and that her husband was in the Russian mob. He’d left to do some business in Ukraine, and had been arrested. He was in prison now, but would be back in a few years. This is why she wasn’t looking for a serious relationship.
“Soooo, the car?” I asked. I mean, this was a NICE fucking car.
“Yes, my husband bought this for me. He had a friend to do so, after he’d been arrested.” she said.
“Soooo…I just came all over a Russian mobsters leather interior, from his wife jerking me off?” MAYBE The coolest question I’ve ever asked.
“I suppose you have done this” Sofia said, smiling at me.
Then she told me that in her culture, while her husband was in jail, it was as if she wasn’t married so I had nothing to worry about. That said, Sofia told me that she’d never fucked an American which actually put a bit of pressure on me as the hopeful future American ambassador to her vagina; then she looked and me and said “I’ve never really wanted to…until now, Michael.” And the kissing started again. I told her that we should stop because I didn’t have a condom on me, to which she replied. “I do not like for man to wear condom.” Oofa.
But seriously, I ALWAYS wear condoms. It sounded like Sofia had only been with ONE man in eleven years…and if she preferred that I didn’t wear a rain coat on my dingus? Well, I’m only a gentleman after all. I have to oblige a lady.
Sofia and I texted throughout the weekend and when Monday came I asked if I could see her again. She said she’d love to go out with me and that she really ‘liked’ me. She stressed that, several times “I really like you a lot Michael Hempen, do you like me?” First of all, how hot is it when a woman says your full name like that? And second; Are you fucking kidding me? OF COURSE I like you. She said we could go out later in the week and a smile formed on my face from ear to ear…The Friend Zone indeed; p-shaw!
Ghost of Rod Serling: HEY! Goddamnit!
Me: GRS, bro! I forgot man; my bad.
Ghost of Rod Serling: This is your last warning Hempen.
Now, the first time we went out, I met her where she told me to meet her, which is fine; as I said I like trying new things. But this was my opportunity to show HER something new, so I started asking her questions about herself to try to form a better idea of what she might like to do. And the girl stonewalled me.
I wasn’t asking her anything overtly personal either; it was innocuous shit like “what’s your favorite color?”, “what food to you like?”, and “what’s your favorite movie?” I didn’t present these questions in a way as to make her think I was fishing for personal information, I was just trying to get to know her better. “Why I should tell you these things?” she asked incredulously as we talked on the phone. “Because I want to know you better, why wouldn’t you want to tell me these things?” I asked curiously. Sofia laughed that perfect laugh of hers and said “I think you know me too much already, Michael.” What the fuck? “Well if I’m going to take you out, I’d like to know what your interests are.” To which she replied firmly, “I like wherever you will be taking me”
What at first I saw as the playful withholding of information, was now becoming a conern. I mean, everyone is entitled to their privacy, but I can’t know your favorite color? So, in a serious tone, not really caring that she would probably hang up on me and never speak to me again; I said “Well if you’re not gonna let me get to know you…then just come over here and fuck me.” The first second that passed by without a sound made me think she’d hung up; the second made me think she was considering it; by the third she said “What is your address?”
Wow…was NOT expecting that. I mean, she said that’s all she really wanted so, I suppose it’s ok to objectify her in this moment? Done, I mean INSTANT boner. Just the THOUGHT of seeing her full-on naked made my dick so hard Albert Einstein couldn’t have figured it out. I gave her my address and she told me she was 20 minutes away. FUCK, I wasn’t prepared for this AT all. I immediately stripped and jumped in the shower. My conditioner takes 10 minutes to set in my hair, and time was of the essence. After lathering up my head while singing along to “The Thong Song” which was blasting on my stereo, I jumped out of the shower; cock still pointing the way like a hunting dog. Dripping wet and nekkid, I ran to the bedroom. I made the bed, ran to the kitchen, did the dishes and then quickly jumped back in the shower to do some light manscaping. I mean, this was a booty call right?
After shaving a smiley face into my below-fro, which is a lot easier to do with a boner as it pulls all the skin taught, I brushed my teeth, washed the conditioner out of my hair and dryed off. Then I sprayed a hit of CK One in the air at cock level and walked into it. Next; what to wear? I went with a red smoking jacket with a black lapel and black suede elbow patches, put on some dashing man spanks to slender me up, and dumped tobacco from one of my cigarettes into an old corn cob pipe I got from a Popeye convention that my mom took me to in 1980 at which I THINK Robin Williams fucked my mom, but that’s another story. T-minus ONE minute to pending vagina, all systems on standby.
Now, in reality I didn’t know what to expect. Sofia came over looking unbelievably beautiful as ever, she’d lightly curled her hair which made her look like even more of a super star than the first night I met her, and she was wearing a tight white t-shirt that showed off her 32C’s. Let me just tell you something…those may be the MOST spectacular breasts I’d ever seen…and I’ve seen some pretty spectacular breasts in my time.
Ghost of Rod Serling: In porn.
Me: Man, fuck you GRS.
When Sofia came in, she asked me to put on a pot of coffee…yes, coffee. Who fucks on coffee? What am I, cheating on my wife at 6AM with the maid in a shitty La Quinta Inn in Dover Colorado while on a business trip? Whatever, I made the coffee. She walked around my apartment as if she owned it, and asked if we could hang out on my balcony. We smoked and drank coffee for awhile, and Sofia told me more about her life. Then we went back inside and sat on opposite ends of my couch…and THIS…this is where I could hear the door to the friend zone slowly creaking open.
Ghost of Rod Serling: ASSHOLE!
Me: ah, ah, ah. I didn’t capitalize it; doesn’t count. SHUT the fuck up.
Ghost of Rod Serling: …
There’s a point in ANY relationship between a man and a woman, usually at the beginning, where the woman no longer thinks of the man as a sexual threat. Let’s call it ‘Peak Vagina’. You steadily go up a slope towards sex when a critical moment passes by in which you miss an opportunity. Now you may not have KNOWN the opportunity was there, but it was a perceived opportunity given to you by the woman. This is where the study of body language becomes a near necessity in a man’s quest for the lost arch (of her back). Once that opportunity is missed? You’ve plateu’d at Peak Vagina and you now start sloping down…into the friend zone.
Sofia told me, as we sat on my couch, that she didn’t know if she could have sex with me. Well, yeah, not now that you said it out loud like that. Sex should always be spontaneous AND consesual, sprung upon you both like a Vajack in the box when neither of you are expecting it. When it’s discussed before hand, ESPECIALLY that bluntly? The Vajack stays in the box. Shit.
She told me that I’m nice, maybe too nice and she doesn’t want to get ‘involved’, she just wants to have ‘fun’. She said “I am becoming to like you, and I must not do this. I am married woman, Michael.” that was the first time she didn’t look at me while talking to me. Not long after this revelation, she said she had to leave. This was her decision and I wasn’t going to try to talk her out of it. Hell, to be honest, I was still in shock that a woman who looked like Sofia, had any interest in me at all, much less to be at a point where I was a threat to her RUSSIAN MAFIA husband.
I walked Sofia down to her car and made ONE last ditch effort to salvage SOMETHING from the evening. I leaned in to kiss her…and she pulled the dreaded chest push on me. That’s right, she put her hand on my chest and pushed me away saying “I don’t think is such good idea” Oops. “I understand” I said backing away, hands in the air “I’m sorry if I was being presumptuous.”
“Michael…is just not possible.” and she began to cry as she got into her car. I was silent, as I shut the door for her.
Sofia got into her Russian Mafia-mobile and drove off, bringing the best and most satisfying sexual experience I may have ever had, with her. Well, thems the breaks. I deleted her phone number, waved goodbye to my boner whose one eye was drawn down in sadness…or anger I suppose, depending which direction you were looking at it from; and walked up the steps to my apartment with my head hung low and that sad Charlie Brown music playing in the background. As I walked past his door, my neighbor who had a good view of our parting from his window, leaned out and said “DAAAAAAMN! You got denied…” while shaking his head. Keep walking I told myself…just keep walking.
Ghost of Rod Serling: The best laid plans of mice and men…and Michael Hempen, the large overbearing vulgar asshole who wanted nothing but love. Michael Hempen, now just a part of a smashed landscape on the horizon of wishful thinking, a piece of the rubble in a bombed out building made of good intentions, just a fragment of the man he so delusionally hoped to be. Mr. Michael Hempen…in The Friend Zone.
Deleted Scene 1
Sofia asked me; “Why do man like when I suck on lollipop?”…Shut the fuck up sister, YOU know why men like it when you suck on your lollipop. The fact that you asked me that question tells me you think I’m just as stupid as they are, not even ‘stupid’ but STOOpid.
Deleted Scene 2
There’s nothing quite as disheartening as when a woman tells you “I’m already in love”, “what’s the point of you then?” is my immediate question. Git the fuck outta here.
Deleted Scene 3
Man, desire can be a mother fucker, can’t it? I mean sometimes you want something SO fucking bad that it consumes your very soul, making you blind to everything around you; even to your own hubris. On the other hand, that NEED, that craving can make you feel alive even as it pulls you down to the depths of gluttony, (it’s at this very point in my writing that I had to stop to take a shit)