The Friend Zone

(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) There is a vaginal dimension beyond that which is known to the penis. It is a dimension as dumbfounding and as senseless as most religious beliefs. It is the middle ground between a man’s happiness and despair, between his hope and hopelessness and it lies between the pit of his fears and the summit of his desperation. This is a dimension of ignorance. It is an area which we call…the Friend Zone. (buhd-oo-bud-up!)

 

By: Michael Allen Hempen

Brought to you by: Cous’n Hemp’n Entertainment

Featuring: The Ghost of Rod Serling

 

Episode 3: The Yoga Instructor (Part 1)

Rod Serling's Ghost

The Ghost of Rod Serling: Witness Mr. Michael Hempen, a charter member in the fraternity of rejection; a loser whose passion is trying to make sex on women above his vaginal clearance level. Unable to settle, unable to swallow the bitter pill of dating an obese equal, Mr. Hempen wanders down the bachelor highway alone, wearing a back pack with that sad Incredible Hulk ‘walking away’ music playing in the background. Hoping to hitchhike his way back to vagina-ville in a sleek newer model Ford Cutie rather than a 69 VW Gigantor, what he doesn’t realize is that there’s no such thing as a free ride and the next woman who picks him up will take him deep into…The Friend Zone.

 

Part 1: Out with the Old…

In the months since I started my internet quest for a girlfriend who meets my exacting standards, I haven’t met with too much success. In that time I’ve gone on a few dates, I’ve made some penile achievements, and I’ve met some interesting ladies. However there hasn’t been much worth writing about. Although I may not be Rocky, I still hold out hope that I’ll find an Adrian.

One of the things that’s been holding me back from putting more of an effort into my search, is my ex girlfriend. I’ve been a tad reticent about actually MEETING some of the women that I’ve talked to thus far. I haven’t really felt…the spirit of cold calling potential penile clientele, mostly because my ex hasn’t really shut the fuck up and given me a chance to get COMPLETELY over her yet.

But this past week, I talked with a woman who was…well, unbelievably attractive in an all around way. Not only is she a yoga instructor, but she’s also a 22 year old art history major. Oofa, body AND brains…so, why am I so lucky? Well, apparently she enjoyed my ramblings on one particular site and wanted to find out more. Join the fucking club; I’d like to find out more about me too.

Talking with women from the internet has been kind of frustrating, but not for the reasons you may think. A woman will respond to my post or profile, we’ll do the email tango, followed by a waltz across the phone lines, and set up a time to meet; but then my ex will not-so politely tap me on the shoulder and ask to cut in. I guess instead of taking a chance with unknown pussy, my dick has been staying in the shallow end of the pussy it already knows. And believe me, the SHALLOW end of that pussy runs deep.

T.C. (This is the only showable pic I have of her. Bitch is lucky I'm not the vindictive type:)

T.C. (This is the only showable pic I have of her. Bitch is lucky I’m not the vindictive type:)

I’d been through a lot with my ex, good and bad…mostly horrifyingly bad. But, because she’s WAY younger than me, not illegally younger mind you, and she was there during some particularly shit points in my life, it’s hard to sever that bond which probably shouldn’t exist. This past Sweetest day however I found myself at the precipice of new pussy mountain, and at the same time…the ex pissed me off enough to take that leap and FINALLY cut the bungee cord before it could whip me back up into her twat.Since I came up with my mission statement to find the perfect woman on the internet to, not only prove that it CAN be done, but to satisfy my selfish need for a relationship grounded in mutual harmony, my ex has taken every opportunity to derail my love train. She keeps shoving her mound in my face and well, how does one pass up on a moist, young, fresh 21 year old mound? (No…seriously…tell me.)

I was forced to retire from my full time job at my ex’s company; Vagina Corporation Ltd. Inc., but she’s been keeping me on in a strictly ‘freelance’ capacity. Although I was a spiteful mess when the relationship came to an end…I now find myself wondering why it lasted as long as it did. The ex was 19 when we met, and although I broke several of my dating ‘rules’ to be with her, I enjoyed her company quite a bit.

I’m ‘eh-HEH-hem’ years old, but since most of my friends, who are my own age, are married at this point…I don’t have any ‘wingmen’. My best friend Mike, whom I met several years ago at work, is 23 years old. He’s introduced me to his friends, who have now become MY friends. I enjoy their company a great deal, and although I’m ‘on my own’ in the struggle to meet a woman at a bar…they make the struggle that much easier.

Mike’s one of those good looking guys who doesn’t ACT like he’s a good looking guy. That’s probably the reason why we’ve gotten along so well. I’m fat, older, and unattractive but Mike and I are like brothers who have known each other all of our lives. We like the same TV shows, we like the same restaurants, we hang out nearly every night, and we’ve even gone on a vacation road trip together. Hanging out with Mike has been like being in MY early 20’s again. Yes, I know; it all sounds very gay, but I promise you…it’s not.

Mike and I shared something else, and I’m going to explain to you WHY that was such a huge misstep on my part, why Mike dodged a bullet, AND why I finally decided to get my 1973 Dodge Dick polished at a different mouth wash this past Halloween.

Soon after Mike and I started hanging out 2 years ago, he went to a party with a friend of his and ended up making out with a girl there. He told me about it the next day, and said that he made the mistake of giving her his phone number, and now she wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. He wasn’t all that interested in her, but she invited him to go bowling with her and her friends that evening and he wanted me to tag along. Well there’s nothing I like better than drinking white Russians in a bowling alley bar. Where’s the money Lebowski?

Since Mike wasn’t interested in this girl, I figured she must have been a hot mess. But, she was bringing girlfriends, and ugly chicks always seem to have hot friends. So that night we drove to the bowling alley together. On the entire ride there he kept telling me that he REALLY didn’t want to date this girl. He said that she wasn’t his type, and he had a rule that he wouldn’t date ANY girl who lived in a trailer park. Silly rule, if you asked me at the time, now its number 8 on MY list.

We went inside of the bowling alley and because it was a Friday night, the joint was packed. Teenagers played video games, adult leagues bowled on the main lanes, drunks stumbled about the bar area, and the 20 something’s bowled on the secondary lanes. We were surrounded by lazy eyes and lip herpes  when Mike spotted the girl from across the room, and I followed him to her.

When he introduced me, my jaw nearly hit the floor. This was the exact opposite of what I expected. This chick was a knockout from top to bottom. A thin tall blonde with large breasts, and she was even wearing glasses…one of my favorite accessories on a woman besides a ball gag. However, her 3 friends all looked like they asked people for toll money before they crossed the bridge that they lived under. We later dubbed them: The Troll Brigade. As far as the trailer chick was concerned? Other than a bit of teenage acne on her face, I didn’t see what the fuck Mike’s problem was.

Later on that night, as he drove me home, he kept insisting that he COULDN’T date a girl who lived in a trailer park. I protested and told him that he was crazy, this chick was gorgeous. I WANTED Mike to date this girl. She was fun, she was intelligent, she was just about to start college, and she wanted out of that trailer park. SURE you don’t date a chick that voluntarily MOVES into a trailer park, THAT chick has made a choice to just give up on life. But THIS chick lived with her mother and was working to get out. He told me that you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. I didn’t know it at the time, but I came to find out that Mike is wise beyond his years. Those trailer park chicks might be hella hot, but it’s like dating Kid Rock with a vagina.

Over the next week, Mike told me that the trailer chick was calling him daily. She even showed up at his house one afternoon. He felt stalked. I told him that having a hot girl pursue YOU is a rarity in life, and that he should take full advantage of it. But he said that if he fucked her, he’d never be able to get rid of her, so he ‘ducked and dodged’ as much as he could.

Finally, I got fed up with his indecision. I told him to quit being allergic to pussy, and invite her out on a date. He did, and they went to a restaurant in downtown Chicago. Mike knew where the evening was headed, so rather than take her home, he brought her over to my place to watch a movie.

During the movie, T.C. (or ‘trailer chick’) got up to use the bathroom, and Mike and I took the opportunity to whisper furiously at each other. “Why would you bring her back here!?” I asked. “Because if I took her anywhere else, I’d fuck her, and I just know I’ll never get rid of her!” he exclaimed. “So FUCK her! Do I have to stick it in FOR you?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t WANT too!” he insisted. “YOU’RE FUCKING HER!” I angrily whispered at him as T.C. came back into the room.

This was no longer a point of living vicariously through Mike, this was now a mission. What I didn’t realize in MY twenties, when I was dating a hot chick, is that they don’t come around all that often. Sometimes, it’s a fucking one-shot. These good looking guys think that every chick they bang is going to be a fucking ten, and it happens less than they think. I’ll bet you, that before ‘No Way Out’, Brad Pitt was fucking chubby flat chested waitresses in Oklahoma. SURE looks enter into it, but it’s not ONLY good looking girls that want to fuck you when you’re hot. Good looking chicks can pick and choose which hot guys to fuck, if an ugly chick sets her sights on you, she’s gonna dig in like she’s getting ready for trench warfare.

Shiiiiiit….I just realized…I’M an ugly chick. Fuck you self discovery.

So, knowing that Mike is Irish, I made a beer run. 2 hours later, Mike and T.C. were both drunk, and I left them to ‘talk’ in my bedroom. I was asleep in the living room when they left in the morning, but later on that day Mike called to tell me that he was going to kill me. It seems that, not only did he fuck her, but he’d received 37 texts and phone calls from her after he dropped her off. Oofa.

As the week went on, T.C. showed up at Mike’s work, she called him and left him pleading text messages asking when they would go out again. She even tried to get him to have dinner at her mother’s trailer. He was livid, and telling her that they shouldn’t see each other anymore wasn’t working at all. It seems that I’d Frankenstein’d a stalk monster, and Mike was coming after me like an angry villager. I could see that my attempt at a ‘love connection’ was a complete failure, and I finally got it through my head that Mike just wasn’t interested.

He told me that since I, using alcohol, basically DID put it in for him, it was my responsibility to get him out of it. So, ALWAYS willing to be all up in other people’s bid-nass, I invited T.C. out to try and talk some sense into her.

We met up at the bowling alley again and sat in the bar. Even though she wasn’t old enough to drink yet, I ordered myself a beer and told her that Mike JUST wasn’t ever going to be interested in her. I told her that sleeping with her was a shitty thing for him to have done (yeah, I know), and I placated her in any way I could. I comforted her as she cried and carried on like it was the end of the world. Oofa, that teen drama. After about an hour, I apologized to her again, and told her that she would have NO problem finding another man because she was so beautiful…that’s the thing about women who live in trailer parks; Nobody ever tells them that they’re beautiful, just hot,  cute, or fuckable.

As the month carried on, T.C. started to seek my counsel concerning relationships. She wasn’t in one, and she said she wasn’t looking, but she started staying over at my place until 4 or 5 in the morning telling me about her past exploits with men. One of the most annoying things about teens is the fact that they talk like they aren’t JUST 19. Jesus. She would say things like ‘I’ve been through a lot in my life’, and ‘I’ve been through so much with men’. FUCK, you wanna strangle a bitch and say “ARE YOU KIDDNG ME? YOU’VE BEEN ALIVE FOR 19 YEARS, COGNICENT FOR 12 AND ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THINGS FOR MAYBE 6! YOU HAVEN’T BEEN THROUGH OR SEEN SHIT YET!” It’s frustrating, but a guy will sit through nearly any thing for a chance to play whack a mole with a hot chick’s what now.

But, to be honest with you, I never in a million years thought that this girl would be interested in me in THAT way. However, I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t want to fuck her with all the youth and stamina of a man half my age.

I told Mike that this was going on, and I told him that if I had the chance…I was going to bang her. He said if that made me happy, I should go for it. So one morning, as the sun started to creep up over the horizon, I walked T.C. to the front door. She had school (college…shut up) in a couple of hours, and she needed to get some sleep. I don’t quite know what came over me, maybe it was that tired sense of unreasoning we get from being up all night, maybe it was the way she looked as the first darts of sunrise came through the kitchen window and lit up her golden hair, or maybe it was just ‘the moment’ that I could feel dangling in the air like a ripe apple waiting to be plucked.

You know ‘the moment’. It’s that point in time that transcends any age difference, when you’ve done NOTHING sexual with a woman, and one night, as she’s going to leave…she lingers JUST a second too long. Maybe she shuffles her foot, maybe she brushes her hair back with her hand, but as she’s standing in front of the door making uncomfortable small talk with you, it’s JUST enough time for YOU to think: “well, if she DIDN’T want me to kiss her, she would have left by now”. You reason with yourself to make a move, and make a move I did.

I leaned in and kissed her, and to my surprise she kissed me back. It was the ‘gentle’ first kiss of two people who were just getting to know one another. And after 5 minutes or so, we stumbled like people who had been up all night, to find the words to explain ourselves. She left, and I spent the rest of the day unsure of my action.

The next night, I broke my FIRST rule. Rule number ONE, the MOST important rule of them all: You NEVER, EVER, under ANY circumstance, fuck someone that a friend has fucked, no matter how much time has passed, EVEN with permission FROM that friend. This is NOT a gender specific rule, and I suggest that all who wish to lead a drama free life adopt it.

I have to tell you, the next two years found me having the best sex that I’ve ever had in my life. Each time was new, romantic, and thrilling. We did everything together, and I was that guy that a young woman finds her sexual core with. Sure she’d been with other dudes, but it was a grope here, missionary position there and always quick. I introduced her to her first orgasm, her first multiple orgasm and I even got her to squirt…ONCE.

I don’t say that to brag, I don’t claim to be proficient in the sack and lord knows I only gave a woman a ‘dick in’ orgasm once, and that was because she was playing with herself while I was inside of her. But, I was the first person to lick T.C.’s twat, and THAT I am good at. I only tell you this to illustrate the fact that I woke a sleeping giant.

Those first few months were filled with sexually charged energy. It seemed that we couldn’t get enough of each other’s company, and even though I’m older, and should know better…I fell in love.

Mike started dating an awesome girl, but because of his…dislike of T.C., I saw less and less of him as the months went by. It was frustrating because I like the ‘double date’, but because Mike told his new girl of T.C.’s ‘stalky’ tendencies months earlier, WITHOUT telling her that he banged her (a secret I STILL keep for him to this day) she wanted nothing to do with her as well. DrAaAaAaMa!

During my field trip to the young twattery, I was living with another friend of mine…John. John had bought a house earlier in the year, and circumstances soon found me renting a room from him. Since he was an alcoholic, John was either at work making money so he could go out drinking, or he was out drinking. He was rarely home, which is probably why we got along so well as roommates. So because we had the privacy and because of her dislike of the trailer, T.C. spent many a night at my place.

I was only supposed to stay at John’s for a few months while I saved money to get another apartment. However, after I started dating T.C., you could forget about me saving money. I’d never dated anyone that much younger than me, so I did what I thought I needed to in order to make her happy and fell down a hole that MANY an older gentleman has fallen down while dating a younger chick. We went out to dinner all of the time, we saw movies, went to roller rinks, bowled, and I bought her expensive gifts including a pair of sugar gliders with a cage and everything you need to make them comfortable, for her birthday, simply because she saw some on TV and said they were cute. I think a fucking diamond tiara would have been cheaper.

Part of my payment for John letting me stay there, was that I had to drive him to work every weekday morning at 5 AM. It was about an hour drive to his job, and one particular December morning, I decided to go into work myself right after I drove him. Usually I’d drop him off, and then drive an hour back to the house for some nice loud morning sex with T.C.  However, she hadn’t stayed over the night before, so I just said fuck it and went into work early.  That turned out to be a HUGE mistake.

When I got back to Johns that evening at about 530, I didn’t quite know what the fuck was going on. I could see a mess of shit from inside the house on the curb, some mine and some Johns. My first thought was that John had thrown me out, but I couldn’t quite wrap my head around that because we hadn’t argued or anything when I drove him to work that morning. When I saw some of John’s things out there as well, I thought that this had to be a prank. Then I went to go into the house and saw the eviction notice on the door. WTF?

The neighbor’s kid who always mowed our lawn came over and told me what happened. He said that the Sherriff’s police had been to the house at around 7 AM, and threw everything out on the curb. Throughout the day, everyone in the neighborhood had come by and taken stuff from the pile. Everything I owned was gone, except my bed. I was stunned. John had NEVER told me that he was on the verge of eviction. But apparently he had been spending all of the money he made, AND the money that I’d given him on booze. Now THAT’S a good alcoholic.

These fucking white people who posed as good Christians, the kind who call the cops if the music is too loud because it offends the sensibilities of what society has deemed acceptable to the pallet of good, clean, honest, hard working Americans…had stolen everything I owned including my pets, my ball gag collection, AND my Thunder Spank magazines. FUCK white people.

EVERYTHING was gone: my autographed comic books, drawings that I had made since 5th grade, my writing, my TV, my computer, and all of my clothes. I was back to square fucking one in life. Everything that I’d accumulated over the years was taken. I felt violated, I was angry, and I didn’t know what to do. All I could think was that if I’d just gone home instead of to work, I might have been able to save my stuff. That night I parked my truck in the parking lot of my job and slept, prone, in the front seat.

The next day I told T.C. about what had happened. I was homeless and more than anything else, I was fucking ashamed. My only saving grace was that I, at least, still had a job. So, instead of saving money like I should have, I started renting hotel rooms whenever she and I were together. I couldn’t stay at her place, and I couldn’t afford a hotel every night, so when she had to work or study for school, I just slept in my truck.

Soon after I found myself amongst the structurally deprived, T.C. cheated on me…the first time. I was lost, and she was the only thing keeping me sane at the time. Without her, I felt like my last semblance of sanity was slipping away. It’s one thing to be homeless; it’s a WHOLE other thing to be homeless and alone. I convinced her to take me back, but things were always different after that. There were things that I never really saw because I was so caught up in my own shame. T.C. had never really gotten over Mike, and even though our time together was amazing, I always felt that in the back of my mind.

After I caught her cheating on me the second time, Mike could see that I was devastated and invited me out to dinner to try and cheer me up. While we were at one of our favorite restaurants, he told me that he wanted to show me something that was pretty horrible. He said that I wasn’t going to like it all, but he felt I NEEDED to see it in order to move on. Mike proceeded to show me a series of text messages that he had saved on his phone.

Apparently, on that past Saturday, T.C. had sent Mike some messages NOT only proclaiming her love for him, but mother fucking me in the process. What T.C. didn’t know, was that Mike had been at a bar with his girlfriend at the time, and the TWO of them decided to fuck with her. So, WHILE T.C. was spewing and gushing her heart out, Mike and Jess were instigating her to continue by making her think that he might fuck her. I just pictured Mike and his girlfriend laughing together like the couple in that [1]Tom and Jerry cartoon, when Tom has to go to that island to relax, and the people in the room next door are just laughing and carrying on the whole time. To be honest with you? I kind of felt bad for her. It was like I had a case of pussy Stockholm syndrome.

I confronted her and made her feel like a piece of shit by telling her the truth behind her textual outburst with Mike, and then I took her back…again. After about a year of living like an asshole in the name of love, I finally got my shit together and got an apartment. T.C. moved in briefly and cheated on me a third time…and then a fourth. She finally left me back in February, under false pretenses claiming that it was my fault, when in reality she just wanted to fuck another guy. Whatever. I’m straight now. Since I have my own place and a more stable situation in life, my confidence is finally up to where I don’t need her shit. The IRONY of that is that because of my new found confidence and ‘I don’t give a shit about you’ attitude….NOW she wants to cheat on her current boyfriend with ME. Fucking young chicks. Oofa.

Recently, Mike told me that the reason he hadn’t seen me much over the past year was because he kind of felt odd about my situation with T.C. In a way that men don’t like to admit, he was a little pissed that I banged her. He KNOWS that he shouldn’t feel that way because I did everything that a man is SUPPOSED to do in that situation. I asked permission and I did nothing behind his back. However, THIS is the reason why rule number 1 is in place (Rule number one states “You NEVER EVER fuck a girl that a friend has fucked, no matter how much time has passed since he fucked her and no matter WHAT the circumstances are…EVER”). Sometimes we can’t help the way we feel; even when we know it’s wrong. Like me being in love with T.C. I’m glad that Mike confronted me with that, and his honesty was not only brave, but it made me feel closer to him as a friend. Even though he constantly reminds me NOW of the SECOND reason that rule number one exists: Because I don’t wanna hear the ‘how does my dick taste’ jokes.

Anyway, after T.C. left, I made it my mission to find a decent woman. However, because of a D.U.I. that I incurred while living at John’s place I won’t go to bars anymore. I find that drinking and driving now, makes me more nervous than Upton Sinclair at a steak jernt. So I’ve been doing the internet fandango for the past 8 months.

The problem has been that every time I’ve started getting a good vibe from a girl, T.C. ends up popping back up and wanting to fuck. After all, I’m only a gentleman…how can I refuse the request of a lady? That is, until this past Sweetest day.

I’d started talking to the yoga instructor a few weeks ago online and then on the phone. We had JUST made plans to go on a date this Halloween, when I got a text from T.C. “Happy Sweetest Day” she blathered. I hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks, and my life had trundled on just fine. I’d been talking to a girl who I was very excited to meet, now…with ONE fucking text, I started to doubt myself again. See as a guy, you have to make the decision; do I take my chances with NEW pussy, or do I go with pussy that I know I already like? Yes, we’re stupid like that.

Well, she soon took the decision out of my hands. “How have you been? I was just driving over to my new boyfriends place, and I thought I’d stop over to see you when I leave” What the fuck makes you women think that we want to hear something like that? ‘My new boyfriend’? Fuck you. NOW I gotta sit here and think about some beefy construction worker sticking his filthy pethis inside of her and drilling her like a Texas Oil rig RIGHT before she wants me to go twelve rounds with her who ha. I texted her back and said “look, it’s nice to hear from you, but ‘how have you been’ conversations lead to YOU talking about your new man. I don’t wanna deal. Have a nice life.” I was polite, right? Well, after that I got the most hateful fucking texts from her all weekend long. I didn’t respond because I KNOW she’s only trying to get a reaction out of me, but I have to say; you bitches is crazy!

It should be noted that this is a simple telling of events and not an admonition of T.C.’s behavior. During our time together she put up with more from me than any woman should have to, even a woman my own age. Although some of the shit she did sounds terrible, and believe me I know it is, I always loved her. Being with T.C. made ME feel young and kissing her was like floating on warm water in the sunlight. She made me want to be romantic again; she made me want to feel things that I forgot I wanted to feel.

Another reason why I never blamed T.C. for cheating on me is because deep inside, I knew that she was young. I couldn’t expect her to ONLY fuck me for the rest of her life. 19 is when girls SHOULD be fucking. That’s the age when women should be getting it out of their system so they don’t cheat on their man when they’re in their 20’s. I could no more blame her for that than I could blame anyone for the mistakes of youth because after all…that’s what youth is for.

Unfortunately, T.C. is a complicated woman. Not to me or the men she’ll be with, but to herself. T.C. is obsessed with how she looks, but the truth is that the sum of her as a whole is so much more beautiful than most women could hope to ever be. Strong and willful, her thirst for knowledge and bettering her mind is a more attractive feature than her flat stomach and perfect tits. Sadly, T.C. might never know this because she also has a determination inside of her to date ‘cute’ guys just so she can tell her friends how cute her boyfriend is and to prove to herself that she’s hot enough to attract hot guys. She doesn’t look for character or values in a man and if she would just be herself, if she would just believe in herself, she could do MUCH better than the choices she’s made…myself included.

Part 2: Date Nuts

So, that being said, with T.C. finally off of my mind, I put all of my effort into my Halloween date. The Yoga instructor and I were going to meet a bar, and because I won’t drive drunk but KNOW I’ll need to drink when meeting an internet date, Mike and his girlfriend gave me a lift to the bar.Before I dive in to my own inadequacies ON this date, let me tell you about my pre-date stress induced spiral into low self esteem hell. I, like most of you, consider myself to be something of an individual. I don’t submit to some of the more standard societal doctrines of political correctness, piety, and general skullduggery (yeah, I said it, I’m bringin’ it back). Now this doesn’t mean that I’m some performance artist who wipes self filled diapers on a canvas, I’m not some dick knob who brings 37 boxes of pudding pops into the 10 items or less lane at the supermarket, and I don’t give myself a scrotal cancer exam in the buffet line. What it DOES mean is that I’m my OWN kind of asshole.

Imagine a man who lives on his own, a requisite bachelor, if you will. He has his own apartment, he’s clean, he has a steady job, he’s an excellent cook, he has a big screen T.V., a PS3, and a couch that’s so big you could land a fucking Boeing Double Body jumbo jet on it. PLUS, his bank account isn’t more overdrawn than M.C. Escher’s doodle pad. Not too bad right?

Wrong. I also have a dog that greets people by doing a cannonball into their crotchal area and Star Wars curtains hanging in the dining room because THIS shithole apartment has more windows than my LAST shithole apartment, so I ran out of curtains and had to pull these out of a dusty old box from 1975. I’ve been here TWO years now. How unbelievably lazy am I that I can’t go down to the B, B, and B and just drape this bitch? Plus, I masturbate so much that I could have filled the warehouse at the end of ‘Raiders’ with oil drums full of sperm. If I haven’t painted a good enough picture of myself, since I haven’t had an interesting interaction with a woman since I last saw T.C.,  getting me to take a shower these days is about as likely as getting your fucking cat to swim the English Channel.

Now that I have a place of my own, I’m pretty fine with how I live. I don’t answer to anybody, I watch what I want, I eat what I want, I don’t have to listen to the shrieking cacophony of a menstruating woman, and I don’t have to have a Vietnamese ‘rat’ tunnel dug into the side of a hill to stash my Washington National Archives sized porn collection in. However, when you meet a new woman, especially one who’s obviously better than you…you start to question your lifestyle choices.

When the yoga instructor and I began chatting a few weeks ago, I found myself impressed by her intelligence. I found her to be engrossing, charming, and ambitious. After some playful ‘you first’ talk, we exchanged photos. Now, on this point, I will admit to a bit of cheating. I sent her pictures of me that are so old; you can see ‘Manimal’ playing on the T.V. in the background. Then she sent me pictures of a woman SO attractive that I literally had to study them like a Hasidic diamond merchant looking for flaws in a freshly cut diamond.

Well, I told her flat out that she was so far out of my league that she being seen in public with me would be about as appropriate as framing a fart and putting it on display at the Louvre. So, just to avoid the ‘Oh no’ look that I’ve encountered on women’s faces when meeting them for a blind date; I sent her the real deal. A full on body, and head shot.

Then SHE asked ME out. I immediately started running scenarios through my mind. We have a lot in common, AND she’s a fucking knockout to boot. My luck is NOT this good. Maybe she’s actually a guy in the Russian Mafia and when I go to meet, what I think will be a woman, he’ll sap me over the head and take my car. OR, maybe she’s in a sorority, and part of her ‘hell week’ is that she has to do a treasure hunt. Y’know, She has to find the bumper for an 87 Capri, a green wig, and go on a date with a fat, vulgar, ignoramus who’s 10 years her senior. OR, it was one of those things that cops do to get YOU to come to THEM when you owe a bunch of money on tickets. Whatever, I handed the reigns of thought over to my penis and we made a date.

Now, I’ve gone on a lot of dates. Usually after meeting someone at the mall, or through a friend, or at work. The point being, that ‘How does he look’ is not the foremost question on her mind. So this is a new experience for me. I know that if she sees me and heads for ZE hills, I’ll have to take it on the chin and get right back up on the social pummel bar.

I would normally NEVER put this kind of pressure on myself, but I actually wanted to impress this girl. I didn’t have any delusions as to what this was. I had no wants or expectations, at this point; my only hope was that she didn’t bolt for the door like Rosie O’Donnell when she hears the ice cream man driving by.

I don’t know if women know this, but men will go OVER board when they want to impress you. Keeping in mind that I have NO expectations, I went out and bought gum, binaca, Listerine, a new wash cloth, fucking baby wipes to make SURE my ass was clean (Cause folks…believe me when I tell you…you just NEVER know when you’re gonna get a freak who wants to lick your asshole.), took my car to the car wash, which I haven’t done since Clinton was in office, I scrubbed my apartment down like a Hispanic maid, washed my dog, spot cleaned the clouds above my neighborhood, vacuumed the planets in my solar system, and dusted the corners of the milky way galaxy for cobwebs. Overboard. I pretty much prepared for EVERY scenario. So unless her face split in two and revealed a flaming skull…wait…actually I bought a fire extinguisher for that one too.

Date night came. I got home from work, hosed myself down like Stallone in ‘Rambo’, and danced around my apartment listening to the ‘Rocky’ soundtrack to pump myself up (Yes, Sly is a big part of my pre-vaginal ceremony.) I even wrote out individual discussion threads on 3×5 cards in case I got stuck. I was bringing crib notes to a date. SUCHafuckingloser.

During our date, as The Yoga Instructor and I spoke about writing, she asked me to romanticize our date when I wrote about it. I don’t usually take requests, but in this instance I felt compelled to acquiesce because she was just so fucking gorgeous and nice. Now, I really can’t tell you how the date went on her end, and out of respect, I won’t speculate; however even though I know that this is unlike what my readers are used to seeing from me, here’s a short novelized version of the date from my point of view. Also, what would a romance novel be without a cover? Enjoy: 

The Gentleman Wore Pants

“The sky was covered in a dark cloak of deep clouds. Like a special effect in a black and white horror movie, foreboding. If it was an indication of how the night would proceed, my thoughts filled with terror. But, for Halloween eve, the scene played perfectly to a captured audience. Sitting in the restaurant, my anticipation was visible. I stood at the end of the bar, near the door, waiting for her. Left foot on the brass kicker, my leg shook like a frightened dog. I ordered a shot to calm my nerves and immediately regretted slamming it down. Christ, what if I got drunk before she showed? A thousand scenarios flashed across my consciousness. What if I said something stupid? What if I began to sweat? What if….

And then the door opened. The cool night air rushed in to greet me like a slow dance. I purposely didn’t look up, giving myself a brief reprieve from my own hangman’s noose. She entered the doorway, outlined with red velvet curtains. My heart stood still and all of those feelings of dread were washed away like water leaving a clean swept beach. A slow motion moment. Time stood still and I ravenously drank in what I saw like a man dying of thirst.

Imagine that you lived in darkness your entire life and the sun suddenly appeared in front of you. Do you fear it? Do you worship it? Do you bask in its glow? She possessed the kind of beauty that one only reads about in renaissance love sonnets. She owned it and carried it like she knew it. Her clothes hung off of her perfect frame, hiding the body underneath like a treasure chest at the oceans bottom. Her confidence overflowed like wine pouring from a bottomless cravat. A lump formed in my throat and terror filled my mind with the thought that I might not be able to speak. She approached me with the walk of Aphrodite descending the steps of Mt. Olympus. No fear, would she see mine?

It didn’t matter as I was instantly put at ease by the sound of her voice. It hypnotized me and I found myself feeding off of her self confidence like a hungry vampire. Everything she said was interesting. We ordered a drink and asked for a table.

As we walked down the corridor from the bar to the restaurant, I watched as women looked at her with disdain. Men, heads down, trying not to be noticed by their prospective dates, glanced up with a look of shame and lust. She drew these glances to her like a Venus Fly Trap draws in its prey. Watching her do this, with no effort, was a sight to behold.

As we were sat in the darkened room, lit by candles and gold lights, my eyes were drawn to the way her hair sat on her shoulders. Hiding just enough of her neck to make me want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted. The candlelight drifted in and out of her eyes as if it didn’t know how to compete for the natural brilliance in them. My soul entered those eyes and even now has not found a way out. Like in a dream, where one comes upon doors that won’t open, or drawers that won’t shut, trapped in a feeling of sexual longing. What must it be like to look into those eyes while making love? I had a feeling that the way she looked was not intentional. That’s just the way the universe put her together. A perfect shade of unyielding beauty.

We talked for hours, flippantly ordering appetizers, dancing around painful subjects, laughing at each other’s jokes; the night drifted by like a satin bed-sheet blown from a rooftop clothesline on a windy day. Time had escaped us and after hours of flirtatious talk she told me that she needed to leave, that she had things to do in the morning. But we both agreed that our first date had been a complete success and made plans for a second.  I offered to walk her out to her car, and as I did, we could both feel the tension mounting. We knew what we wanted, but things like ‘decency’ and ‘propriety’ stood in our way. She offered me her hand and leaned in to kiss my cheek…as I reached around to give her a hug, we were briefly caught in a moment of time. A split second that lasted for hours…

Her lips brushed past my cheek and her warm breath glazed my neck sending goose bumps crawling up my arm. The hairs on my neck reached out and stretched as if awakening from a long nap. My hand lightly made its way up from the small of her back to the nape of her neck, and as she leaned away, our eyes locked. We saw so many things in that look…acceptance of what was to come; longing for what was to come, anticipation of what was to come…we told ‘decency’ and propriety to go fuck themselves and kissed. Gentle, at first, not sure how the other liked to be kissed. It was the shy exchange of a first embrace. But then as our breath quickened and our bodies warmed and the world evaporated around us like icicles hanging from the eaves of a burning house, our passion took over our thought and our kiss became, not the awkward first kiss of fledgling lovers, but the passionate kiss of two lost souls.

She left me with a desire for her that would make Poe envious. When I look up at the night sky, I find myself seeing her silhouette painted in the stars. How does one release the image of that body? Of that smile? Will there be a second date? A third? Time will tell. What I do know is this: One can FEAR the sun, one can WORSHIP the sun, but one can never HOLD the sun. “

The End

Yeah, I know, it’s gay but like Hemmingway said…A writer writes.

So, after all that fuss I put myself through, I actually had a great time. Although it was just our first date, it turned out that she was as charming in person as she was on the internet, and even more beautiful than the pictures she sent. I found her to be disarming and charismatic. We carried on a conversation that, I’m proud to say, was both relaxed and informative. Whatta woman. We ate; we laughed, we kissed and we genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

And at the end of the day what else can we ask for? A pleasant exchange of ideas, thoughts, hopes and dreams. There’s a ton of people in this world for us to date, and occasionally we’ll get lucky and find one that isn’t a filthy godless who-er…occasionally. Some chicks, hell MOST chicks thrive on drama, but that’s not what it’s about for me. I’ll have to wait and see where things go with the yoga instructor, and who knows? I may have to make up another rule after seeing her a few times. But at least I know that I’ve learned something about myself with each woman I date. Sometimes it takes me a little while longer to realize just what the fuck that is, but if I keep chipping away at the stone, eventually I’ll come up with a David.

Ghost of Rod Serling: In with the new; visage of a portly gentleman and a rendezvous with fate. Not the providence of time, but the luck of the draw. Another roller coaster on the precipice of peak vagina, and although the drop only lasts a second, it can inspire excitement or compel projectile vomiting. Mr. Michael Hempen courts anticipation once again…in The Friend Zone!

 Mea Culpa

It should be noted that I did indeed find love again in my current girlfriend Katie, who has opened my heart up to an eschelon of love I never thought possible. This story was written before we met of course, otherwise it might not have been so graphic. There is no greater editor than love, huh?

Deleted Scenes

Deleted Scene 1

Some people put the pussy on a pedestal so high that Michael Jordon from 20 years ago couldn’t get it down with a full court running start and a fucking trampoline.

Deleted Scene 2

What’s the WORST part of being cheated on? And I’m pretty sure this goes for girls as well as guys…thinking we didn’t fuck well enough so she had to get it someplace else. Oofa. That’s the killer right there. We don’t like to think about it, we don’t like to talk about it, and when we tell our friends? That reason NEVER comes up in the conversation. And let’s face it folks…that’s the lynchpin. That’s the finger in the damn keeping the whole thing together: Fucking.

Deleted Scene 3

Sometimes it takes me a little while longer to realize just what the fuck that is, but if I keep chipping away at the stone, eventually I’ll come up with a David. (And, I meant that metaphorically…I’m not gay…no, SERIOUSLY…I’m TOTALLY not gay…I mean look, I like to LOOK at a naked man sure, who doesn’t enjoy a man’s hardened luxurious form, but I don’t wanna, I mean sure…I COMFORTABLE in my, I could KISS a dude, but I’d never handle his member, that’s RIGHT out…unless, I mean, if someone was threatening someone I love, A GIRL, a GIRL I love and they TOLD me to touch a penis…, I GUESS I’d have no choice. But gross…no, I’m not gay. Shutup.)

The End

of: The Friend Zone Episode 3: The Yoga Instructor (Part 1)

but The General will return for more Douchebaggery in:

The Friend Zone Episode 4: The Canadian Moose


[1] I’ve looked EVERY fucking where, but I can’t find anything that confirms this episode of Tom and Jerry exists. I have a vague memory of it from when I was a kid. Tom is told that he needs a break from the stress of trying to catch Jerry, so he goes on a vacation to an island or something. In the room right next to his, the man and woman are carrying on and laughing the whole time. You never see them, but every time Tom tries to stop them, they thwart his efforts and continue laughing hysterically. At the end, you find out that the neighboring vacationers are the psychiatrist who told Tom to take a break and his wife. I know this wasn’t a Tex Avery episode because the animation was less fluid, but can anyone out there confirm that this episode exists and prove that I’m not imagining it?