Tonight's dish was a little middle aged jewish redhead originally from Queens. She was a mortician by profession and somehow in my addled state that was a selling point. I mean after all, she probably knew her way around a stiffy or two, right? I met her in a diner in midtown Manhattan where she was furiously scribbling on a little pad. Just like she promised she was wearing a flower in her red hair. I don't know what kinda flower it was cause I mostly only know the main one's like roses, tulips and that kinda shit.
I walked to her booth and she looked up from her scribbles. A big smile fell across her face.
Shooting fish in a barrel
We made with the chit chat while I drank a cup of shitty coffee.
"What's with the pad?" I asked.
"Oh, just plotting and scheming."
I looked at my Mickey Mouse watch. It was just after 2 AM.
Then I did my best impression of 1974: Your place or mine?
Five minutes later we were in a taxi heading uptown. She lived in a swanky building across from Central Park. In the elevator she grabbed my cock and I didn't stop her. She lived alone. No pets. No people. Just a piano and piles of shit everywhere. I ignored her mess as my visit was limited to a single purpose and that was cheating on my wife.
My wife Hanna, the recently born again Christian, had been fucking some other born again Christian. Under duress she confessed they only had anal sex, so according to her pretzel logic, "it did not count".
Well, I was gonna make my shit count. The redhead mortician had one of those hospital beds that has a remote control to raise either the foot or head of the bed; or both. Apparently the redhead liked to have kinky sex in the middle of the V.
"Fuck your puta, papi! Make it rain!"
Problem was I couldn't make it rain. Her non-mechanized V was like the Sahara and she didn't have any lubricant. I tried to MacGyver my way in with some spit but the effort was futile. She suddenly jumped my bones and started grinding and screaming loud enough to wake Jimmy Hoffa. No penetration. Just her grinding away on me, slamming her tits in my face and screaming away like a banshee.
I might as well have been one of the stiffs she worked with for all the interest she paid me as an actual human being with feelings and soppy shit like that. I watched her performance from beneath it all somewhat disinterestedly. When she was finally done screaming I told her I was gonna split.
"Just have a drink with me?"
I pulled up my Levis and said, "It's pretty late."
"Just a little nightcap."
Well, where I'm from its always rude to make someone drink alone so I acquiesced.
"It's a really good Merlot," she said handing me a glass that looked a little spotty. I guess she didn't use Cascade.
I drank my drink. She drank hers.
"I really wish you'd stay. We can try again."
"Maybe some other time."
"Do you do this alot?"
"What?"
"Meet strange women for sex?"
"Well, what makes you so strange?" I asked.
"My boyfriend cheated on me and I wanted to get even."
For the record I did note the irony. I was however nonplussed by it.
I drank some more Merlot. I did not swirl it or any of that shit. Just drank it like grape juice. It wasn't bad.
"What about you?" she asked. "Are you single or are you being naughty?"
"Neither. Both. Doesn't really mat-"
Something was wrong. Let me try that again.
"Doesn't reall-"
Oh shit. Okay, we can do this.
"Duh-"
Take 2. Irony duly noted. I was definitely the opposite of nonplussed this time.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
I gathered she already knew the answer to that one.
"What's a matter? Cat got your tongue?"
I tried to stand up. Okay I'm vertical. Now left foot in front of right.
Instead of walking out of her pig sty I ended up quality checking the planet's gravity. It was in fine shape as evidenced by me laying on the floor in a pile of dirty clothes, newspapers and an empty yogurt cup or two.
While I was having a WTF moment I saw a cockroach clamber out of one of the yogurt cups. I guess she didn't live entirely alone.
"Oh, my," The redheaded mickey slipper exclaimed. "You're in no condition to go anywhere. Why don't we just get you back in bed?"
I tried to protest. My mouth would not cooperate. I tried to move. Nothing doing. It was like those nightmares where you're trying to beat the shit out of someone but your arms are moving in slow motion to negligible effect. Only it was much worse because it wasn't a dream and slow motion would have been fucking high tech.
My eyesight was fine. I watched the redhead hoist me up on to her bed and then roll me to the center of it.
She got me undressed again.
"I'm sorry honey. I think you confused me with Ms. Wham Bam Thankyou Ma'am."
I was stiff as a board. All of me if you get my drift.
"I'm sorry, honey. I just can't get wet unless I'm fucking a stiff. I hope you understand."
I was still able to blink. Unfortunately, I wasn't fluent in morse code so it was kinda hard to tell her to go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.
Well, Ms. Rapist went to town on my rigor pseudomortis for about 8 hours. She had a great old time. She made it rain and everything. The last thing I remember her saying was, "Fuck me dead big boy."
I awoke later that day with the sun setting. The redheaded rapist was nowhere to be found. My corpus furious seemed to be back in working order.
I got my clothes on and checked to make sure my wallet was still intact. Then I went to the bathroom and puked a few times. I put some toothpaste on my finger and rubbed it all around. Just then the front door opened and the redheaded rapist walked in cheerful as pie, whistling the world's happiest tune, her arms laden with groceries.
"Well, looks like a certain sleepyhead decided to finally wake up."
"You raped me you bitch."
She sauntered past me, ignoring my j'accuse, caressing my stubble as she passed.
"Eight times if memory serves," she said opening the sliding doors to her balcony. "It's so stuffy in here, don't you think?"
"You think you're gonna get away with it, bitch?"
"Yep."
"How do you figure that?"
"Watch and learn handsome. Watch and learrrrrrrnnnnn-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Talk about way to commit.
I confess my jaw bounced off my Nikes. Compared to what she probably bounced off I considered myself a lucky duck. I caught my jaw on the rebound and got the fuck outta Dodge.
Down on the sidewalk I beat a hasty retreat to the subway station, ignoring the pedestrians gathered around the fresh splattage. I caught the F train and found a seat. It was crowded. Nobody seemed to particularly care that I had just spent the night getting raped something awful. I heard someone begin to laugh maniacally. Turns out it was me. I received more than a strange look or two.
It looked like she did get away with it. Ain't that some horrific shit right there?
From Crucifiction by Krafto Matix.
