Idle Eyes
Chapter 3. Book V ~ Edition II
Not owning a television between 1993 and 1996 occurred from believing the denial of this entertainment would force reading and writing effort. This belief was wrong.
The one book I wrote since the age of eighteen, Memories of Emily, rested in the desk drawer amongst piles of notebooks filled with crap poetry. The book, a fictionalized version of life, focused on suffering physical and sexual abuse as a kid. The book attempted to illustrate different themes concerning love, truth, and beauty related through the protagonist’s relationship with an imaginary girl named Emily.
Emily became a point of internal contention and madness, rising from an overinvestment of childhood and the start of adulthood into this character. Too much time spent hoping this character would someday manifest in life led to a belief of inevitably meeting her or some semblance of her. Unresolved issues with childhood abuse drove this delusion, and somewhere along the way, the line separating fiction from reality blurred. Believing in this girl of dreams led to some awful decision-making, such as dating the wrong people and getting married, but fighting free of this lie and finally overcoming the pain of abuse, I vowed never again to cross that line of fantasy for fear of insanity.
Beyond the emotional over-investment in the character and book, the book held a lot of truth, and believing this honesty gave the story weight needed to carry it through the world of publishing proved wrong. Three years of publishing attempts ended in a declaration of the book's failure.
Many abandoned drafts of other books littered binders and notepads in a struggle to write anything substantive. The frustration of futile writing only increased in the lack of TV. Worse yet, the lack of television did not go unnoticed.
Most people found the choice to abstain from TV strange, and this opinion showed in their reactions to my ignorance of television. Usually, this occurred when someone referenced a popular show or commercial, and my witless look caused the person to explain the reference before walking away with a frown of disbelief.
Movers who found time to watch television or do anything requiring hours of daily free time baffled me since the job required forty to fifty hours per week. Working as a subcontractor meant taking any available work, and most days started by five or six a.m. and didn’t end until sometime after five p.m. Going to bed shortly after getting home left enough time to read a few pages before succumbing to sleep.
By the end of 1993, the struggle to be creative soon surrendered to far more fulfilling activities. If precious time was to be wasted, then it needed to be wasted with hot women, not writing bad literature or watching television.
Months of struggle to find a place to live and a decent job led to a stable, sustainable place in life with some leisure time which catalyzed the divorce into a slight resentment of women, leading to serial dating. Serial dating started by accident but soon routinized in a strategy of rules for fucking hot chicks. Dino would be proud as life settled into boozing and fucking.
Diligent and reliable work practice opened the dating door with an illusion of success fallaciously associated with good boyfriend or husband stock. As luck should have it, one of the guys at work believed this fallacy.
On Sherēm’s days off, when unable to find work with other drivers, I worked in the Atlas warehouse. The first time working in the warehouse, I worked with AX and the warehouseman, Taco Slurps. While unloading a trailer, AX stopped working a moment, seeing Taco walk by the truck. “Yo man, I’m all out of tacos, but I got some burritos.”
“Fuck you, man.” Taco walked away laughing.
AX nudged me. “Vinnie, I was on a job with Taco back when he was seventeen. He was running late for work and didn’t eat breakfast. When lunch came, the customer bought the crew like fifty tacos. Taco was so hungry he ate twelve tacos in two minutes — I swear. He ate them tacos making all this noise like he was suckin’ them through a straw. The driver said, ‘Yo, quit slurping them tacos: that’s nasty.’”
Taco Slurps, soon shortened to Taco, and providing no one stood between him and food, Taco was a good guy. We got along since my work performance impressed him, and at the end of the day, he presented an offer. “Dude, my wife has a friend named Rēos. She’s hot and single. She did just have a kid a couple of months ago, but the father is not in the picture. She is a few years younger than us but has a decent job and tries to be a good mom. You seem like a standup dude; do you think you want to go out with her?”
The offer to introduce his wife’s friend seemed odd in the usual expectation of a double date with Taco and his wife introducing Rēos. Having learned to always fuck first and ask questions later, the accepted offer resulted in Taco passing Rēos' phone number to me three days later, which led to a date on the next Friday.
The great struggle to remain unattached came from an upbringing that indirectly taught many bad ideas about relationships, which caused much inner turmoil. When Rēos and I met the war against relationships continued in an ongoing struggle to disbelieve fate or cosmic purpose caused them, but more specifically, to relinquish the idea that some specific person awaited meeting in the great narrative. The failed marriage taught the need to avoid falling prey to these stupid ideas reinforced by a strong desire to avoid more bad relationships. Firmly holding to the belief that relationships were bullshit, and the only thing good about dating was fucking, my efforts found reward in Rēos.
Rēos’ attractiveness pleasantly surprised as Taco’s description poorly portrayed her. Her dark hair and tan complexion enticingly combined with a petite and nicely proportioned frame. Petite meaning short: standing five-foot-two made her highly desirable, not that dating taller girls held no appeal, just preferring small women. The preference for girls around five-feet tall mystified me and couldn’t be explained any better than a man who liked women with long legs. This preference for petite women sometimes drew attention from strangers because, at six-foot-one and two-hundred-twenty-pounds, I appeared like a giant next to girls like Rēos.
Worries over not owning a vehicle proved unfounded when she agreed to drive and meet me at a nearby mall. After a quick introduction, we headed downtown per my simple dating formula,
(Go to decent restaurant + Entertaining show) / (Don’t talk much * Pretend to be interested in whatever she says) = Hopefully Get Laid.
Dinner at the Inner Harbor in Baltimore went well, and with time before a late comedy show, we drank and conversed. “How long have you been working with Taco?” She stirred her drink.
“I guess about the better part of a year.”
“Taco complains that the job is a lot of hard work. Do you like it?” Her foot rubbed against my leg.
“The job’s hard, but it’s alright for now.”
“Yeah, it sounds hard, but you’re big and strong. I think you can handle it.” Her barefoot inched my leg.
“Thanks, I guess I do alright. Do you want another drink?”
“Please. Now, don’t go getting me drunk?”
“Could we get another round, please? A double.”
She found my crotch with her foot, giving me her naughtiest smile, and cocktails ended with us going back to my apartment. Rēos’ voracious sexual appetite revealed when entering the front door started a grapple to remove clothes while moving across the room entangled in kissing. Her firm, tight, and large-enough-to-fill-my-hands breasts hypnotically enticed. Ready to gush the milk filling them, our fall to the couch kissing made them leak on my chest, and seeing my stare at the lactation, she gnawed my neck. “You like them like that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
Answering her tits spurred her to cup a breast in hand and squeeze a stream of milk in my face.
“You are a bad girl.” I pounded as hard as possible while she laughed, still shooting milk, and soon, her face turned dark red with body shuddering before relaxing. In quiet exhaustion, Rēos kissed and pulled at me. “That was good.”
I shook my head. “Damn.”
Finding the bed later, Rēos slept soundly in alcohol and sexual exhaustion as my gears of thought turned events trying to ascertain what actions or environmental factors caused this magical night until surrendering to the same slumber.
Monday morning, AX, Lil, and Edo worked with Stan, Sissy, and I preparing for a large job in Sherēm’s trailer. The trailer quieted as Taco entered from the warehouse and approached me. “How did the date go?”
I turned to Taco. “Holy shit, man. Rēos is crazy. She’s like a porn star. I’m not even sure I want to tell you the stuff she did.”
Taco looked confused. “Really? That doesn’t seem like her. What happened?”
A flabbergasted Taco listened as the other guys laughed at the tale of Rēos advances at dinner and breast milk adventure. His genuine surprise that Rēos acted this way made me curious about what bullshit his wife and Rēos told him about their activities. Almost from the initial meeting of Rēos, her sexuality effused abundantly, and him not knowing this seemed unbelievable.
He shrugged but looked a bit disturbed as he walked off the truck. “Well, she must really like you. That is so unlike her.”
“Maybe.”
As Taco left the truck, Edo stepped to the truck's rear to check if Taco was out of earshot then turned to me. “Yo, man. Have you seen Taco’s wife?”
“No.”
Edo held up his hand. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so let me just say: a motherfucker would have to be gay to not fuck her, and even then, he might still want a crack at it.”
Everyone laughed, and AX said, “Vinnie, me and Lil met her last year at the company party, and I swear to god she made eyes for everyone there.”
Lil nodded emphatically. “Yeah, man.”
I frowned and pointed my finger in the direction Taco departed. “That explains a lot. I thought it was weird he set me up with his wife’s friend.” I whispered, “I think he wants someone dating Rēos so he and his wife can double date because he’s worried about her cheating, but me fucking his wife’s friend is not going to stop his wife from cheating, especially if she’s anything like Rēos.”
Everyone laughed, and after work, the phone rang while walking through the front door and answering led to a second date with Rēos.
The second date with Rēos provided the opportunity to meet Taco’s wife and witness firsthand Taco’s fears of infidelity. We attended a party held by someone known to Taco and entering the house, Rēos and I navigated towards Taco through people drinking and talking as music blared. Taco’s wife stepped from his group and shocked me with a stunning, perfect exotic blend of unknown races. Her rocking body formed a sculpture of tight breasts and a shapely ass, which made marriage to Taco seem an absurd accident as if she drank too much on the wedding day and married Taco instead of the movie star. This attractiveness and outgoing nature tested the bounds of marital propriety with a rubbing of breasts against me when introduced to her. As she asked questions, I answered while a fantasy of fucking her in the bathroom flashed to mind. She introduced her tits to many different people as Taco watched in complete obliviousness to the flirting while an equally flirtatious Rēos also introduced her breasts to men.
The night wore on as the large party consumed most of a two-story home, and while drinking a beer and talking to Taco, I noticed his wife and Rēos talking to some guys. Taco spoke of work-related things while his wife disappeared with one of the men, and when she returned, Rēos vanished with the other man. The only thing more surprising than the girls switching sexual partners during a second trip to the bathroom was Taco’s naivety. I shook my head feeling sympathy for Taco’s situation, confirming my view of relationships. Taco’s nice, husbandly nature forced him to see a good faithful wife yet haunted him with suspicion. Only an irrational belief in the absolutism of love could turn someone into such a contradiction.
When Taco’s wife disappeared for a second time, Taco approached Rēos to ask where his wife went, and she answered with a lie. After answering Taco, Rēos shot me a fuck-me-look, filling with excitement for hot bathroom-sex.
While patiently waiting a turn to fuck Rēos in the bathroom, the party entered the dangerous hours of deep inebriation where inhibitions are lost, and the truth becomes meaningful in fits of crying. Some do-gooder must’ve told the girlfriend of the first guy Rēos fucked about the indiscretion because the girlfriend appeared before me in a drunken craze. “Your whore fucked my boyfriend!”
Taken off guard, I looked at Rēos, who just returned from a second bathroom rendezvous, and back at the drunk girl. “And?”
The drunk girl appeared confused and disturbed and rephrased the exclamation for clarity or to anger. “Your girlfriend fucked my boyfriend in the bathroom!”
The room grew silent, watching the spectacle, and being a little drunk and not wanting to be involved in this situation, I pointed a beer at her. “Look, it’s not like they were hiding what they were doing. I saw them go into the bathroom. If she wants to fuck someone, that’s her business. As long as I’m getting a slice of the pie, I don’t give a fuck what she does.”
The room erupted in laughter, and Rēos became slightly embarrassed while the drunk girl shook her head in confusion. My tactic proved unwise when the drunk girl turned in frustration to Taco. “I don’t know what you’re laughing about? Your wife fucked a guy in the bathroom too.”
From the time the rant started, a mortified grin fixed on Taco’s face mistook for amusement by the drunk girl. Now, the shocked grin framed in reddening anger as the crowd turned attention to him, his wife, drunk girl, and another couple screaming en masse. Slipping out of the room and exiting the house, I turned in surprise, hearing Rēos’ voice. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Driving away, a stupid question about bathroom sex came to mind, but her breasts killed this curiosity by beckoning an uncontrollable play of hands she brushed away in laughter to keep from wrecking the car. We indulged in another night of hot, drunken sex, complete with a lactation shower.
In the morning after Rēos left, memories of the night rose a laugh when questioning the wisdom of dating Rēos. Still clinging to deluded ideas, the thought of poor Taco arguing and screaming all night dispelled the delusion of a relationship. The following Monday reinforced the resolve to abandon relationships when an exhausted Taco approached me in Sherēm’s trailer, where I worked alongside Sissy and Stan. “Man, sorry shit went down like it did on Friday.”
“No problem, Taco. Rēos and I got out of there to defuse the situation. I feel bad because I left you dealing with that hostile situation.”
“You’re still with her after she fucked some dude in the bathroom?”
Sissy and Stan moved closer, taking an interest in the conversation, as I continued, “Yeah, I’ve only seen her twice, and she’s hot in bed. It’s not like I’m planning to marry her.”
Stan and Sissy laughed as Taco became confused. “You’re okay with your girl fucking other guys? I’m getting a divorce.”
“Look, man, I’m not the only meat on the menu, but I’m certainly willing to be on the menu.”
“What? How can you say that?” Taco shook his head.
“Dude, you might be thinking about this situation all wrong. You think love is like this forever thing, and marriage is a contract that seals the deal, but man, you’re wrong. Everything is sort of backward from what we’re taught.”
“What’re you saying?”
I held my hands up. “Don’t take this the wrong way. Your wife is hot and probably superb in the sack, but she didn’t get that way fucking just you. Just let her do her thing. If you don’t, then you’re certain of divorce.”
Taco’s face twisted in disbelief. “What?”
“All I’m saying is if you want to save your marriage, you both need to start cheating. You should both be fucking other people because it’ll make you both happy.”
Stan and Sissy laughed, and Stan said, “Yeah, Vinnie is nuts.”
Taco turned, walking away. “You’re crazy, man. I’m not going to be married to some whore who’s fucking everyone.”
“Do what you want.” I shrugged as Taco left the truck while Sissy and Stan continued cackling.
A short time later, silence filled the cab, making the rumble of the diesel engine noticeable. Sherēm drove the truck out of the yard, and within a few minutes, the rig rolled down the highway. Sherēm looked over at me and yelled into the sleeper berth, “What the hell is going on? You assholes are never this quiet.”
Stan immediately leaned forward. “Vinnie is dating some whore and doesn’t care she’s fucking other dudes.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Stan.” I turned to look at him.
Sissy craned his head into the front of the cab. “Ew, man. That’s nasty. She might have herpes or some other disease. Did you fuck her the same night?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Did you at least wear a condom?” Stan asked with a frown.
“Hell no. You don’t jerk off in a condom, do you?”
“Ew!” exclaimed all three of them.
“Is this all true?” Sherēm shot a glance while driving.
“Damn, I’ve only gone out with this chick twice. It’s not like we’re going steady.”
Sissy shook his head. “She fucked a dude in the bathroom while out on a date with you. Don’t you think that is just a little fucked up?”
“Two dudes, and no, I don’t. Look, relationships are bullshit. Marrying someone and believing you are going to be with that person forever is ridiculous. Seriously, true love? No such thing. Relationships are a waste of time, and chicks like Rēos are a goldmine. I’m not the baby daddy. I have no responsibilities beyond buying dinner and a movie, and I get the hottest sex ever. I don’t care what she does.”
The three of them laughed as I pointed to them. “You all laugh but think about this; if you want some hot chick to give up sex for you, then you need to offer something pretty big in return. Taco tried to be a good husband, and look at what that got him?”
Sissy’s face crinkled. “Yeah, but that’s just him and his wife.”
“All I’m saying is Taco is about to give up a smoking, hot piece of ass and take on child support. For what? Because his wife wants to fuck someone else? If he played the game, he could be fucking his wife and lots of other chicks. Hell, he could be fucking Rēos if he played his cards right. Of course, he has to share her with me.”
Everyone laughed, and Sherēm shook his head. “I’m going to pray for you, man.”
Between work and home, a bar attracted the movers. There were other bars in the area, but the convenience of Eli-Sue’s between Atlas, the bus lines, and the beltway brought the movers. Convenience didn’t provide the only enticement as Eli-Sue’s provided a peaceful end to the workday, unlike the rowdier titty bars and dives near the industrial complex. Much knowledge about a person derived from knowing the bars he inhabited. Stan, Sissy, other people in recovery, the scabs, drunks, and crackheads all migrated to the titty bars while Eli-Sue’s filled with the working class.
Perhaps more than the bar itself, the patron seating spoke much of the man. All bars have a section reserved for the lonely, desperate, and socially moronic; a place called desperation row. Men line the row drinking and staring into their beers, hoping some woman might speak to them and whisk them away into a new life. It is a very sad place filled with divorcees, out of shape men, and often the lost. My bisexualism afforded no insight into the gay or female equivalent of desperation row, which for sure existed.
When living in Florida, the workers at my old job frequented a similar establishment, and I often found myself in that place sitting on desperation row. That time seemed far away along with that pathetic person struggling to find place in a world of heteros and homos. The great lie of love, promising so much, earned only a seat on desperation row, a costly divorce, and the truth that I alone owned my identity, not requiring self-identification by the placement of my dick nor judgment of myself or anyone by the same measure. The divorce further highlighted the truth of love, perhaps always known, making clear the impossibility of hetero or homo love, at least for me, and that’s okay. Perhaps experiences cheated me out of love but not sex.
Huddling tables, playing dart boards, and sharing pitchers of beer, the crowds of workers mingled as I moved through them to where AX, Lil, Diek, Sherēm, and other coworkers sat. Lil animated a story about the job as I approached signaling the waitress who appeared and took my order for a beer and another round. Lil’s storytelling caught my attention with the mention of my name,
“…you wouldn’t know this cat, Vinnie; he was before your time, but trust me when I say the dude was off the hook. The company had an annual picnic, and there were about a hundred people there, and this guy was so nuts, he came racing up behind us and grabbed Edo by his running shorts and just pulled them down in front of everyone.”
Everyone laughed and Edo began talking about the incident as I glanced around in the slowing-motion of the bar that framed the moment in an ever-increasing pace of a film. In that single frame, a realization of change occurred and the construct of a married man and soldier no longer existed as the reel turned a new scene of the single working man, inducing a sense of a happy ghost unknowingly trapped floating in life’s ether.