The Dexter Conspiracy Theory - Dexter Season 7

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I don’t usually blog reviews or about work that I’m not involved in (though I wish I was for this one), but this season of “Dexter” has kept me on the edge of my seat, er, bed. No matter how slow the show seems at points during every other episode, the tension is still there. I am literally hanging onto every character’s every word, looking for hints of what’s to come. As the show writers have done a good job at doing, it’s easy to see that Dexter has bitten off more than he meant to chew and his dark passenger might be revealed at any moment. And as season 7 reaches its climax, I am compelled to share my “Dexter Morgan Conspiracy Theory”…

(SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t watched any episodes of the seventh season, or missed the last episode as of 11/4/2012, do not read past this line.)

Like I said, Dexter has too much to handle. He got caught by his incestuous/non-incestuous loving sister/non-sister, Deb, at the end of season 6/beginning of season 7. Thus, he dropped The Doomsday Killer’s, Travis Marshall, blood slide. Trying to lie his way through his secret to Deb, Dexter got sloppy. This led Captain LaGuerta to find the blood slide, who is now all about clearing her late ex-lover’s, Detective Stokes, name as the Bay Harbor Butcher. 

After having to come clean to Deb about who he really is, Deb’s teetering on what’s right and what’s wrong. What side of the law should she choose? Can she be convinced of The Code of Harry? On top of that, Dexter has the Ukrainian Mafia, Kashka, on his ass. Well, more like Isaak Sirko, who is out to avenge his employee, Viktor Baskov (who I think is either Issak’s brother or lover or some kind of close relative - his thirst for vengeance is too thick for it to just be his best friend). Back to Issak in a minute…

Then, in episode 6, instead of killing the hot piece of Auss, Hannah McKay, the botany serial killer (Yvonne Strahovski of “Chuck” fame), he is about to start an affair with her. And she may or may not be trying to kill him, too. Poison Ivy style. On top of THAT, true crime writer, Sal Price (who has a thing for Deb – every season we have to see her project her desires for Dexter on some nobody that must die… wait for it…), may be Dexter’s first innocent. As in first innocent victim. Based on next week’s teaser, Hannah may encourage Dexter to kill him because, in stalking Hannah himself, has discovered the serial killer love affair between Dex and Hannah. Price may know too much. After all, he’s already told Deb that Dexter’s blood splatter report is faulty. And remember in episode 5 (or 4) how Deb made Dexter promise he didn’t, nor will he ever, tamper with case evidence? Uh huh! Another way Dexter loses Deb’s trust and pushes her to the right side of her moral compass. 

She’s also come to know that Dexter and Lumen were in on the barrel girls’ case. Will Lumen come back and possibly help or blow up Dexter’s spot? I don’t know because Wikipedia also doesn’t know. But probably not; it may just be a red herring. Oh, and Batista, who is the only one in Miami Metro not convinced that Detective Anderson’s case is solved, may also be inadvertently on to Dexter. How will this play out? He can’t retire with this on his conscious. And will his sister find out the truth about her hooker-loving dead boyfriend? Probably not, but Dexter will say some double entendre type shit.

Holy shit! All of this need to walk on eggshells and watch his back, Dexter is feigning for a kill like a crackhead needs the pipe! Thus, he’s bound to get sloppy (sloppier) on his next kill (Price, not Sirko), which may(will) be the end all for Dex. He may be past the point of caring about being careful at all. Dex is bound to implode.

Oh, and Quin! Sweet little Joey, who looks like he doesn’t know how to use a bottle of LA Looks. He may or may not be working with the Ukrainian Mafia.. again. He wants the money but he wants to do the right thing but he also wants Nadia, the stripper with the Siberian heart of gold, to be his. With the Kashka holding a foot to Joey Quinn’s neck, he doesn’t know what they may want him to do. But maybe I do… Sirko might have Quinn lure Dexter into a trap the way he did with the Colombians. So Quinn might have to save Dexter? Or take him out to save Nadia? Remember, Quinn and Deb still have unfinished feelings and Dex still can’t stand Quinn. He said so at the end of season 5. Will his saving of Dex from Sirko and the Kashka, or vice versa, patch up these hard feelings in THIS love triangle? Or will he be the one to kill Dex and have to deal with his own moral instability when he finds out that Deb knew all along?

Now here's how Dexter will die 

The show writers are mum on this… they say they know how the show will end in its last season 8 next year. I think I do, too. Remember last season when Dexter went to stop Trinity Jr. in Nebraska after finding out that Trinity’s widow and daughter were killed and the whole world thought Trinity did it, but really Dex knew it wasn’t him cause he handled Trinity right after Trinity took care of Rita? Yeah, Jonah. He is left wide open, although Dexter just told Deb there are no loose ends from any of his killings, except maybe Lumen, who ain’t coming back (we’ll see). Well, since Brother Sam got all up in Dexter’s head the way only Mos Def can do, Dexter, in his moment of humanity, let Jonah live. So I think Jonah will come back to kill Dexter. The one moment Dexter didn’t listen to his dark passenger, the one instant he refused to trust his gut, may be the one loose end that does him in. It would only be fitting to finish off a trifecta in true Trinity family tradition: father, mother & daughter/sister, and since Jonah ain’t offing himself, he’ll take out Dexter, who blew the cap off this crazy family. 

I know one thing, when Dexter is finally revealed to his Miami Metro family, whether he is alive or dead to be there for the big reveal, they won’t be able to believe it. Although the clues have been there since day one. Even Quinn who initially had his suspicions may not be able to swallow the truth. Then, LaGuerta will turn her attention to Deb. Was she in on it, too? Is that why she keeps rebutting all of LaGuerta’s wild theories? Well, yes, but only we the viewers know that. And Masuka will make an inappropriate joke, I’m sure. 

And for God’s sake, will Deb just make a move on Dex already and get it out of the way? They keep on hinting it throughout this whole season. She wants to say, “Hey, brother, I want to totally bag you in bed. Fuck! Is that so weird? It’s only my style.”

I’m anxious to see how many of my predictions will come to light. I’m almost tempted to call Vegas and put money on it. But the show has surprised me many times before so I don’t know. But I also want to be able to be the first to say, “I knew it!” I know one thing is for sure, though, Dexter will not live or not live a la Tony Soprano. Ain’t no Journey ending on this one. It'll go off with some Dexter voice over that mirrors something he said on the pilot episode. I promise. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. Or in this case, the butcher knife and Reynolds wrap. Holy hell, I feel like that dude in "Two For the Money" right about now!

The Walking Smell

COCKTALES III

I saw Tasha for the first time since I graduated high school. She was working at the Hooters downtown. She was my girlfriend of three miserable, but experimentally developing years. Lance and I went to get some wings and shoot the shit before the show that Thursday. Dexter met us up there because he had nothing else to do ever since he quit dancing. Plus, since his car was still having problems and was in his parents yard decorating the weeds that grew around it, he had to wait for some girl he was fucking to get off work and give him a ride.

Lance’s wanted to come here to catch the beginning of the NBA Semi-finals. They had some pretty good wings, too… and some cute girls to look at. Before becoming a dancer, I felt guilty for staring at the waitresses whenever they walked passed. I remember checking out their assess and if I got caught, I’d blush because I was ashamed for staring. But now I realize that it’s their job to wear tight and revealing clothes and flirt with every guy in the joint. Even the fat fuck rednecks that know they have nothing to lose and would say some incoherent shit they deemed clever; “Hey hotness, wanna take a bite of my celery stick? HeeHaw, HeeHaw!”

What I still don’t get is why they call it Hooters when half these chicks don’t have boobs. I know from experience. Three of the Hooter girls I had been with wore extra padded, double bras, filled with gel thingys. So, when we’d get down to business, they’d go from hooters to straight up, bird-chested sparrows. But oh course; I still smashed their guts. What kinda hornball do you take me for?

Anyways, being as good looking as I now know I am, I figured I had more to gain than Billy Bob and cousin-wife-brother Frank and took every opportunity to be as crass and low-life as possible. Plus, again, from experience, I knew these tricks had low self-esteem and had a high tolerance for self-deprivation. That, or they just didn’t get it. Sometimes a waitress either wouldn’t catch-on to my sarcasm or would simply blow me off and just have to deal with it to get a good tip. Or so she’d think.

I had never been to this Hooters before, though. Yet, I knew Tasha worked here through a mutual friend. I told Lance our history of how I did her wrong and cheated on her with her own friends.

Our last argument, she was accusing me of fucking the new girl who had just transferred to our school because she caught wind that I had gotten this girl’s number in health class. I did get her number, but I hadn’t gotten the chance to bang her at that point. I never did actually. Damn it! She had a nice ass, too.

The scene she caused was more of a headache than weaseling my way out of a rumor that wasn’t entirely/completely a lie. We had just left the movies when the girl had walked by and smiled at me. Tasha stopped and had a field day with me in front of all our friends. During her rant, I could only sputter, “C’mon”, “Baby stop”, “You’re exaggerating”, the whole time trying to control my temper. As she drew more attention, I looked around at all the couples and families in the area now looking at us. The other two couples we were with shied away and headed home. Realizing how much of a bitch I now looked like, I took her by the arm (gently) and started speed walking to the car.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she cried.

My eyes felt strained and my brow was burying into the bridge of my nose. All I could think about were the countless times she’d done this before and the countless times Javi offered to negotiate with her to retrieve my testicles back.

I stopped in the middle of the parking lot and got nose-to-nose with her, “Look you stupid fucking bitch, I haven’t fucked that girl but, YES, I plan on it.” I continued on by telling her how fucking ignorant and blind she was not to notice that I had been fucking all her friends behind her back every other night after I left her house. And how she was too fucking worried about me fucking random bitches that she didn’t think about every time she told her friends how good of a fuck I am, in detail, that what she was really doing was advertising me. It felt good to say all that and clear my conscious. You might have thought the cops would have came and tried to get me for some kind of harassment, threatening, whatever bullshit law there was for kids involved in public disputes, except for the fact that I was half-crying through this rant like some punk-ass bitch.

Tasha’s tone changed, “You didn’t fuck my friends. They’re not like that.” She was convinced I was lying since two of the friends I was referring to had just left with their boyfriends.

“Then why don’t you call them to come pick your dumb ass up?” As I marched to my car, she remained standing there, yelling after me, questioning me to prove I had indeed slept with most of her friends and whether I really was going to leave her. I drove off and hadn’t talk to her since. It made it awkward when I passed her in the hallway for the last three months of high school.

Seeing me in a new light, Lance called me a prick and laughed, exposing that bear trap of a mouth. There you are, Sharky. When we entered, I immediately spotted Tasha leaving a table. The hostess asked us how many. I said two as I kept my eyes on Tasha heading to the bar. Lance corrected me; we would be a party of three. I forgot about Dex. Whatever. I was ass-focused. Her ass had gotten really thick. Wow! Like, Coco meets Kardashian thick. I wish I could fuck her, again.

“Can we have a table in that waitress’ section?” I pointed Tasha out to the Hostess.

“Candy? Sure.” The hostess grabbed us some menus. Candy? I guess everyone has a stage name these days. We sat down and Tasha… I mean Candy asked us what we wanted to drink. And then she realized who I was.

“Oh... Hey,” she said mundanely, but kept her phony Hooter smile.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. So you still fucking your girlfriend’s friends?”

Bless her scorned heart. She still hasn’t forgiven me, which only means she still cares. Lance grimaced when she validated my story.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I informed her.

“I’m shocked,” she stated unconvincingly. “You have a hard time being alone. You know, with the fact that you seem to be in love with being in love.”

Ouch. Burn. Okay, I see how this is going to be. Lance giggled his annoying giggle. He has a soft spot for scorned women. That soft spot is in the middle of his bed, where the mattress sinks in, according to him.

“Water is fine. Actually, do you have bottle water? I don’t want you spitting in my drink.”

“No, but I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. I’d rather piss in your beer.”

“I’ll have water too. And is it possible to change that TV to the Semi-finals,” Lance interrupted.

“What Semi-finals?”

“NBA. It’s on TNT. You work in a sports bar and don’t know about sports?” Yes! Lance also had a soft spot for ignorant women, too. He loved any opening to degrade them.

“I don’t pay attention to that shit.”

I was glad that she was outnumbered two to one with assholes like me. Dexter walked up as we were finishing up our drink order. Make that three to one.

“Hey girl, can you bring me a Bud Light?” Dexter asked.

“Is your mama named girl?” She walked away with a fake smile pretending to be unperturbed. At least she stopped at the TV and changed the channel to TNT.

“The fuck is wrong with that bitch?” Dexter asked.

“That’s Alex’s ex,” Lance caught him up to speed. Since I knew she wasn’t going to flirt back due to certain circumstances, I planned to be as sarcastic and rude and offensive as possible. What did I have to lose? Even if she did spit in my food it wasn’t as if I hadn’t had her bodily fluids in my mouth before. More on that later… what? Did you think this story was all cock and no tail?

As Dexter and Lance started talking about the pussy they had conquered in the previous days, I began to think of the first time Tasha and I had sex. She was only my second. Actually, it was the second time I had sex, too. Since my first time was lousy and a fell asleep, I wanted this time to be a little more memorable. I had considered myself a born again virgin. I annulled the first experience.

Tasha and I had met through a friend of mine who was dating one of her friends. Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of the friends I got to fuck. This friend moved before I got a chance to fuck her. Anyways, I told my friend that I thought his girl’s friend was cute and to check if she was single. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and thought I was cute, too. See how easy it was for me not to have to have game?

We all met up one night at my house to watch some movies. My friend and her friend started making out. So I took my queue and told her to come upstairs because I wanted to “show” her something. I hadn’t planned on pulling the brakes on her in particular, just the next girl I’d end up “making love to.” I had replaced the 75-watt light bulb in my ceiling fan with a blacklight, in the weeks past, I had made a mixtape of the sexiest R&B songs. This was back in the mid-90s. So think Color Me Bad and early Blackstreet. I had it ready to play in my tape deck strategically placed on the stand next to my bed. I also had baby oil next to my bed on the floor for said occasion. I occasionally used it to jerk off, but I usually preferred going raw hide. I have soft hands.

When we got to my room I flipped on the switch and we started to kiss. Her white shirt glowed under the black light. She had full, soft lips and I was focusing on kissing her for a long time. I was nervous and still fresh to this sex with someone-other-than-myself game, so I didn’t know exactly when to make sub-sequential moves. I eventually got her to the bed and began to undress her.

I let her take my shirt off and I helped her with my jeans after she had unbuttoned and unzipped them. I hit the play button. “Knockin’ Boots” was the first song on the tape. I started to kiss every corner of her body, massaging her breast and licking her nipples. I was a novice so it was more like slobbering. As I worked my way to go down on her, I thought to myself, I had never eaten pussy before. However, I had watched enough porn to get the gist of it. Except I thought I could add more class and sensuality to it rather than the dagger tongues from “Hardcore Mother Fucker 7.” I don’t blame them; I wouldn’t want to eat porno pussy, either… though, I’ve seen some puckered starfish assholes I wouldn’t mind tongue drilling.

I remembered a trick I had read about in one of my dad’s Playboy when I was like 9. I snuck two fingers in and slid them in and out as I twirled her clit in a counter clockwise motion, and then clockwise, and then the alphabet, and then numbers. I started spelling my whole birth name, and then hers. I only knew her first name at the time, so I went back to the circles.

My first impression of having some snatch sandwich was that pussy tastes kind of metallic. It was interesting. I was expecting it to be a little salty, bitter even. Kinda like sucking on a thumb… that had a slit on it… that secreted thick liquid stuff… and was eerily close to an anus. I knew I impressed her because her back arched, pushing her vag further into my mouth.

I spread her roast-beef lips and continued sliding my fingers deeper inside. I thought I had reached the back of her uterus when my fingers bumped into a blockage. I pushed harder to get a reaction out of her and when my fingers slid in, up, and deeper, she gave a loud moan. Aha! The G spot. I found it on my first try!

Her pussy gushed and I felt her wetness splash around my mouth. God it was so disgustingly wet. I heard in too many movies and songs that women aren’t always being pleasured enough in bed. I ate her out for 30 minutes. And I didn’t spit out the juice. I didn’t know the cunnilingus etiquette and back then, I cared about a girl’s self-esteem.

“Let’s Get It On” was now playing when my jaw locked. I moved my way back up her body. She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me towards her. She started kissing my neck and I reached for the drawer of the night stand and pulled out a condom, that I had already torn the corner off of in advance to eliminate any awkward pause, to fight opening the wrapper right before sex. I felt the wetness around my lips drying up now. It felt sticky. So, while I slipped the rubber on, I found her thongs next to the pillow and wiped my mouth. I didn’t think it’d be too polite to make her kiss her own vagina smoothie.

After the condom was securely fastened, I entered her slowly. She moaned again. She was tight. Her last boyfriend probably had a small dick. You ever stuff a hotdog down a straw? I felt that good. She felt good. I felt good. I started to think about the ugliest football players I’d ever seen to avoid cumming too early. Mean Joe Green, Dick Butkus, Decan jones, a lot of the older players from the 70s. I thought it was strange to think of grown men during sex, so I tried multi-tasking. I fondled her titty and tugged at her hair. I nibbled on her lips and sucked on her neck.

The whole time I pumped away, feeling her moistness all over my sack. It felt better than that time I had smeared half a tub of Vaseline in between my mattress and boxsprings to see how it would be to fuck a virgin. Hey, I used a plastic bag for a condom; I practiced safe sex.

We went at it for the whole length of the A-side of the tape. I stopped for a second just to flip the tape while I was balls-deep inside her. We resumed. Marvin resumed; “Sexual Healing” was now sailing through the room. Classic. I bet she was thinking I was a natural Don Juan. Either that or she thought I had done this many times before.

I came during “Twisted” by Keith Sweat. His nasally wine interrupted my concentration and I focused on how wet Tasha continued to be. I thought she must have came three or four times, easily. She sure arched her back a lot and I felt her constantly squeezing my waist with her legs.

We kissed for a few more minutes before I rolled off of her. She noted that she felt dirty since this was the first time we hung out. I said the only consoling thing I could think of, “It was meant to be.”

She asked me to hand her her thongs, which were somewhere strewn on the floor, smeared with snot and panty gravy. I reached for the lamp on the nightstand next to the small Casio. I found her thongs peeking from under the bed. I handed her her bra that I fished from the foot of the bed, as I walked around my bed to my dresser to get some shorts.

I looked at her through the mirror with her back towards me as she pulled up her pants. I looked at myself again to study my after-sex glow. This was a moment I wanted to remember forever. I felt great; I had stayed awake, pleasured her well… many times, and I found the G spot, which caused her to flow more than Niagara.

I looked at my hair first. I needed to wet it and comb it. After pulling on it so hard, she had it standing up to the point I looked like Kramer. And then, something on the bed caught my eye.

“What…the fuck?” I muttered.

I turned around and saw the sheets had reddish-brownish stains on them. It was blood and it was all over the bed. It was concentrated in the center where we had just laid. My bedroom went from a capsule of sensual loving to looking like a crime scene. How was I going to wash that shit out?

I looked at Tasha, who was curled up on my black, leather beanbag in the corner of the room. She was holding her stomach. Even then, I still thought I had banged her guts out nicely.

I didn’t know exactly how, but I asked, “Are you.. on your… period?”

She turned away towards the wall. “No.”

I sensed I had offended her, but I didn’t give a fuck. It looked like something from Interview With a Vampire up in this motherfucker.

“Where did all this blood come from?” I asked as if I was expecting her to say her hangnail had ripped off in the heat of passion. I was also expecting to hear that I was so big that I scarred a few uterus tissues.

“I never did it before.”

The fuck is she talking about, I thought to myself. I turned and examined myself again. I didn’t really know what “it” meant, although we all knew what “it” referred to when we were pre-pubescent hornballs.

“I was a virgin,” she confirmed.

This brought a slight smirk to my face. It would have been a full-blown smile, except that as my eyes adjusted to the light, I could now clearly see that around my mouth there was dark reddish staining. Blood red.

COCKTALES

I had just returned from the war. After a year and a half of smoldering desert heat, working day after scouring day, the last thing I wanted to do was go back to working long hours in the meat room for some chump minimum wage. I still had a good ten thousand saved up of Uncle Sam’s tax-free dollars, so I reported back to work just to tell them I was back but I wanted to take a couple of weeks off before I worked again. Plus I had school coming up again and I deserved a break. My supervisor told me it wouldn’t be a problem and offered a recommendation.“Why don’t you head down to Tampa? They got shake joints on every corner.”

I had been away 18 months without even smelling a decent woman, let alone seeing one dressed in nothing but stilettos and fishnets. Well, unless you count the black market skin-a-max DVDs I bought from the locals off the side of the road.

Without haste, I went to my place to plan a relaxing vacation of sun, sand, and debauchery. I called my cousin, Javier, to see if he was interested in joining me. Unfortunately, his fiancé, who was pregnant with his third child, knew us all too well. She knew my intentions and sensed a horrible spiral of events. Hell, in high school, we were the hormonal duo the girls used to hide from. It was said that if you hadn’t fallen victim to one of our charms, you knew someone who did. Whether they’d admit to it or not… well, everyone lies on their dick at some point in their life, right? So anyway, she could pretty much imagine what our itinerary would consist of. I politely asked her if Javi could borrow his balls for a week. But she wasn’t going to risk it and told me to fuck off and enjoy catching herpes B.

Damn it, I needed someone to buy my drinks so I wouldn’t have to spend all of my trick money. Next, I tried McGirt…even though he’s broke. He’d just have me driving around searching for prostitutes to flirt with. I’d heard too many tales about convincing looking transvestites. I didn’t really want to take a chance on having to drop kick a woman in her balls, but I needed a wingman. Of course, he had no money to go and would need me to spot him. Survey says… XX.

As I was thinking of a worthy wingman and navigator for my 18-hour road trip along I-95, one of my ex’s older brother called me up. Even though Reggie’s sister and I didn’t work out, we remained close. We kept in touch for the last five years and occasionally he’d sneak Javi and me into the clubs with him when we were still in high school. This was perfect. Reggie was in his mid-thirties and laid back. Anything that I could possibly put him through would be a rerun for him. Nothing would occur that got him so upset that he couldn’t control himself.

He once dated a stripper who would get drunk after her sets and while he waited for her, she’d purposely flirt with the john sitting next to him in attempts to make him jealous. Firing back, Reggie would go up to the stage and toss 1s on any stripper (with his girl’s money, mind you) and later get some head in the champagne room. Eventually, though, he grew tired of the bar scene one Saturday night, dumped the slore, and ironically found his future wife at church the following Sunday.

I remembered that Reggie had family in Clearwater. “Reg, I’m taking a trip down to Tampa. Want to come?” I prayed he wasn’t too pussy whipped these days to go, or else I’d have to take the trip myself, hoping that my mature-for-my-age looks would bypass being carded at the Publix when I tried to buy some hard lemonade. I was only 20 at this time.

“I’m game, man. When we leaving?” he agreed.

We arrived in Ybor City at 11 in the morning. Mid-day happy hour. We stopped at a few bars and filled up on rumrunners and imported beer at the convenient open-air bars. There’s nothing like Florida air. Right before the daily mid-afternoon rain that washes away the early day’s stress and freshens up the tourists and locals alike for the sunset festivities in the spring nights. The Gulf winds sweeping across to the east, filling the air with that sweet salt mist. The sight of palm trees and lizards gliding up and down the bark puts me in nostalgia of being in the islands. It’s the exoticness of the New World at the heels of America. Poetic ain’t it?

We spent a few hours people watching, flirting with honeys, cruising two miles an hour so everybody saw us. It would have been a lot better if we put any efforts into trying to pick up girls. But by this point, the alcohol was mixing with our fatigue and we were on the brink of incoherency. I had already stumbled over three patio tables and a 6-year-old kid. We needed to make it to Reggie’s cousin house quick to activate Operation Ass-to-Face.

Reggie got us to Tampa by midnight. He took the back roads since we had drank so much and wanted to avoid any inkling of authority as much as possible. Though I had fewer beverages, my tolerance had been much lower due to the dry Arabic culture. Reggie’s cousin, Herm, offered us his guest room and told us that if we were up to it, we could go golfing in the morning. I was in town for booties, not bogies. The only holes I wanted to fill with my balls weren’t made of canisters. I had something better planned, anyways.

I called up this girl I had gone to high school with, who had moved to Brendon after we graduated. We kept in contact while I was away talking a lot about “what ifs”. She always made sure to let me know that if I were to ever in town to call her up. For her, I was the challenge she never conquered. For me, it was warm ups. So at about 1:34 am I put my running shoes and sweatband on.

“You sleeping?”

“Who’s this? It’s like 2 in the morning.”

“1:35 really. It’s Alex.”

“What the hell? Are you back in the States?”

“Yeah. Yours actually.”

“Really? For how long? We should get together for lunch or something tomorrow.”

“It’s technically already tomorrow and we should cut the bullshit. How about we meet now?”

“I gotta work in the morning.”

“I won’t keep you long.” Honestly I wouldn’t. I hadn’t had sex with anyone other than Deborah and Sammie in over a year. Don’t act like you don’t name your hands…"I’m ready to subdue to your will.”

Subdue to your will? What a fucking tool. I really did say that, though. Liquor talk…

“You’re cute. I’m off on Tuesday, so we can hang out tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, OK. Just call me up when you’re ready.”

The next day Reggie and I woke up around 12. Parched and hungry, we skipped showers and drove over to the pizza restaurant on Del Mabry for the lunch buffet. I didn’t hesitate to stack two plates immediately with the imaginative array of pizzas. When I sat down, I couldn’t scarf the food down fast enough. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten for months. I slammed down a whole pitcher of cola. I felt like the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes. Reggie, at a steadier pace, cleared his throat and informed me that our waitress had come over while I was eating with my eyes and had asked if I was taken. “Which one?” I asked as my hunger switched to scavenger hunter. “The black one with the booty.”

She had a slender figure with humble breasts. Large B, could pass for C. And indeed, she had a booty. Her hair was long and pulled back in corn-rows. She had a smooth dark chocolate complexion and hands fit for caressing. She returned to refill my pitcher. “You need some more napkins?” In my gorging and gawking, I had forgotten to wipe my mouth smeared with tomato paste and a strand of cheese connecting my goatee to my inner cheek. She pointed to her chin and giggled, indicating that I had something on my face, you know the gesture. I wiped the marinara from my jowls with my arm hair. I looked at her nametag to make my first line more personal. “Why yes, Diedra, I do. That way you have something to write your number on.” Look, I’m never going to claim I’m some Don Juan, but I do know certain looks in a girl’s eyes, and she had the fucking look in her eye. So, when you see that look, it doesn’t matter if you speak caveman to the chick, you’re going to get from her what she wants more from you.

She smirked before taking our dirtied plates and returning to the kitchen. “Was that the one you used on my sister?” Reggie joked.

“It wasn’t as difficult. All I had to do was unzip my pants for her.”

I hurried to switch topics, as I knew I’d gotten too cocky when I saw Reggie’s expression change. “I’ve never really picked up a random chic. I usually meet my girlfriends or acquaintances through other people.”

It’s true. Before Facebook, I was like a real live social networking player. But Reggie reminded me that I had just gotten back from being around an abundance of sausage and not enough roast beef lips, “You should be functioning on instincts.”

This was true. Maybe it wasn’t the look in her eyes that had my hormones revving. Maybe it was Darwin’s sexual instinct of the fittest—because the Catholic Church probably published his books, don’t feel stupid if you never got a chance to learn this part of Darwinism. It’s true, though, I promise.

The waitress returned with fresh plates and napkins. She hadn’t written her number on the top one. I was convinced I was lame. But I didn’t expect it to work anyway. I had some ass lined up later and money to spend on strippers I’d never see again and who’d forget me within three steps of walking away. After placing our plates down, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “We have clean bathrooms.” I watched her walk back toward the kitchen, but turned right to go into the bathroom. She began to untie her apron as she walked in.

“What did she say?” Reggie asked.

“I’ll be back.”

I still wasn’t old enough to go into clubs, but I’d heard of bathroom stall hookups. This was my JV to repetitive feats of that years from now. I pushed the door open and saw a pair of shoes underneath the furthest stall, the one with the handle bars beside the toilet, with an “Out of Order” sign hanging from the door. I locked the door behind me and walked into the stall.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and began kissing me feverishly. She kissed my neck, sucked my… lower lip, a little nibble to the left ear, back to my neck. I pressed her against the tiled wall and began to unbutton her white dress shirt. I moved my hand inside her shirt reaching for her bra hooks. I tried something I had envisioned in my mind many times before; I went to unhook her bra with one flick of my fingers. I thought this would be a real smooth move. It couldn’t get any worse, I was already getting it in.

It worked. I fondled her breasts and softly twisted her nipples. Is that even arousing, I wondered? What can you really do with nipples besides lick them and maybe the occasional light bite? She began unzipping my pants and reached in. I was correct; her hands were built for caressing. I began to unbutton her pants and slid them down to her thigh where they fell on command.

As we stood there finger banging each other* through our underwear, I could feel her getting really moist. I rubbed a little harder. I wanted all that wetness to seep through and in between my fingers. I was almost certain I wouldn’t get to penetrate her. I just knew I’d end up cumming on myself first.

Then something stung my nostrils. An odorous rust smell. Pungent, like fish washed up on the beach baking in the sun, mixed with sweaty feet. I looked down and pulled my fingers out. Before I looked at them, I caught a glimpse of the embarrassed look on her face. Oh fuck!

My fingers were smeared with blood and the front of her panties was stained dark red with an orange tint ring around it. “What…the fuck!?”

“It doesn’t bother me, if it doesn’t bother you,” she said with a grimace.

I was dumbfounded. This had happened to me before. Kind of… bu that's another story I won’t tell. Let’s just say I’ve already earned my red wings.

I stormed out of the stall, slamming its door behind me. The acoustics of the bathroom reverberated the clang. I struggled to snap the other door unlock and forcibly pulled it open. I marched towards the table, trying to zip my pants up with one hand.

Reggie looked confused and impressed all at once. “I already got the check, playa.” He looked at my blood stained hand.. and pants. "Holy shit, are you ok? What happened?"

“Let’s go.”

I grabbed the napkins.

*I finger banged her, there was nothing on me that she finger banged. Just for clarification.