Have you read me lately?

Now that I helplessly bored, and that if I’m caught on such indulgence could be disciplinarily reprimanded, and since I have minutes like flies to kill, I will review the things that landed the girls that have been part of my life and my bed. Actually, I’d like to correct that last account: I have never needed a bed in my entire life. Everywhere I’d go, there was always a bed for me.
My pilgrimage started in the early nineties when the difficulties home with my aunt forced me to move out a couple of months after I finished high school. I ended up renting half of the bedroom in one of my coworkers’ apartments. In retrospect, that guy was severely depressed: he never left home; he would rather be reading in half-light until the sunlight vanished and only then turn on the light. But he tried as hard as anyone to be normal. Which it was probably why he used to hang out with Juan Jose, whom we called J.J., another coworker to whom I was closer a friend with, and a friend of his. We’d go to the mall and play who got more attention from the girls. J.J.’s friend, I forgot his name, always won since he was the best looking one of us. I was usually second because, even though JJ wasn’t bad looking, he was in his mid thirties and had gained the extra pounds someone who doesn’t exercise often gets around that age. So he came in a respectable third. But Jose, my roommate, never scored a single glance. It was, quite frankly put, his not so kind looks. He was a dark-skin Dominican with glasses that gave him a misleading sinister look to the already sad spectacle of his looks. Life had not been kind to him and it was a pity because after all he was a real pal in the whole sense of the word, whose only sin was his propensity to irritation and social retraction. Otherwise, he was okay, I guess. Now I don’t know how I ended up here. See, I guess somehow everything is tied to the other thing, and so on, as in an infinite regress. I will describe in full detail the varied perimeters of my existence, including once when Jose actually got a glance from a girl that did not look kind at us. It was a Dominican chick who found Jose to be the most attractive of us three, and we celebrated the magnanimous occasion with beer and laughs.

I don’t remember much in the girl department until I met Alexia. She worked in Staples, and the way things happened were: I have this policy which forbids me from dating any girl I work with, and I waited until the last day. I had missed an ocean of opportunities as my eye wasn’t as trained as it is today in respect to the opposite sex. But I wasn’t naïve, either. So, what I did was, find music in common and ask her for an album I didn’t have, Counting Crows’ debut. She lent it to me and when I returned it, I put my telephone number inside it. It is such a clumsy thing to do, and most real girls would not have been impressed with such a wussiness but Alexia fell deep for it. She had the credentials for it. She was living unhappily, like most of us honest people live. But at the time of her misery, she didn’t know it as being part of life. She perhaps thought then that I could nurture somehow her unfulfilled self. I had not yet mastered by then the ability to be a truly full and happy individual, so I was bound to make her miserable in the end. But not before I got mine. It happened gradually and I had help from her. I don’t think she was pleased with the results in any way. But it was my first time with a woman. I had been played and fooled around with girls but I was a baby and all of those encounters happened when I was younger. This time was for real, and as usual, I had help from the opposite sex. I thank Alexia for that. I remember we had sex in Port Jervis, a small town an hour away from New York. I was there working as a security guard along with a few coworkers, not at all related to the ones I wrote about before. Anyway, our company had us working seven days a week, twelve hours a day. They paid us well (given the standards back then) and daily gave us an amount for personal expenses such as food. But the motel in which they had us located gave us free breakfast and we pocketed the money instead. We had it good, and I messed it up. I had Alexia stay over with me for a night of sex and called in sick. Now that I think about it, maybe one of the idiots I was working with back then ratted me out and that is why the very next day I was sent to New York in the first train.

With Annabel was a different story altogether. I saw her with her sister on the spot where a street vendor used to make a living selling books (he still does, I think). I knew the particular vendor, who was going out with this particular girl’s sister. So, I asked him the next day I passed around there who was the girl that I had seen the day before and he said it was his girlfriend’s sister. I asked him if I could meet her, and he called his girlfriend on the spot, and I got an easy date with a perfect stranger. I picked her up in a cab and went to see Brad Pitt’s Seven. We got along from there, and she invited me to a pub. It was the first time I entered a bar in my life. I tipped the bartender when he brought the drinks and he said to leave it on the table. So, I did, embarrassingly enough. Now I think that was actually cute of me, not knowing. And little did I know many other sour things to come. But we fucked plenty and beyond any memory of Alexia. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember ever being in a same room alone and not having some. We even tried to do it in the pub’s bathroom. Luckily, her other sister stopped her. What crazy times those were! I will into full detail but the thing here is that you must speak up if you ever want to land the girl.

I met Sarah in a seven train to Queens. She was with a friend of hers and they both were competitively flirting with me. For the first dozen stations, I didn’t do much than just glance there way and glorify myself of the potential I had. Then I decided to talk to the one that left the train last. Yeah, we are that weird when it comes to the opposite sex at such tender age. It didn’t occur to me that they both could have gotten off in the same station. But that is what I decided. Luckily, one of the two left and I was forced to talk to the one left behind, Glenda. I remember asking her what part of South America she was from, and she answered me: “My parents are from Ecuador.” That’s how it all started. Our relationship was more steady than the previous one but bound to fail in the end. Lots of ass, though.