Wednesday, September 06, 2006

RIP Croc Hunter

Like everyone else, I am shocked and saddened by the death of Steve Irwin, the Croc Hunter. I was never much of an animal guy, but he made me want to be one.

From one Steve to another, I'll miss you, mate.


Girls like Kiersten were meant to fuck. Their bodies were built for it, the way waterbeds were built for sleeping. Every moment she roamed the Earth without a dick in her was a complete waste.

Plenty of women were beautiful; Kiersten was sexy. She was fuckable. In the short time I had known her, her face had registered happiness, anger, disappointment, jealousy. She was unafraid to express emotion, even in the presence of someone she didn't know. Sure, maybe she had hangups, but evidently none of them had turned her into a frozen block of bitchiness.

Of course, I was with Renee. But, assuming I hooked up with Kiersten, who would have been hurt? Assuming that I was safe, and assuming that we didn't tell anyone, what damage would I have done?

I was supposed to feel guilt. Performing that most intimate of acts with Renee was supposed to be special. It was supposed to mean something, and doing it with someone else was supposed to cheapen it somehow. That was supposed to bother me, but it didn't.

I went over the idea in my mind, examined it painstakingly, like a car that failed to start for no apparent reason. Surely, some switch would go off at any moment, some floodgate would open and I'd be deluged with self-loathing for even considering something so despicable. It never happened.

"Can you... t-turn this up?" Kiersten stammers, with a glassy-eyed smile.

She liked loud music, just like I did. She'd had a few too many cosmopolitans and she was tipsy, just like anyone else would be. She was definitely hot, but what was so intimidating about her? Why on Earth shouldn't I talk to her, just to see what would happen? What was she going to do, laugh at me? So what? I was busy anyway, and could dismiss her easily enough.

She was smaller than me, and not just in the physical sense. I was superior to her. I could try my luck, and if things didn't work out, maybe I'd find someone else. In a worst-case scenario, I'd find Renee, and tear those panties right off her muscular little ass. I couldn't lose!

"Turn it up? I guess so," I smile.


Suddenly I was ten feet tall. I was bulletproof. I could lift Humvees with my pinky finger and see through four feet of solid concrete. She could have dismissed me, or ripped off her party dress and mounted me right there in front of everyone; it no longer mattered. My self-confidence had everything to do with me, and nothing to do with her.

"Are you coming tonight?" I hear myself say. There was no forethought, no plan. The words spilled out of me, like cold water from the waitstaff's steel pitchers.

"To what?"

"We're going to the Muddy Hen for drinks after the party tonight."

No, "we" weren't. There was no "we". Dennis was in pain and was probably going to go home to crash, and I didn't know anyone at the party.

"I love that place!"

"See you there, then," I smile, and immediately make myself look busy searching for a CD.

She stands uneasily for a moment, taking a step back, then forward, before finally walking away.

I wonder if she'll show up.


Sunday, March 21, 1993, 1:30am
The Muddy Hen

"There's no fucking way this chick is showing up, Steverino," Dennis says.

"Well, like I said, she was--"

"Out of your league?"

"She was digging me, bro."

"So where is she then?" he smirks, then turns and winds his way through the crowd to the bar.

Two hands cover my eyes from behind. "Cut it out, asshole," I laugh. What the hell was wrong with Dennis, anyway? Only chicks did that.

Only chicks did that!

I reach up. The hands are unmistakably female, with their soft skin and long nails. I turn around.

"Asshole?" Kiersten giggles.

I start to explain, then stop myself. She's smaller than me.

"It's a term of endearment," I laugh.

"Great show tonight. You guys rocked," she says, patting a hand on my chest and leaving it there for a long moment.

"Appreciate that."

"We were just driving by and decided to stop in," Kiersten says.

"She came to see you," a buck-toothed brunette says. Damn, she was ugly. "She came to hook up with you."

"Yeah, she totally wants you," another girl says. It sounded sarcastic. Was she joking? Girls didn't say things like that to me!

"The line forms to the left," I smile, and they giggle in unison.


Paramedics barge through the front door and sprint for the rest room, stretcher in tow. Some lush probably passed out on the toilet.

"Where's your friend?" Kiersten says. "Didn't he go for beers, like, 20 minutes ago?"

I freeze. It must be Dennis who needs the ambulance. The line at the bar was short; he should have been back by now.

The paramedics rush by, and sure enough, I see Dennis's cast-clad arm hanging over the side of the stretcher.

"That's him!" I shout, and we bolt out into the frigid spring air.

"What's wrong?" I yell over the rumble of the ambulance's engine.

"Slipped on some piss and landed on my bad arm," he moans. "Thanks for helping, bro."

Kiersten chuckles.

Again I resist the impulse to explain. To do so would imply that he deserves an explanation.

"I'll see ya tomorrow, bro. I'll come out first thing in the morning. Well, maybe not first thing," I smile, sliding my arm around Kiersten's waist. She chuckles again.

"Fuckin' sellout, bro..." he mumbles.

"Aww, are you scared, Dennis? Hey, can you get this guy a teddy bear?" I ask an EMT.


March 21, 1993, 2:35am
Steve and Paulie's apartment

I'm not used to the sound of high heels against my hardwood floor, and her perfume suddenly overwhelms me, like loud music in a tiny closet. "I can't believe I'm hooking up with you," she grins, smiling coyly at the floor.

"Yeah, I can't believe you seduced me," I laugh.

"What?" she smiles.

I press the "play" button on my answering machine and immediately regret it, even before hearing Renee's voice.

"Hey babe, it's me--"

I hit "stop". It would be a damn shame to miss out on this now. It was a sure thing...