Stories - DIARY OF JACK GARY
Nightmare
Jack tells quirky stories and why he swore off from monogamy.
I've never sworn on my life before. It's been one of those black cats or walks under a ladder kind of superstition, phobias I live with. The thing is, I'm not really that superstitious of a person. Needless to say, I don't have that many phobias except for perhaps odorous vaginas. However, I do swear in other's lives all the time, but never my own. I assume that if I do Well, here it goes. I swear on my own life that I am wholeheartedly and indefinitely finished with monogamy. I've actually been over this foolish lifestyle for a while, but it took until actually writing these words to officially swear it. Girlfriends are a little bit like electronic gadgets. You absolutely have to have one. Soon after you fall in love with it, then you obsess over it, you end up leaving your friends for it and then spend all your time with it. Inevitably, it either breaks, or you see the next best thing. I never know it isn't working until some sort of climactic explosion occurs to illustrate this. The following stories are my past relationships and 100% true by the time you're finished reading them; you'll know why I'm swearing off monogamy for good one night before good 12 hours of rambunctious to bock are my friends, and I decided to stop by a strip club. We had rented a limo, so heads turn, we drove past anything and everything. We Were Young then, and nothing mattered, not goddamn care in the world, and nope folks were ever given our goal that night, same as most nights was to get late. However, sometimes he would intercept our plans for pussy domination leave us catching a cab alone. Fake can be funny sometimes, not the haha funny but the existential What the fuck kind of funny. For example, once in a while, one of your friends will meet a girl with the sole intention of a one-night wonder and, surprisingly enough, end up in a long-term relationship. This typically translated to me as his plans of pussy domination were altered against him, and the pussy now acts as his master. Thus, I would never see or hear from that friend again indefinitely until they broke up on this particular night. Our first stop was, as I stated previously, a titty bar tropical fantasy. It was a real shithole of a place, and the strippers were real. To put it into hotness scale terms, anywhere from a 3.5 to a five at most. We show up our comatose limo driver opens our door looking like one of the zombies in the Thriller music video. The cover charge was something like 20 bucks, which I instantly recognized as a bad sign. The interior looked like a poorly decorated birthday party replete with balloons, blowers, streamers, and confetti. I was immediately depressed my standards were low, but not this low. And I wanted to leave; however, my friends were already sitting erect getting lap dances in various corners of the club, so I was stuck. I considered hijacking the limo and going out on the town on my lonesome. Though I secretly feared the weird Russian limo driver had a particular appetite for human flesh. So I decided to brave the sloppy slept storm. I tucked myself in a booth with plans to simply hide until my friends wanted to leave. It was then that the cocktail waitress came to take my order. I immediately was alluded to her in a way I fell in love with her. She had a cute face and great little tips too small to be a stripper. But big unappetizing enough that I wanted to put them in my mouth. After a bit of Martini's talk, I discovered it was her birthday. And attackee celebration was for her. She had just turned 22 and subsequently was about to start doing private dances, not pole dancing, which qualified her as a stripper in my eyes. However, at this point in time was basically a cocktail waitress at a tinct smelling nudie club. The place should have been called Tink fantasies. Anyways, I'm chatting it up with a cocktail waitress. Let's call her Jessica for the sake of the story. And in my buzz stupor, I ended up telling her life story as she takes turns returning the favor. All the while thinking, great. I'm going to hit this Pussy so hard later. So I asked her when she gets off work, and unfortunately, there's a time conflict. She gets off right when my night would have hit; its partying apex. So I tell her I'll pick her up the next day. Conveniently, she had it off, and she complied with similar and clearly mutual anticipation. The next day after recovering from a nasty hangover, I'm on my way to her place. I felt like shit. But with all the thoughts of the pussy and paling that would no doubt be happening later that night, I began to feel better. After cross-referencing the address she wrote down on a little birthday napkin, looking up at all the houses, I finally find her apartment. It was a low rent dump, replete with a stucco forced that had a vaguely French slightly Polynesian name, followed by the word Manor estate, who's your classic shithole. And you can just imagine the landlord breaking into apartments at night while you're sleeping and masturbating in your fishbowl. You can always tell who a girl actually is by the place she lives in. When I parked the car, I noticed that she was already waiting. She was standing next to a pile of boxes, one of which kept mounting. Apparently, she was two months late on rent and had just been kicked out not but one hour before our date, the perfect amount of time to collect her worthless belongings and her main gi tabby cat. The landlord was already proceeding to change the locks. When I got to her. She told me that she didn't know or trust anyone else in the city and needed a place to stay for a while. And to top it off, she was fired on a false accusation of her stealing. I should have read the writing on the walls and seeing the red flags blowing furiously in the wind of her life. I should have jumped in my car and hightailed it out of there. But when you're young, you don't think of these things and usually let your penis do most of the major decision-making. So I told her she could come and stay with me while she ended up staying for eight months, and by the time we broke up, she had cleaned out my savings. I was left broken broke. But all in all, wiser man, one of the more ridiculous stories in the novels of Jack Gary is the Mormon with a peg leg. So let me begin. Once, I was at a record store. I'm a much younger and less fortunate man. I was there trying to sell my stockpile of CDs after transferring them all to mp3. The girl behind the counter helping me was a cute short girl with a devious little smile. She looked like the kind of girl that got in the ass every night but pretended she didn't. Like it was dessert. I was into her. I admit, she was looking at all that shitty music I listened to at that age, we got to flirting, we were flirting pretty hard, and I thought that I might even get to put one in her bud later, maybe with a cherry on top or perhaps some whipped cream. When Just my luck. Her boss came out and asked her to do some boring inventory stuff in the back. I was stuck with her fat, bald boss for the remainder of my record store experience. He gave me a measly check for my CDs, and I went on my way for the next couple of days after my record store visit. I couldn't stop thinking of that girl in her sexy ass. I started dreaming about all the things I would do to her and her ass. She became a weird fantasy to me. After another day or two, I decided to make this fantasy a reality. I called the record store. That fat boss picks up. I asked for the girl that helped me a few days before but realized I have no idea what her name is. I tell him she has a weird kind of pretty smile. And for some reason, he totally understands. Maybe he had the same twisted fantasies about her that I did. When she picked up the phone, I remind her who I am by naming a few of the artists that stood out from my collection of CDs, like clicks, and we start flirting get on the phone. And it is plainly obvious that she's into me. It was a bold move calling the store, but it works. She agrees to meet me for a date that night. After more flirting, we decided on a time and a place, and we hang up. So later, as planned, we meet up, I was 10 minutes late, and she made sure to let me know that she already been there for 20 minutes. There was something slightly off about this I didn't quite understand yet. But it would become obvious on the next couple of dates about a few things that were, let's say, off-center. If we went to a coffee shop, she would only drink the juice. If we went to a bar, she only drinks water. And every night ended up with passionate making out but never ever, ever sex. I would get so close to barely being able to touch her tits. But that's always where it would end, following with her kicking me out of her apartment. Mind you. This was an apartment she shared with six other chicks about four months into our dating with still no sex. We finally get to the point where she takes her shirt off, and I thought tonight's gonna be the night. This is what I've been investing all my time into. I kept anticipating how amazing she would be in bed. I kept thinking about all the anal sex we're going to have. I thought that she must really like me because she was holding herself back all these months just for me. And she wanted to be ready because she wanted sex to actually mean something for once in her life. And it was a cute sentiment, that kind of when you're young and dumb and wanting to blow your load over possibly one of the most prudish chicks you've ever met. Back then, I was horrible at reading signals. We were both getting incredibly hot and turned on. I was kissing her tits. She was sucking on my fingers. She pulled off my pants. I mean, that has to be a sign. She starts buttoning my shirt. And I have a stiff that you could bounce a boulder on. Of course, we're gonna have sex. She starts touching my erect penis. So I go for her pants. She offers a little resistance which I interpreted as some kind of erotic foreplay. I pull through and grab both of her pant legs at about the knee. I pull with all my mind, but she would just not let go of her pants. I take this as even more of a side to pull harder. And that's when I feel something come loose. But it wasn't her pants. I thought, holy shit. I just pulled her leg off. And I was right. I pulled so hard that her prosthetic leg pops right off, and I go flying off the bed, hitting my head as hard as the legs hit the wall. She was mortified, and at that point, I was laughing so hard. I began crying. She joined me crying for a whole nother reason, and she explained that she's a Mormon and got her leg amputated after a Hot Wheels accident. a Tragic story that is actually really funny if you think about it. This explained the no coffee, the no liquor, and no sex. I left that night. I never called again. I met the aggro nympho at a concert one night, she was sitting in the front row and wearing a sexy dress that gave off a view of a little side boob and butt crack cleavage. She had this gorgeous tattoo. I ended up mustering enough courage to talk to her. And I told her that I liked her tattoo, But to my surprise, she brushed me off rather coldly. Apparently, she gets this comment a lot, and her tattoo had some kind of welcome sign for guys that wanted to come inside her. So she probably grew weary of this pickup line, feeling discouraged. I walked outside for some fresh air. She not long after, it was out there waiting for a cab. Her dress was blowing the wind offering a little more of a view. She was Latina and exotic, complete with a slight spicy accent. I tried again, and she told me that most guys get discouraged and walk away. But if they were persistent, they might get somewhere with her. I apologize and let her know. I was actually just making an innocent comment about her back tattoo with no ulterior motives, which was a complete lie. I totally wanted to sleep with the girl. A cab pulls up, and she opens the door to get in. She slides all the way into her cab and leaves the door wide open. I go to close the front door. But then I noticed the look in her eyes and realize she wants me to get into the cab with her. So I do not long after entering. We just start making out furiously the city night flashes by the windows. It felt like we were in a movie. And as far as I could tell, a damn good one. She pulls up her dress, and we start having sex right in the back of the cab. No worries about anything, and she really starts to go at it. She wrote me as I've never been written before. And not long after, it had gotten really intense. She started calling me daddy and Poppy and every other endearing term for a father that there is in the modern Spanish English lexicon. We pull up to her house. She quickly came as I did, and I expect to never see her again. She left without a goodbye. And I directed the cab driver to my house. It was quite awkward. A few months later, I was walking down the street minding my own business. When I saw her walking on the opposite side, it looked as though she had just gone to the market or yoga or something I couldn't tell. She's wearing regular clothes, and it's such a stark difference to her open-back dress that she was wearing on the night that she ravaged me. I went to go talk to her, and she had no idea who I am no recollection of whatsoever. Anyways, we got to talking and realize we still have something in common in the daylight and despite her amnesia. So it was not much later down the road that we started going out regularly. She was like I remembered a beast in bed. On a regular day, she'd want to get the ship out of her pussy at least five or six times. It was quite the workout. It got to the point where I had to pretend to be sick just to get some time off. After a few months of this, I realized this was pathological. She was addicted to banging, and it was too much even for me. One night she asked me to pick her up from work. It was a late evening, and we had plans to meet with people for dinner. We were a little late for our reservation, and I was already not in the best of spirits. It wasn't long into dinner that she let me know that she had just been fired for getting into a fistfight with a customer. Yes, a fistfight. Apparently, a customer had stiffed her out of a tip, and she cold-clocked him in the jaw. He was out for a whole five seconds, and when he came to, he was prepared to call the police and press charges. Her manager instead fired her and offered him a plethora of free meals. When she got in the car, she was still angry about not receiving the tip. I was personally frightened. I hadn't seen this side on anyone before and certainly not from a girlfriend. I mean, I knew she was crazy but not, you know, the bad crazy. She proceeded to vent her anger at me. First, it started as yelling, and it quickly escalated to pulling at the car steering wheels. We were driving on the highway. I started to fear for my life is crazy bitch was about to kill us both. So I pulled off the freeway, and then she started to get angry that I pulled off the freeway. What I should have done was simply call the police and haul her away to a mental institution. And that's when it happened. She takes off her high heels, and karate kicks her right foot as hard as she can clean through the front windshield of my car. I slam on the brakes screeching; a cop sees this kerfuffle and quickly turns on his siren to pull me over. I couldn't see anything because the front windshield at this point is completely fucked to cops jump out of their car, assess the scene, and interview us. Needless to say, it was hardly an hour before she was locked in the back of a car. Her name was the aggro nympho, as the story goes, but she was the proverbial nail in the coffin as far as girlfriends go. After that, I swore off the whole girlfriend thing for good. Now I look at relationships like partnerships or limited liability companies. And can you blame me?
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