I'm afraid the Almost True Series of M1KE HUNT adventures may be coming to a close, dear friends. You see, I'm slowly going broke writing these stories.
My most recent attempt to leverage these little ditties into some cold hard cash has been a bust, and I can't figure out why! I thought the M1KE HUNT FAN CLUB would be a huge success. Maybe the $250 annual fee was a problem. We only got 2 orders. And mine doesn't really count, I suppose. Even my wife June only ponied up for a month's worth, which put exactly $20.83 in my pocket. Not exactly enough to keep gas in the old Fiat, you know?
How come I keep hearing about how much money everybody is making off the Internet? How about all these dirty sex sites I keep reading about in the newsgroups?
Part of the problem, of course, is that you have to be at least 18 to read my stories or join my fan club. Let's face it. People under 18 are dumb AND horny. Those are the two perfect conditions to join my little enterprise, and I have to eliminate that whole market.
It wouldn't be so bad, but coming right on the heels of the failure of "M1KE's Cheese and Hardware Shoppe" it really hurts. I can't figure out why it wasn't successful. I think it might have had something to do with the asbestos factory next door. They were really loud! I wish you'd been to the shoppe. Ah, the aromas of brass cleaner and havarti. Two of my favorites! Anyway, the store was kind of a disaster.
I even tried selling my stories out in the back, sort of on the side. I want to be upfront about this downer I undertook. I'm glad it's over. OK, I'm through.
So fuck it. I'll figure out a way to make some money off these stories after all before I'm done. I hope sooner rather than later. Uh oh, don't get me started.
"I believe in the sanctity of marriage," I heard myself say, as the phrase resonated through the huge church. The 250 people sitting in the pews listened to my words, and most of them nodded piously at their meaning. It was my small part in Brian and Gail's wedding.
So how come I'd been porking Gail not a half-hour earlier?
Another usher stepped to the podium and recited his one sentence homily. The audience nodded again. The process would continue until all 6 ushers had their individual say. I wondered how many of them believed what they mouthed.
I did. But that's not to say that I can live my life according to some strict set of rules like that. I'm weak sometimes. Especially when it comes to women. You know how it is. If you don't, perhaps the story will help you understand.
Brian was one of my best friends. We'd known each other in college in Boston, and by chance had both moved to the Philadelphia area afterwards. We found jobs at different companies but at similar wages, which is to say we were both nearly always broke. Our salaries went into such necessities as rent, food, and maybe a box of Trojans once in a while. Just the basics.
Philly was a great town, except for the prices. Lots of colleges and universities. Rich in history. Lots of bars. Lots of girls. A liberal attitude. Brian and I both played around a lot. When he started going out with Gail I didn't think much of it; he'd dated dozens of girls during the few years I'd known him. But one day he told me "She's the one."
Now I'd been in a few relationships myself, but nothing so serious that I would tell people "I'm quitting the game," which is what his declaration sounded like to me. So I didn't truly understand what he was saying; I thought it was just words from a young, lovesick guy. But sure enough, Brian stopped seeing other women and he and Gail became an item. A real pair, always together, always mooning over each other, always lovey dovey. Yuk.
It was only a month or two later that they moved in together and set up housekeeping. It would be less than a year after that when we all stood dressed like little Ken dolls in the church. I'd rented a nice tux for the occasion from Mr. Tux. $30 for three days including alterations. I thought it a modest investment for an important day.
The week leading up to the wedding had been filled with tension. First Gail's wedding dress came back wrong; the zipper didn't work or something. Then the videographer's camera broke. Then her sister got sick. It was one thing after another. The week before a wedding is stressful, anyway, and with everybody running around making last minute changes, it was no wonder that she snapped.
She called me on the night of Brian's second stag party. I had been to the first, but wasn't invited to the second. The one I attended had been with a group of friends, the second was given by his college fraternity brothers. Like some secret society or something, it was a strictly closed door session.
Not that we invited an audience to the one we threw. I mean, the hookers we hired wouldn't have minded. Hell, with their attitude they would have done a pledge marathon on PBS. But some of us were a little bit more shy, although by the end of the evening everybody everywhere had watched everybody else fuck one of them or get a blowjob at least once. In Brian's case, one of each, much to the amusement of everyone in the crowd and to the delight of the girls. Of course they had a vested interest. Hookers, like all retailers everywhere, understand the importance of repeat customers.
I was surprised, but not shocked when Gail called. We'd gotten to know each other pretty well during the time that she and Brian were going out. We even double dated a few of times; and there were more than a couple of Fridays or Saturdays where the three of us hung out together or went to Jerry's Pizza over on Walnut or maybe the local Cineplex.
She asked if I'd come over to her place. I figured she had the pre-nup jitters. I was right.
"Oh Mike, thanks for coming over," she said, giving me a hug. "I'm as nervous as a bird, and, well, I just needed some company tonight. Especially tonight."
"Why especially tonight?" I asked.
"Oh, you know, just a couple days to go, and, uh, Brian off at a stag party again," she answered. "What really goes on at those things, anyway?"
I dodged. I feinted. I lied. "Oh, not much, really. You know, guys telling jokes, razzing the groom-to-be. Maybe a stripper, or something." Certainly not a horny fuck-fest!
"Are you sure?" she said. "Because I've heard stories about wild bashes with hookers and everything..."
"Oh I'm sure that's happened somewhere, at some time," I said. Like day-before-yesterday at Dirty Ernie's on 15th Street, maybe. Between 9PM and 2AM, to be exact. "But those are mostly just rumors and stuff, you know?"
"Well, I don't know..." she said. "I do know how you guys are, always wanting to get laid, and everything. At least Brian is. Or was, I hope. I mean, he really played the field before we started going out. Sowed his wild oats all over the Midwest, you know what I mean? I hope he's over that now."
"I'm sure he is," I interjected. "That's why he's getting married." Of course. Perfectly logical. That's why there's such a low rate of adultery.
"In a way, it's not fair," she said. I wrinkled my forehead as if to say, "Why?" She answered my thought. "Because guys play around and get laid as much as they can, and girls are supposed to be pure. You know, the virgin bride. The white dress, and all." I nodded. "Brian is the only guy I've ever slept with. I feel like I missed out. Anyway, sex is not that big a deal, at least what I've had."
"Oh it gets better the more you practice," I improvised. "But sometimes it matters who the partner is, too. I mean, some are better than others, you know?"
"No, I don't know," she said. "And I guess I'll never know, at least if I do what the vows say."
"Yeah, well, that's part of the deal, I guess," I said. "Anyway, I'm sure you're making too big a deal out of this. Even if Brian is the only guy you've, uh, slept with, you must have gone out with lots of others. You're an attractive girl. Pretty face. Nice figure. Good personality." Actually her personality led the list, but if you say 'good personality' first, everybody figures the girl is a dog, 'ja ever notice?
Gail looked uncomfortable. She hesitated a moment before speaking. "Yeah, well, I went out with a few guys, but not that many. I didn't, uh, blossom until I got to college. And during high school I wasn't allowed to date at all. My parents were unbelievably strict. Not that there were a lot of guys banging down the door, anyway"
"But you must've gotten caught in the back seat a few times. Maybe some petting here and there?" I asked, pressing for details.
"Not really. Sort of, I guess. I mean the first few boys who tried got smacked and shut out. My parents' upbringing, see?. Then just as I figured that it was maybe OK, I started going out with Brian. Which brings me to today."
She looked me in the eye. "So are you sure there's nothing going on tonight? With his fraternity brothers, I mean."
"Gosh, I don't know," I said, exasperated. "Fraternity house. Fraternity brothers. I'm not there, you know? All I can tell you is that the stories about these things are usually exaggerated. Wild sex parties. Girls doing all sorts of things with everybody. I wish it were true!" I leered at her as I said it. She laughed.
"Oh, I guess I'm just nervous," she said. "I've thought of 27 reasons why getting married isn't a good idea. Sex is just one of them."
"What are the others?" I asked. I quickly thought better of it. No sense amplifying her fears. It was too late. She had already started babbling.
.... There is more of this story ...