I'm a rather typical representation of the bored college type. I have a pronunced excess of time on my hands, and a desire to improve my writing skills. I figured this particular genre (pornography) was a good place to start, since there's a readership actively seeking amateur content. In any case, I need an editor rather badly. As per the suggestions in the stickies, here's a brief snippet from the story I'm presently working on...
---------
Terminal 7 was all wrong. Permanent signage indicated the lower path led to “arrivals”, but there were large orange cones barring her entry. She doubled back, but still couldn’t find anyway in.
“Alex is going to suffer something fierce” she mumbled to herself, as she violently pulled into the parking area for the terminal. She accelerated to a somewhat questionable speed, pulled the handbrake, and managed to skid into the first empty spot she deemed close enough to the walkway. With the exception of the tires, the G35 had miraculously escaped damage, despite Tiffany’s kamikaze driving style. Not that she cared. It was Alex’s car, and it was his friend. Were he not the one paying rent, she would have simply ignored him when he announced that his parents needed to see him, and that someone had to pickup Julian. Someone indeed!
She proceeded in the general direction of what she assumed to be the arrival portion of the gate, and fiddled with the top button of her blouse. Wet, humid air engulfed her. Cars idling everywhere, diesel exhaust in her face, a bead of sweat on her forehead, and no fucking signage.
Fifteen minutes later she found the place, hidden below a dozen or so overpasses. A kid with bleached blond hair and a commie hat was propped up between the terminal wall and the curb. He reeked of scotch and nicotine.
She leaned over him and softly purred “wooooooord.”
Julian adjusted the brim of his hat and flashed a smile.
“How’d the whole Japan thing go?” she queried.
“S’ok. Not as many teenage prostitutes as you’d think.”
“uhh…. Yeah… actually I never really pondered the demographics of Japanese prostitution.”
“Where’s that lazy bastard boyfriend of yours?” he asked with a grin, as he pushed himself up, and began walking along side her.
“Parents.”
“Ahh.”
“So they had a special on Glenfiddich or what?”
“Nah, it’s all free in first class. And there’s no smoking. And the flight was upwards of twenty hours… To be honest, it’s a fucking miracle I can still walk.”
Laughing, she said “Jesus kid, we need to get you to an AA meeting.”
“Fuck no. I gave up coffee years ago. That stuff’s evil.”
Raising an eyebrow “And scotch is what?”
“Anesthesia for life.”
“Clever.”
“I know. Wish I had come up with that.”
They reached Alex’s G35 in a few minutes, and Julian threw his weathered leather book bag into the backseat. Tiffany shoved the machine into reverse and reached about 40 mph in the span of thirty feet.
“Alex is going to kill you.”
“He’s the one that gave me the keys” she smiled, engaging the parking brake.
“He’ll live to regret that.”
She glanced over it him and he had that look. The same one he had three years ago at their first dorm meeting, when he had announced he was Julian, and “you don’t want to know me.” That bleached blond kid from New Orleans, had always had some unexplainable magnetism. He told people he was a spoiled drunk with too much time, too many medications, and too little discipline. No one cared, they still congregated around his room every night. That was freshman year, when he and Alex had been roommates. That was before he dropped out to bum around Europe and Asia. Not that it mattered. Even when he was a freshman, consuming a handle of cheap scotch every day or two, Julian could talk about anything remotely related to history, philosophy, economics, or The Doors. Even the professors were impressed when he started throwing out lengthy quotes from Goethe’s Faust in German. But now he was different. He looked like a young Jack Kerouac, on the road, only this road was more a series of different terminals, each leaving their unique mark on his luggage.
“Are you going to write a book or something?” She asked, breaking the silence.
“Not on purpose, if that’s what you mean.”
“But if it falls out of your soul one day, that’d be fine?”
“Exactly” he smiled.
“Well I’m still in Bio, and Alex, well obviously he’s still in Cinema. I mean what else what he would be in?”
“What Bio are you taking now?”
“Evolution of human sexuality.”
“Fun stuff.”
“Sure.”
“Did your prof get to the Canela yet?”
“Yeah — Bat shit crazy. Serial orgies to obscure paternity. I mean that’s ok, but they said the women never get orgasms when they’re fucking the native folk. In fact if I recall correctly, the only time a female orgasm was reported, they tried to hang the poor foreign bastard that gave it to her, claiming he had killed her and brought her back to life again.”
“Fierce natives” he said grimly, then broke into a smile.
He passed out shortly thereafter, and she thrust Radiohead into the CD player.
An hour and a half later they pulled into the complex’s parking lot. She poked Julian a few times, and managed to stir him from his stupor.
“We’re here.” She said, softly adding “Finallllllllly.”
“Mmmmmm….” He murmured, clutching her arm.
One more swift poke and we was fully awake. He detached his arm from hers and she already missed his warmth. They walked up a flight of stairs and arrived at her campus apartment. Alex was still missing in action, no doubt whoring himself for a car payment. In the enclosed space Julian got a whiff of himself and demanded a shower.
“At the end of the hall.” She directed him, moving his leather bag into a far corner of the living room.
She heard the water begin crashing into the tub and saw that Julian had failed to close the door all the way. She didn't know how many women he had slept with in his journeys, but as she glimpsed his lithe body disappear into the shower stall, she knew it had to be a fair number. He had a careless appeal, not rugged like a gardener, more bourgeois, more recklessly affluent. It was the sort of thing that would work on those eastern block girls. She knew from his popularity freshman year, and was sure that this had to have been a primary reason for his quick departure to Europe.
Tiffany kicked back on the couch, and withdrew a joint she had rolled earlier from the end table. Flicking her zippo open, she inhaled gently as the end of the joint ignited. The hydro filled her lungs with a warm minty feeling. She exhaled slowly, blowing small rings into the air.
---------
Terminal 7 was all wrong. Permanent signage indicated the lower path led to “arrivals”, but there were large orange cones barring her entry. She doubled back, but still couldn’t find anyway in.
“Alex is going to suffer something fierce” she mumbled to herself, as she violently pulled into the parking area for the terminal. She accelerated to a somewhat questionable speed, pulled the handbrake, and managed to skid into the first empty spot she deemed close enough to the walkway. With the exception of the tires, the G35 had miraculously escaped damage, despite Tiffany’s kamikaze driving style. Not that she cared. It was Alex’s car, and it was his friend. Were he not the one paying rent, she would have simply ignored him when he announced that his parents needed to see him, and that someone had to pickup Julian. Someone indeed!
She proceeded in the general direction of what she assumed to be the arrival portion of the gate, and fiddled with the top button of her blouse. Wet, humid air engulfed her. Cars idling everywhere, diesel exhaust in her face, a bead of sweat on her forehead, and no fucking signage.
Fifteen minutes later she found the place, hidden below a dozen or so overpasses. A kid with bleached blond hair and a commie hat was propped up between the terminal wall and the curb. He reeked of scotch and nicotine.
She leaned over him and softly purred “wooooooord.”
Julian adjusted the brim of his hat and flashed a smile.
“How’d the whole Japan thing go?” she queried.
“S’ok. Not as many teenage prostitutes as you’d think.”
“uhh…. Yeah… actually I never really pondered the demographics of Japanese prostitution.”
“Where’s that lazy bastard boyfriend of yours?” he asked with a grin, as he pushed himself up, and began walking along side her.
“Parents.”
“Ahh.”
“So they had a special on Glenfiddich or what?”
“Nah, it’s all free in first class. And there’s no smoking. And the flight was upwards of twenty hours… To be honest, it’s a fucking miracle I can still walk.”
Laughing, she said “Jesus kid, we need to get you to an AA meeting.”
“Fuck no. I gave up coffee years ago. That stuff’s evil.”
Raising an eyebrow “And scotch is what?”
“Anesthesia for life.”
“Clever.”
“I know. Wish I had come up with that.”
They reached Alex’s G35 in a few minutes, and Julian threw his weathered leather book bag into the backseat. Tiffany shoved the machine into reverse and reached about 40 mph in the span of thirty feet.
“Alex is going to kill you.”
“He’s the one that gave me the keys” she smiled, engaging the parking brake.
“He’ll live to regret that.”
She glanced over it him and he had that look. The same one he had three years ago at their first dorm meeting, when he had announced he was Julian, and “you don’t want to know me.” That bleached blond kid from New Orleans, had always had some unexplainable magnetism. He told people he was a spoiled drunk with too much time, too many medications, and too little discipline. No one cared, they still congregated around his room every night. That was freshman year, when he and Alex had been roommates. That was before he dropped out to bum around Europe and Asia. Not that it mattered. Even when he was a freshman, consuming a handle of cheap scotch every day or two, Julian could talk about anything remotely related to history, philosophy, economics, or The Doors. Even the professors were impressed when he started throwing out lengthy quotes from Goethe’s Faust in German. But now he was different. He looked like a young Jack Kerouac, on the road, only this road was more a series of different terminals, each leaving their unique mark on his luggage.
“Are you going to write a book or something?” She asked, breaking the silence.
“Not on purpose, if that’s what you mean.”
“But if it falls out of your soul one day, that’d be fine?”
“Exactly” he smiled.
“Well I’m still in Bio, and Alex, well obviously he’s still in Cinema. I mean what else what he would be in?”
“What Bio are you taking now?”
“Evolution of human sexuality.”
“Fun stuff.”
“Sure.”
“Did your prof get to the Canela yet?”
“Yeah — Bat shit crazy. Serial orgies to obscure paternity. I mean that’s ok, but they said the women never get orgasms when they’re fucking the native folk. In fact if I recall correctly, the only time a female orgasm was reported, they tried to hang the poor foreign bastard that gave it to her, claiming he had killed her and brought her back to life again.”
“Fierce natives” he said grimly, then broke into a smile.
He passed out shortly thereafter, and she thrust Radiohead into the CD player.
An hour and a half later they pulled into the complex’s parking lot. She poked Julian a few times, and managed to stir him from his stupor.
“We’re here.” She said, softly adding “Finallllllllly.”
“Mmmmmm….” He murmured, clutching her arm.
One more swift poke and we was fully awake. He detached his arm from hers and she already missed his warmth. They walked up a flight of stairs and arrived at her campus apartment. Alex was still missing in action, no doubt whoring himself for a car payment. In the enclosed space Julian got a whiff of himself and demanded a shower.
“At the end of the hall.” She directed him, moving his leather bag into a far corner of the living room.
She heard the water begin crashing into the tub and saw that Julian had failed to close the door all the way. She didn't know how many women he had slept with in his journeys, but as she glimpsed his lithe body disappear into the shower stall, she knew it had to be a fair number. He had a careless appeal, not rugged like a gardener, more bourgeois, more recklessly affluent. It was the sort of thing that would work on those eastern block girls. She knew from his popularity freshman year, and was sure that this had to have been a primary reason for his quick departure to Europe.
Tiffany kicked back on the couch, and withdrew a joint she had rolled earlier from the end table. Flicking her zippo open, she inhaled gently as the end of the joint ignited. The hydro filled her lungs with a warm minty feeling. She exhaled slowly, blowing small rings into the air.
