was really tired and lightheaded. I stopped moving.
I lay on top of her and didn’t pull out. I put my face on the pillow next to hers and tried not to pant. I was so tired and pissed, but mainly I was pissed because I knew this woman was so hollow and lonely and she had pulled me into that hollow space with her. Whenever I imagine the dark back rooms of the world, the cold corners full of lonely people, I think of that storage room with that flat-faced, evil woman.
I lay there, and my breathing started to slow down. Down below, I moved my pelvis only, going in and out very slowly so that I would stay hard. She was gently stroking my back with her fingertips.
“You have such soft skin,” she said. I guess she was being nice.
I turned my head and spoke into her ear, and I was so close my lips brushed the shell shapes inside. I whispered, “I want to eat a meal off your face.”
After a second, she stopped stroking my back. Then she pushed me off, quickly pulled her dress over her head, and left. I lay in the bed naked, my wet dick sticking to the fibers of the orange blanket.
Nothing happened to me for months after that. One winter night it was raining outside, and the place was pretty empty. I had read all the acting books by then, and I was restless. I sat in the bar and drank a little in secret and stared at the few pointless people that were in there. This girl Pam came into the bar. Pam was a little older than me and she used to go to my high school. She was ugly, but she tried to look pretty. She sat and had a drink, and then after a bit she said shewas supposed to meet some friends, but they had ditched her. So we started talking. She had been in Los Angeles for a couple years but now she was back. She told me about an acting school in LA.
“LA is fucked,” she said out of her bulldog face. “But if you go, I recommend Valley Playhouse. It’s great because it’s very intense, not like a lot of the bullshit schools out there. The teacher, Mr. Smithson, is amazing. So smart.”
“But you left?” I said.
“Listen, LA is a shit pit. There are five million people out there trying to be actors, and only a handful of them make it and the ones that don’t just hang around and rot. It’s depressing. That’s why I left. I mean, I worked a little, some TV shows and stuff, but it was soul-crushing. Everyone is a vampire there.”
I worked in the bar for six more months. Then, in the summer, I drove to Los Angeles.
It took me five days to get to LA. I had my dead grandpa’s Nissan Stanza. My grandma had given it to me after I crashed my first car. I loved my grandfather. He was an oral surgeon, but he loved literature, and we talked about books together. The car still had his smell, which was like aftershave. And his hair was under the seats. If I dropped something in the car, like a pen or some money, when I reached down I would come up with clumps of his soft white hair.
I drove through deserts and on long boring freeways. I passed a ton of cows. It was so hot that summer. There were McDonalds and Burger Kings all the way across the country. I ate a lot of beef jerky too.
I arrived in LA on June 16, 1996. It was night. I exited the 405 and drove up Sunset Boulevard. First I drove through all the residential areas with the huge mansions all lit up: Brentwood, Westwood,Bel Air. I passed UCLA and went through Beverly Hills. It was dark, but the mansions were blasting their lights, so the windows were like square fires. And then I got to the strip and then there were tons of lights. It felt like an important moment, like an entry into something. I drove slowly and took everything in. There were people standing in lines outside the clubs and punks walking in the street. I passed the the Roxy, Whisky a Go Go, the Viper Room, and Tower Records. Then there were a bunch of restaurants with outdoor seating and a red Ferrari and a yellow Lamborghini and some other fancy cars parked by the valet in front. Driving
I lay on top of her and didn’t pull out. I put my face on the pillow next to hers and tried not to pant. I was so tired and pissed, but mainly I was pissed because I knew this woman was so hollow and lonely and she had pulled me into that hollow space with her. Whenever I imagine the dark back rooms of the world, the cold corners full of lonely people, I think of that storage room with that flat-faced, evil woman.
I lay there, and my breathing started to slow down. Down below, I moved my pelvis only, going in and out very slowly so that I would stay hard. She was gently stroking my back with her fingertips.
“You have such soft skin,” she said. I guess she was being nice.
I turned my head and spoke into her ear, and I was so close my lips brushed the shell shapes inside. I whispered, “I want to eat a meal off your face.”
After a second, she stopped stroking my back. Then she pushed me off, quickly pulled her dress over her head, and left. I lay in the bed naked, my wet dick sticking to the fibers of the orange blanket.
Nothing happened to me for months after that. One winter night it was raining outside, and the place was pretty empty. I had read all the acting books by then, and I was restless. I sat in the bar and drank a little in secret and stared at the few pointless people that were in there. This girl Pam came into the bar. Pam was a little older than me and she used to go to my high school. She was ugly, but she tried to look pretty. She sat and had a drink, and then after a bit she said shewas supposed to meet some friends, but they had ditched her. So we started talking. She had been in Los Angeles for a couple years but now she was back. She told me about an acting school in LA.
“LA is fucked,” she said out of her bulldog face. “But if you go, I recommend Valley Playhouse. It’s great because it’s very intense, not like a lot of the bullshit schools out there. The teacher, Mr. Smithson, is amazing. So smart.”
“But you left?” I said.
“Listen, LA is a shit pit. There are five million people out there trying to be actors, and only a handful of them make it and the ones that don’t just hang around and rot. It’s depressing. That’s why I left. I mean, I worked a little, some TV shows and stuff, but it was soul-crushing. Everyone is a vampire there.”
I worked in the bar for six more months. Then, in the summer, I drove to Los Angeles.
It took me five days to get to LA. I had my dead grandpa’s Nissan Stanza. My grandma had given it to me after I crashed my first car. I loved my grandfather. He was an oral surgeon, but he loved literature, and we talked about books together. The car still had his smell, which was like aftershave. And his hair was under the seats. If I dropped something in the car, like a pen or some money, when I reached down I would come up with clumps of his soft white hair.
I drove through deserts and on long boring freeways. I passed a ton of cows. It was so hot that summer. There were McDonalds and Burger Kings all the way across the country. I ate a lot of beef jerky too.
I arrived in LA on June 16, 1996. It was night. I exited the 405 and drove up Sunset Boulevard. First I drove through all the residential areas with the huge mansions all lit up: Brentwood, Westwood,Bel Air. I passed UCLA and went through Beverly Hills. It was dark, but the mansions were blasting their lights, so the windows were like square fires. And then I got to the strip and then there were tons of lights. It felt like an important moment, like an entry into something. I drove slowly and took everything in. There were people standing in lines outside the clubs and punks walking in the street. I passed the the Roxy, Whisky a Go Go, the Viper Room, and Tower Records. Then there were a bunch of restaurants with outdoor seating and a red Ferrari and a yellow Lamborghini and some other fancy cars parked by the valet in front. Driving
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