Thursday, October 19, 2006
I am at fault for a glaring omission. In all this time, I have yet to dedicate an entry to me dear friend E.
Her name isn’t really E, it’s some long drawn out Asian thing, E is just what we called her growing up rather than using her oh so slightly antiquated American name, Eunice. Going through life with a name like Eunice is a daunting enough task for anyone, since no one but Asians has named their child that since the early 1800’s, but E handled it admirably.
For as long as I can remember, E had obscenely long hair, occasionally with strands of bright scarlet in it that came all the way down to her knees. Also, she was Asian, so being friends with her was kind of like being friends with the girl from The Grudge, except rather than sneak up behind you and eat your face; E would just sneak up behind you, tap you on the shoulder and offer you a joint.
E was the first person I knew to get a tongue ring. I would make her stick her tongue out so that I could stare at it daily for all four years of high school, and E never complained. She was also, by far and away, the most talented artist I had ever met. In fact, she still owes me a painting. Why Imp not sure… either a birthday or some sexual favors or picking up her tab at Starbucks or something.
In high school, E had this boyfriend I just loathed. I’m not sure why I hated him so much, but I seem to remember it having something to do with the fact that he was short. Anyway, he did something “mean” to E one day... Beat her, or didn’t buy her jewelry or something, and we got into a fight. The only physical fight I ever got in (that I didn’t get paid for, that is) was with E’s boyfriend. It was a rather unpleasant sight… a small boy with soft Arian features being manhandled by an overweight, army boot wearing chick with a purple crew cut. Ugh. I’m getting a little nauseous just thinking about it.
A happier memory I have of E was picking her up in the mornings for school. I’d show up in my little red Beetle, wearing a holographic tube top and a bikini bottom and walk through the snow to her front door. Inevitably, she’d still be sleeping, and her mother, who never spoke to me but REALLY liked Jesus Christ, would scream up the stairs in Korean, something that I imagine translated roughly to “get your ass out of bed, your whore friend is here. Praise the Lord.”
Since E now lives in assfuck nowhere (which is right by Albany), I hardly ever see her, but she did recently send me this post from Craigslist...
I have a simple request: Would someone like to come over to my place dressed in a long, beige trenchcoat, panama hat, and dark sunglasses, smoking a cigarette? When I open the door (I'll be wearing a polka-dotted dress and wiping my hands on an apron), you will be looking away. You will say, "Is the cake in the oven?" I will hang my head, fight back tears, and invite you in.
We shall move to the bedroom and I shall undress awkwardly, looking upset and ashamed. You will throw me up against the wall and I will scream "Maim me!" as you bite through my strand of cultured (but we'll pretend they're real) pearls, which will fall to the ground and scatter. You will think I've said "Mamie" (as in Eisenhower).
At this point, you will stroke my hair gently and become romantic and tender, rendering unto the First Lady the respect to which she is entitled. Slowly and carefully, you will rub your hand up my thigh. When you reach my genitalia and discover I am genetically male, you will fly into a rage and "rape" me (condoms and lube will be located in an antique snuff box at arm's length; please be discreet in procuring them).
Prior to climaxing, you will push me to the floor, remove your condom (again, discreetly), and ejaculate into my eyes. I will lie in a crumpled, sobbing heap at your feet, softly singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President." When your semen has dried my eyelashes together (this might take a while; I will have prepared a selection of cold cuts, assorted beverages, and glossy magazines for your entertainment), you will softly clean it out with a sponge dipped in warm milk.
You will hold me in your arms as we await the coming night. When (and whether?) we part again will be determined from that point.
God, I miss her.
Interesting postscript to that… I forwarded this post to Anoosh, thinking he’d be deeply amused, but in fact he had already seen the post on Craigslist. Let’s analyze this for a moment, shall we? What kind of fucked up, sexually deviant such could he have been doing to come across this post? M4M? Casual Encounters M4Transexual? Keyword search: cum in eyes?
It’s probably best not to wonder.
Posted by Carmela Machiato at 3:00 PM