I’ve never sworn on my own life before. It’s been one of those black cat, or walk under a ladder kind of superstitious phobias I live with. The thing is, I am 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 on others’ lives all the time, but never my own. I always assume that if I do. So, here it goes: I swear on my own life that I am wholeheartedly and indefinably 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 on 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 then spend all your time with it. And inevitably, it either breaks or you see the next best thing.I never know it isn’t working until some sort of climatic explosion occurs. To illustrate this, the following stories are of my past relationships and 100% true. By the time you are finished reading them you’ll know why I’m swearing off monogamy for good.
Homeless Stripper with A Cat
One night before a good twelve hours of rambunctious debauchery, my friends and I decide to stop by a strip club. We had rented a limo, so heads turned as we drove past anything and everything. We were young then and nothing mattered – not a goddamn care in the world and no fucks were ever given. Our goal that night, same as most nights, was to get laid. However sometimes fate would intercept our plans for pussy domination, and leave us catching a cab alone. Fate can be funny sometimes – not the ‘haha’ funny, but that existential ‘what-the-fuck’ kind of funny. For example, once a while one of your friends will meet a girl, with the sole intentions 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 here from said friend indefinitely- until they broke up.
On this particular night, our first stop was, as I stated previously a titty bar –Tropical Fantasies – it was a real shit hole of a place and the strippers were real, to put into ‘hotness scale’ terms, anywhere from a 3.5 to a 5,, 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 already 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. 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 slut 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 allured to her, and in a way, even fell in love with her.
She had a cute face and great little tits – too small to be a stripper, but big and appetizing enough that I wanted to put them in my mouth.
After a bit of Martini Talk, I discovered it was her birthday, and the tacky celebration was for her. She just turned 22 and, subsequently, was about to start doing private dances – not pole dancing – which qualified her as a stripper in my eyes. She, however, at this point in time was basically a cocktail waitress at a taint-smelling, nudie club.
The place should have been called Taint Fantasies.
Anyways, I’m chatting it up with the cocktail waitress – let’s call her Jessica for the sake of this story and in my buzzed, stupor, end up telling her my 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 ask her when she gets off work and unfortunately there is 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 on the next day, conveniently, she had it off. 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 impaling 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 and looking up at all the houses, I finally find her apartment. It was a low rent dump, replete with a stucco façade with a vaguely French, slightly Polynesian name followed by the word Manor or Estate. It was your classic shit hole and you can just imagine the landlord breaking into apartments at night while you’re asleep and masturbating into 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 meowing.
Apparently she was 2 months late on rent and had just been kicked out not but, 1 hour before our date- perfect amount of time to collect her worthless belongings and her mangy, 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 seen the red flags blowing furiously in the wind of her life.
I should have jumped in my car and high tailed it out of there. But when you are young you don’t think of these things and you usually let your penis do most of the major decision-making.
So I told her she could come and stay with me for a while. She ended up staying for eight months and by the time we broke up she had cleaned out my savings. I was left a broken, broke, but all in all, much wiser man.
Mormon With A Peg Leg
One of the more ridiculous stories in the annals of Jack Gary is the Mormon with a peg leg. So let me begin…
Once I was at a record store, a much younger and less fortunate man. I was there trying to sell my stockpile of CDs after transferring them to all MP3s.
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 it in the ass every night, but pretended she didn’t like it was dessert. I was into her- I admit it. As she was looking at all the 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 butt later – maybe with a cherry on top or perhaps some whip 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 boring, fat, bald boss for the remainder of my record store experience. He gave me a measly check for the 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 and her sexy ass. I started dreaming about all the things I would do to her and her ass. She became some kind of weird fantasy to me.
After another day or two I decided to make this fantasy a reality. I call the record store. Her fat, bald boss picks up. I ask for the girl that helped me a few days before, but realize I have no idea what her name is.
I tell him that she has a weird kind of pretty smile and for some reason he totally understands. Maybe he had the same twisted fantasies about her as I did. When she picks up the phone I remind her who I am by naming a few of the artists that stood out in my collection of CDs. A light clicks, and we start flirting again on the phone and it is plainly obvious that she is 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 had already been there for 20. There was something slightly off about this. I didn’t quite understand yet, but it would become obvious on the next couple of dates that a few things about her were extremely off center.
If we went to a coffee shop, she would only drink juice. If we went to a bar, she only drank water. And every night ended up with passionate making out, but never, ever, ever…. sex. I would get so close, as to barely being able to touch her tits, but that’s was 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 4 months into us dating – with no sex – we finally get to the point where she took her shirt off. I thought, ‘Tonight is going to be the night. This is what I have 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 were going to have.
I thought that she must have really liked 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.
It was a cute sentiment – the kind you have when you are young and dumb and waiting 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 and she was sucking on my fingers.
She pulls off my pants. That had to have been a sign.
She starts unbuttoning my shirt. I have a stiffy you could balance a boulder on.
‘Of course we are going to have sex!’
She starts touching my erect penis. So I go for her pants. She offers a little resistance, which I interpret 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 might but she just would not let go of her pants.
I take this as even more of a sign to pull even harder. That’s when I feel something come lose, but it wasn’t her pants. I thought: HOLY SHIT I JUST PULLED OFF HER LEG.
I was right: I pulled so hard that her prosthetic legs pops right off and I go flying off the bed, and hitting my head as hard as the legs hit the wall.
She was mortified and at this point, I was laughing so hard I’d begun crying. She joined me, crying for a whole other reason, as she explained that she is 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, no liquor and no sex.
I left that night and never called her again.
The Agro Nympho
She was sitting in the front row and wearing a sexy dress that gave off a view of a little bit of side-boob and butt crack cleavage.
She had this gorgeous tattoo. I ended up mustering enough courage to talk to her- 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 been some kind of welcome sign for guys that wanted come inside her. So she probably grew weary of this pick up line.
Feeling discouraged I walked outside for some fresh air. She, not long after, was out there waiting for a cab. Her dress was blowing in 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 persistant they might get somewhere with her.
I apologized and let her know; I was actually just making an innocent comment about her back tattoo with no ulterior motives. This was a complete lie.
I totally wanted to sleep with this girl.
A cab pulls and up and she opens the door to get in. She slides all the way into the cab and leaves the door wide open. I go to close the door, but then notice the look in her eyes and realize she wants me to get in the cab with her. So I do.
Not long after entering, we started making out furiously. The city night flashes by through 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 of anything. And… she really starts to go at it.
She rode me like I’ve never been ridden before.
Not long after it had gotten really intense, she started calling me daddy and poppy and every other endearing term for father there is in the modern Spanish/English lexicon.
When we pull up to her house, she quickly came, as did I, and I expectws to never see her again.
She left without a goodbye, and I directed the cab driver to my home. 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, I couldn’t tell. She is wearing regular clothes and it is such a stark difference to her open backed dress she was wearing on the night she ravaged.
I went to go talk to her and she had no idea who I am.
No recollection whatsoever.
Anyways, we got to talking and realized 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 shit pounded out of her pussy at least 5 or 6 times.
It was quite the work out.
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 that this was pathological.
She was addicted to banging and it too much, even for me.
It was 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 in 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 5 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 knew she was crazy, but not 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 wheel as we were driving on the freeway.
I started to fear for my life.
This crazy bitch was about to kill us both. So I pulled off the freeway.
Then she started to get angry that I got off the freeway.
What I should have done is simply called the police and had them 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 breaks, 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.
Two cops jump out of their car, assess the scene, and interview us, needless to say, it was hardly and hour before she was locked in the back of their car.
Her name was the Agro 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. Can you blame me?