This is the continuation of a story that began here:
Part 1: Maureen
by Brian Hughes
He had at once a desire to crawl through his windshield and re-enter the 1980s – only older: at an age where he could appreciate the dawn of MTV, new wave music, American moxy and prosperity. Cahil had little desire for the time he was living in, with all the superficiality, reality television, gossip rag mags selling at an all time high - with pictures of celebrities pumping gas and picking their nose, gasoline prices soaring into the stratosphere, and natural disasters across the globe killing thousands each week.
Cahil looked around at the hills, at the sunshine bouncing off of multi million dollar mansions, with sprinklers going off everywhere to keep the place from burning down: “Some people say this place is superficial,” he said to himself. “Exalt in your superficiality. I am superficial too. Let us be superficial together, shall we?” Cahil smiled, loving his shades, raising them up and down and looking at himself in the rearview – yes, he wouldn’t mind be superficial for a couple of days.
Cahil had some Depeche Mode blaring from his iPod dock. Cold cuts of American cheese, liverwurst, ham and salami were laid out on his hotel desk, displayed from their torn white paper wrappers. He made sandwiches not out of bread, but stuck everything between a couple slices of salami. With greasy fingers he typed out in a google search: “Heather Dupre naked”, “Alex Cobalt’s tits”, “Colleen McDonough nude” – and he came up with nothing. None of the three beauts appeared to have nude pictures of themselves on the World Wide Web. Why would they use their real names? It was no matter to him – he’d see them naked soon enough. He blew opportunities in the past – he wasn’t planning on fucking up this time. He had to do some more research before his interview with Brenda Burgundy, but instead opted to drop 39 dollars on a hardcore site and jerk off till he was sufficiently horny, holding off on his climax.
Colleen’s chat info was on her My Space page. He reached out …she was home:
cahilology: ive changed much since last we met
uc2004: can’t wait…
cahilology: I bought new shades today. I look bitchin in them.
uc2004: hot
cahilology: I have an interview with brenda burgundy.
uc2004: wtf! That’s so cool. That why you’re out here?
cahilology: no – you.
uc2004: awwwwww
cahilology: lets hook up – you pick the place.
uc2004: hummmm
cahilology: come on … im surrounded by the glitter and glam of hollyweird. no
friendly faces.
uc2004: poor boy
cahilology: I have a company card … come on … I need to see your pretty face.
uc2004: you know the coffee bean/tealeaf in woodland hills?
cahilology: yup
As he wound his way through the swirling roads of Topanga Canyon – destination Ventura Boulevard, he shook his head in glee at the thought of Colleen’s checkerboard Converse sneakers – and how the little white squares were colored in with pastel hues. He remembered her as a college girl who covered her sexy body with frumpy, oversized sweats. They both worked at a bookstore in Calabasas. Colleen always had a smile for everyone as she hustled coffee behind the counter of the café – her apron filthy with cookie batter and coffee stains. It almost seemed like the messier she became, the more turned on he became: the café baseball cap she had to wear, with her ponytail hanging out the back of it – something tomboyishly alluring about her. He hoped she hadn’t changed much. Fuck was he horny. He gripped the steering wheel, shook it, batted out a beat with his palms. Her Midwest accent, her small belly, her Irish cherry cheeks … always something there to remind him …
The raspy voice and Midwest accent he remembered had remained intact. She had died her hair jet-black and it fell across her face in a diagonal direction – in layers. They sat across from each other at a table – clutching their coffees – talking about general stuff – catching up. After she had gotten up for a smoke, they returned to the café and chose two lounge chairs to curl up on - more personal talk this time – relationship stuff. She had been hurt pretty badly recently. He encouraged her to divulge. Cahil had no intention of talking about his engagement, let alone Janeen. He named dropped some small time talent he had been interviewing recently – some of the bands she recognized. Colleen was impressed. He felt shallow resorting to name dropping, but he had his motives – a mission. He stared at her cute feet and her half gone polished toes. He imagined holding her feet while nailing her. His fantasies making him lose track of the conversation now and then, but more often than not he found a key word to get him back on track.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me out?” Colleen asked.
“Who the fuck knows? Well … I shouldn’t say that. I know exactly why. I was so fucked up back then. I had no confidence, no car, and very little money and for most of the time I was seeing Loraine. Remember her?”
“Oh, yeah … the French chick.”
“Yeah, yeah … what a disaster, the stuff of three novels.”
“Oh, no …”
“Yeah.” They both laughed. “I wanted out of the relationship, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. I didn’t have the courage. I’m a monogamous guy and I had a lot of guilt, I wouldn’t have even thought of cheating on her. My luck, it ended when I had already left California, so …”
“And now you have this new found confidence.”
“Yes … and I think I realize what I have lost.”
She smiled.
“Interesting. So you are still single.”
He looked down at the sticky stains on the floor.
“Yup. Indeed.”
They flirted here and there, then Colleen invited him to a party her friend was throwing in Chatsworth. He followed her in his car – pulling up to Colleen at lights and making funny faces, smiling, more flirtations between cars. There was an excitement in his belly. His balls were aching – they needed a release. The party held many options. He was sure glad he was going. It had to happen tonight for Cahil still had to get in touch with Alex and goddess Heather and his time was limited.
The house was a large, one level dwelling which four of Colleen’s friends shared. All the doors were open; pot and barbecue smoke was rampant. Colleen removed Cahil’s aviator glasses from his face and put them on as they entered to an uproarious welcome. Other than one other guy who looked like Jerry Garcia, Cahil was the oldest one there. He liked that. A popular Emo band was blaring from the stereo. He hadn’t interviewed them, but lied and said he did. Colleen held onto Cahil, squeezing him around the waist as she introduced him to her friends. Colleen liked to drink – she began throwing down Jagermeister bombs to Cahil’s dismay. Cahil fake drank. He’s pretend to pour a lot of liquor in a glass, than he’s fill most of it with coke, club soda or ginger ale. “I can drink ya all under the table!” he gloated. “Someone make Cahil a Jagermesiter bomb!” said Bevin, a tan, bow-legged, big breasted dame. “Nah … keep that kids stuff away from me, I’m a writer, I only drink bourbon – hustle more bourbon over.” “How can you drink that stuff?” another friend said. That was just the response he was looking for.
The girls had a Nintendo Wii game system. “Playing the Wii when you’re stoned is awesome!” Colleen said as she took another drag. The Wii is a video game system that allows you to physically play out games with your full body, rather that hit some buttons on a video game controller in some zombie-like state, like more traditional game systems. It’s designed to get you off your fat rump and become more active in gaming, and it’s an expensive money making machine attempting to get this nations overweight children into exercising. “Who has time for video games, I don’t with all the deadlines I have. Believe me, I wish I had the time, but I’m so in demand – it’s hard.” Once again Cahil was bullshitting. He got a Wii for free off someone’s truck some time ago, and liked to play tennis and golf on it when he wasn’t able to write, or didn’t feel like jerking off. Actually, was just borrowing the sentiments of his fiancé Janeen, who couldn’t understand why a man over 30 years of age would be interested in such trite entertainment. Colleen and her friends played around on it for a while, while the two old fogies, Cahil and the Jerry Garcia look-a-like, who for some reason was called “Dr. Sergeant”, looked on.
After a time, and some encouragement from the young lads, Cahil and Dr. Sergeant decided to grab the controllers and play. “I’m sure I’ll be awful at this. I don’t play video games,” Dr. Sergeant said with a friendly smile. “You and I both,” replied Cahil. Boxing was first on the bill. As if the video game gods interceded, Duran Duran’s “View to A Kill” started playing on the house iPod. It was as if Popeye had been given four tons of spinach to take on Bluto. Cahil clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. There was no room for losing now. He would have to attack with a “view to a kill.” Dr. Sergeant was in big trouble. The game began and both men started flailing their fists. Cahil was younger and quicker than Dr. Sergeant. The Dr was less interested in how good he was, rather he was overwhelmingly amazed at such technology. The mood was different with Cahil as with each round of punches, he moved more intensely toward the widescreen television, punching with left crosses, upper cuts, and jab, jab, jabs. “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! You’re going down! Down! Yeah!” Cahil’s voice had dropped to a low, guttural scowl. “Yeaaaaaaahhhhh! Dr. is gonna end up in the emergency room. Yeah! Get this Dr some life support! Oh, yeah!!!” The good Dr. went down in less than a minute. The bell rang and the match was over. Cahil jumped up and threw his fists stiffly into the air – throwing a quick flurry of fists at the television for good measure. “Yeah! Yeah! Who’s next to try me?”
A few of Colleen’s lady friends took the challenge and Cahil fell them with his fury of arrogant violence like an Andy Kauffman of the Wii gaming world. “Why do you have to be such a douchbag about winning?” one of Colleen’s friends said. Her name was Dorothea. She was muscular and won an MVP and state championship for her rugby team in college. “I could kick your ass without these controllers. Why don’t we step outside and see what you’re really made of.” Cahil stood aghast – staring at Colleen with his mouth open. “Would you believe this shit? What a sore loser. I’m sorry if I’m a competitor. If you can’t take a beating like a real champion, you should not play.” “I KNOW ABOUT COMPETITION! THIS is NOT competition! It’s a FUCKING VIDEO GAME!” Dorothea replied. Colleen calmed her friend down, but the tension was undeniable.
“I’ll take you down in tennis – let’s go,” said a jock friend of Bevin’s, with big muscles, no body hair, and little sneakers with no socks. His name was Brad. He arrived sometime during the Wii hysteria. Cahil hadn’t even noticed. Brad chugged down a beer and grabbed the controllers. “Sure,” said Cahil, “just don’t get all pissy when I kick your ass.” Brad’s nostrils flared as he shot Cahil a look of pure venom. “Let’s GO!” Brad howled.
Cahil, with little to no bombast whatsoever, coldly took Brad in straight sets. He placed the controller on top of the TV and gave Brad a look of cool confidence that said, “I told you so.” “Fuck you!” shot back Brad.
Colleen was dead to rights on liquor in one of the bedrooms. Everyone else had either left or were passed out. He had some wrong thoughts flying through his brain as he stared at Colleen lying vulnerable on the bed. For most, there was no decision to be made: the night was over and no sex was to be had, but Cahil just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Looking about him to see if anyone was looking, he quietly walked over to the bed where Colleen laid and slowly lifted up her shirt and bra. These were the tits he had imagined – longed for, dreamt about for years. He ran his hand across both of them, his cock rock hard. Cahil got a good feel them put them away and left the room.
Back in his rental, he tried to start the car and it wouldn’t turn over. “Fuck!” he said, as he turned the key in the ignition over and over again, only to get the sound of a death rattle. After a few minutes of expletives, he opened his phone and scrolled down to Alex’s phone number. It was real late in the AM, but she was young and beautiful. There was no doubt in his mind she would be up and available to him.
by Brian Hughes
Cahil picked up his rental at the airport. After having thrown back some pink tablets to help settle his stomach, he attached his iPod and began blaring “Eminence Front” by The Who. The drums beating out the intro combined with pulsating, belch-like bass line of bassist John Entwistle demanded Cahil put on a pair of 80s-era aviator sunglasses – large and obnoxious – which he had purchased at the airport. Sitting them firmly on his nose, he turned his head and gawked at two brunettes driving in a convertible beside him, hair trailing behind them, California skin shiny and luminescent.
He had at once a desire to crawl through his windshield and re-enter the 1980s – only older: at an age where he could appreciate the dawn of MTV, new wave music, American moxy and prosperity. Cahil had little desire for the time he was living in, with all the superficiality, reality television, gossip rag mags selling at an all time high - with pictures of celebrities pumping gas and picking their nose, gasoline prices soaring into the stratosphere, and natural disasters across the globe killing thousands each week.
Cahil looked around at the hills, at the sunshine bouncing off of multi million dollar mansions, with sprinklers going off everywhere to keep the place from burning down: “Some people say this place is superficial,” he said to himself. “Exalt in your superficiality. I am superficial too. Let us be superficial together, shall we?” Cahil smiled, loving his shades, raising them up and down and looking at himself in the rearview – yes, he wouldn’t mind be superficial for a couple of days.
Cahil had some Depeche Mode blaring from his iPod dock. Cold cuts of American cheese, liverwurst, ham and salami were laid out on his hotel desk, displayed from their torn white paper wrappers. He made sandwiches not out of bread, but stuck everything between a couple slices of salami. With greasy fingers he typed out in a google search: “Heather Dupre naked”, “Alex Cobalt’s tits”, “Colleen McDonough nude” – and he came up with nothing. None of the three beauts appeared to have nude pictures of themselves on the World Wide Web. Why would they use their real names? It was no matter to him – he’d see them naked soon enough. He blew opportunities in the past – he wasn’t planning on fucking up this time. He had to do some more research before his interview with Brenda Burgundy, but instead opted to drop 39 dollars on a hardcore site and jerk off till he was sufficiently horny, holding off on his climax.
Colleen’s chat info was on her My Space page. He reached out …she was home:
cahilology: ive changed much since last we met
uc2004: can’t wait…
cahilology: I bought new shades today. I look bitchin in them.
uc2004: hot
cahilology: I have an interview with brenda burgundy.
uc2004: wtf! That’s so cool. That why you’re out here?
cahilology: no – you.
uc2004: awwwwww
cahilology: lets hook up – you pick the place.
uc2004: hummmm
cahilology: come on … im surrounded by the glitter and glam of hollyweird. no
friendly faces.
uc2004: poor boy
cahilology: I have a company card … come on … I need to see your pretty face.
uc2004: you know the coffee bean/tealeaf in woodland hills?
cahilology: yup
As he wound his way through the swirling roads of Topanga Canyon – destination Ventura Boulevard, he shook his head in glee at the thought of Colleen’s checkerboard Converse sneakers – and how the little white squares were colored in with pastel hues. He remembered her as a college girl who covered her sexy body with frumpy, oversized sweats. They both worked at a bookstore in Calabasas. Colleen always had a smile for everyone as she hustled coffee behind the counter of the café – her apron filthy with cookie batter and coffee stains. It almost seemed like the messier she became, the more turned on he became: the café baseball cap she had to wear, with her ponytail hanging out the back of it – something tomboyishly alluring about her. He hoped she hadn’t changed much. Fuck was he horny. He gripped the steering wheel, shook it, batted out a beat with his palms. Her Midwest accent, her small belly, her Irish cherry cheeks … always something there to remind him …
The raspy voice and Midwest accent he remembered had remained intact. She had died her hair jet-black and it fell across her face in a diagonal direction – in layers. They sat across from each other at a table – clutching their coffees – talking about general stuff – catching up. After she had gotten up for a smoke, they returned to the café and chose two lounge chairs to curl up on - more personal talk this time – relationship stuff. She had been hurt pretty badly recently. He encouraged her to divulge. Cahil had no intention of talking about his engagement, let alone Janeen. He named dropped some small time talent he had been interviewing recently – some of the bands she recognized. Colleen was impressed. He felt shallow resorting to name dropping, but he had his motives – a mission. He stared at her cute feet and her half gone polished toes. He imagined holding her feet while nailing her. His fantasies making him lose track of the conversation now and then, but more often than not he found a key word to get him back on track.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me out?” Colleen asked.
“Who the fuck knows? Well … I shouldn’t say that. I know exactly why. I was so fucked up back then. I had no confidence, no car, and very little money and for most of the time I was seeing Loraine. Remember her?”
“Oh, yeah … the French chick.”
“Yeah, yeah … what a disaster, the stuff of three novels.”
“Oh, no …”
“Yeah.” They both laughed. “I wanted out of the relationship, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. I didn’t have the courage. I’m a monogamous guy and I had a lot of guilt, I wouldn’t have even thought of cheating on her. My luck, it ended when I had already left California, so …”
“And now you have this new found confidence.”
“Yes … and I think I realize what I have lost.”
She smiled.
“Interesting. So you are still single.”
He looked down at the sticky stains on the floor.
“Yup. Indeed.”
They flirted here and there, then Colleen invited him to a party her friend was throwing in Chatsworth. He followed her in his car – pulling up to Colleen at lights and making funny faces, smiling, more flirtations between cars. There was an excitement in his belly. His balls were aching – they needed a release. The party held many options. He was sure glad he was going. It had to happen tonight for Cahil still had to get in touch with Alex and goddess Heather and his time was limited.
The house was a large, one level dwelling which four of Colleen’s friends shared. All the doors were open; pot and barbecue smoke was rampant. Colleen removed Cahil’s aviator glasses from his face and put them on as they entered to an uproarious welcome. Other than one other guy who looked like Jerry Garcia, Cahil was the oldest one there. He liked that. A popular Emo band was blaring from the stereo. He hadn’t interviewed them, but lied and said he did. Colleen held onto Cahil, squeezing him around the waist as she introduced him to her friends. Colleen liked to drink – she began throwing down Jagermeister bombs to Cahil’s dismay. Cahil fake drank. He’s pretend to pour a lot of liquor in a glass, than he’s fill most of it with coke, club soda or ginger ale. “I can drink ya all under the table!” he gloated. “Someone make Cahil a Jagermesiter bomb!” said Bevin, a tan, bow-legged, big breasted dame. “Nah … keep that kids stuff away from me, I’m a writer, I only drink bourbon – hustle more bourbon over.” “How can you drink that stuff?” another friend said. That was just the response he was looking for.
The girls had a Nintendo Wii game system. “Playing the Wii when you’re stoned is awesome!” Colleen said as she took another drag. The Wii is a video game system that allows you to physically play out games with your full body, rather that hit some buttons on a video game controller in some zombie-like state, like more traditional game systems. It’s designed to get you off your fat rump and become more active in gaming, and it’s an expensive money making machine attempting to get this nations overweight children into exercising. “Who has time for video games, I don’t with all the deadlines I have. Believe me, I wish I had the time, but I’m so in demand – it’s hard.” Once again Cahil was bullshitting. He got a Wii for free off someone’s truck some time ago, and liked to play tennis and golf on it when he wasn’t able to write, or didn’t feel like jerking off. Actually, was just borrowing the sentiments of his fiancé Janeen, who couldn’t understand why a man over 30 years of age would be interested in such trite entertainment. Colleen and her friends played around on it for a while, while the two old fogies, Cahil and the Jerry Garcia look-a-like, who for some reason was called “Dr. Sergeant”, looked on.
After a time, and some encouragement from the young lads, Cahil and Dr. Sergeant decided to grab the controllers and play. “I’m sure I’ll be awful at this. I don’t play video games,” Dr. Sergeant said with a friendly smile. “You and I both,” replied Cahil. Boxing was first on the bill. As if the video game gods interceded, Duran Duran’s “View to A Kill” started playing on the house iPod. It was as if Popeye had been given four tons of spinach to take on Bluto. Cahil clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. There was no room for losing now. He would have to attack with a “view to a kill.” Dr. Sergeant was in big trouble. The game began and both men started flailing their fists. Cahil was younger and quicker than Dr. Sergeant. The Dr was less interested in how good he was, rather he was overwhelmingly amazed at such technology. The mood was different with Cahil as with each round of punches, he moved more intensely toward the widescreen television, punching with left crosses, upper cuts, and jab, jab, jabs. “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! You’re going down! Down! Yeah!” Cahil’s voice had dropped to a low, guttural scowl. “Yeaaaaaaahhhhh! Dr. is gonna end up in the emergency room. Yeah! Get this Dr some life support! Oh, yeah!!!” The good Dr. went down in less than a minute. The bell rang and the match was over. Cahil jumped up and threw his fists stiffly into the air – throwing a quick flurry of fists at the television for good measure. “Yeah! Yeah! Who’s next to try me?”
A few of Colleen’s lady friends took the challenge and Cahil fell them with his fury of arrogant violence like an Andy Kauffman of the Wii gaming world. “Why do you have to be such a douchbag about winning?” one of Colleen’s friends said. Her name was Dorothea. She was muscular and won an MVP and state championship for her rugby team in college. “I could kick your ass without these controllers. Why don’t we step outside and see what you’re really made of.” Cahil stood aghast – staring at Colleen with his mouth open. “Would you believe this shit? What a sore loser. I’m sorry if I’m a competitor. If you can’t take a beating like a real champion, you should not play.” “I KNOW ABOUT COMPETITION! THIS is NOT competition! It’s a FUCKING VIDEO GAME!” Dorothea replied. Colleen calmed her friend down, but the tension was undeniable.
“I’ll take you down in tennis – let’s go,” said a jock friend of Bevin’s, with big muscles, no body hair, and little sneakers with no socks. His name was Brad. He arrived sometime during the Wii hysteria. Cahil hadn’t even noticed. Brad chugged down a beer and grabbed the controllers. “Sure,” said Cahil, “just don’t get all pissy when I kick your ass.” Brad’s nostrils flared as he shot Cahil a look of pure venom. “Let’s GO!” Brad howled.
Cahil, with little to no bombast whatsoever, coldly took Brad in straight sets. He placed the controller on top of the TV and gave Brad a look of cool confidence that said, “I told you so.” “Fuck you!” shot back Brad.
Colleen was dead to rights on liquor in one of the bedrooms. Everyone else had either left or were passed out. He had some wrong thoughts flying through his brain as he stared at Colleen lying vulnerable on the bed. For most, there was no decision to be made: the night was over and no sex was to be had, but Cahil just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Looking about him to see if anyone was looking, he quietly walked over to the bed where Colleen laid and slowly lifted up her shirt and bra. These were the tits he had imagined – longed for, dreamt about for years. He ran his hand across both of them, his cock rock hard. Cahil got a good feel them put them away and left the room.
Back in his rental, he tried to start the car and it wouldn’t turn over. “Fuck!” he said, as he turned the key in the ignition over and over again, only to get the sound of a death rattle. After a few minutes of expletives, he opened his phone and scrolled down to Alex’s phone number. It was real late in the AM, but she was young and beautiful. There was no doubt in his mind she would be up and available to him.
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1 comment:
argh! Left me hanging! You got one week to put up the next installment! ;)
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