“I wanna make the movie for like 2 million dollars,” he said.
“I really like movies with a lot of CGI. I like CGI giant snakes tearing down trees and killing massive amounts of civilians.”
“Oh, those are good,” he said.
“You should make a movie about The DOW. Like The DOW becomes a monster that grows to an immeasurable size and eats everyone's souls through the use of well-orchestrated marketing and mob mentality. Then The DOW gets killed because his favorite food is going into depletion.”
“Dude, that sounds great. We could probably get a big name actor for that.”
“Oh yeah, totally. Probably get like Michael Cera. Michael Cera loves to do movies like that.”
Petra came back over and said, “That guy said I could be in a zombie movie. I will have so many fan boys jerking off to my ass.”
Thirteen
Petra and I entered her apartment somewhat drunk. I didn't know what would happen. She had touched my knees and shoulders with her hands many times. I've hung out with women before who did the same thing and it ended in nothingness and despair.
We went in her bedroom. I sat on the bed with my feet on the wood floor. I took off my boots. She had never mentioned me sleeping on the small futon in the kitchen. She took off her shoes by the closet and sat down on the bed next to me.
I said, “Are we supposed to kiss now?”
She replied laughing, “I think so.”
“I know I want to kiss you, like I've been thinking about it, imagining it. But I'm not you, so I don't know if you want to kiss me.”
“I do want to kiss you,” she said looking at me in the face.
“I suppose we have to kiss each other then, like we have to move our faces very close together, so close they touch. Then we open our mouths and stick out our tongues.”
“Kissing is like a deal.”
“Kissing and fucking are very much like a deal or contract.”
We moved our faces close together. Our faces were close; they were inches apart. Her face touched mine. Our lips touched and we kissed. Every time I kiss someone for the first time, I compare them to everyone I've ever kissed. It goes back to my first kiss with Sarah Hill when I was 13 in her dining room. She was dressed in her band uniform holding her flute case in her left hand. That was my favorite kiss. Then it moves onto the woman I almost married and how she kissed roughly with mental illness. Then I remember bad kisses with girls who barely stuck their tongues out and women who bit my tongue and made me hate them for doing that.
Petra wasn't a bad kisser. When beginning to kiss someone, I always get nervous about what to touch with my hands. Should I touch her butt, tits, or arms? I chose to touch her butt with one hand and her back with the other. She seemed to enjoy that. She touched my back and ribs. I enjoyed that. It wasn't mad kissing like in the movies. We weren't estranged lovers that had found each other after years of tribulations. We were just two people trying to have a good time. Sex is about having a good time. A lot of people think sex is about being intimate. Sex is funny. Sex is smelly, loud, and funny. Intimacy is when you sit in the middle of the night with your lover and talk about embarrassing moments from your childhood you never say out loud. Or when you sit with your lover or friend who's sick for hours without ever thinking “this sucks” but being worried the whole time that your lover will be okay.
I took Petra's shirt off. It was a pretty sight. Her flesh was nice and dark. It wasn't tan, she was naturally dark. She smiled when I pulled her shirt off. Then I noticed a birthmark on her shoulder. She saw me looking at it and said, “Don't look at it. It's a birthmark.”
“I seriously don't care if you have a birthmark.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I'm making it up.”
“What if you can't have sex with me,” said Petra.
“I don't think that will be a problem.”
“It could be a problem,” she said with concern.
“Do you repeat this dialogue every time you have sex with someone for the first time?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, after you've had this dialogue did the man not have sex with you?”
“Well, you might be different.”
“Why would I be different?” I said.
“Because, I don't know.”
“I don't care if you have a birthmark, I wouldn't care if you only had one arm.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, I'm lying. I'm going to leave right now and get a hotel and a prostitute without a birthmark.”
She laughed and said, “You're weird.”
“I'm going to take your pants off now and it is going to be awesome.”
“That sounds good.”
I took her pants off. She lay there in her underwear and bra. I was hoping she would take her bra off herself because I hate doing that. I feel like I'm her slave taking her clothes off. Women never take my clothes off. Probably because I'm an ass. I stood up next to the bed and took my clothes off. I was standing there in my boxers. For some reason unknown to me and all of Western Civilization we feel it is important to do kissing and grinding in our undergarments before we fully take off our underwear. We kissed and rubbed our clothed genitals against each other but eventually we took off our underwear. It was predictable. Sex seemed so much like a math problem, it was disheartening at times. When having sex I came to wish something really weird would happen. Like she would start punching me in the face and tell me I was bad at cooking. Or get a coat hanger and beat me with it. Or run around the room throwing things at my head like lamps and computer monitors. Nothing like that ever happened.
After we took off all of our clothes she laid back and allowed me to put my penis in her wet vagina. It went easily. Every time my penis enters into a vagina I think, “This is serious, take this seriously, this is really happening, you are really having sex, Benny with another person that is not you or your hand or the girls on the Internet. You must focus and try to give the impression that you aren't nuts and can have sex like a normal person.” I don't really like to have sex with my penis. It is an okay penis but not a real big one like a porn cock. Porn cocks are big and manly and awesome in their power. My penis holds no power. Her vagina was slightly tight, not like a girl in high school but it had maintained tightness over the years.
She said as she laid on her back, “Asian girls have tight pussies don't they? We never get loose.”
“Do you have statistical evidence for that? Have you run that through an SPSS or something?”
She laughed and thought I was being funny. I was being totally serious.
I started pumping her. I liked looking down at her pretty face. I kept touching her face while pumping. Touching her face didn't make me hot, I just liked touching it. She made noises. I enjoyed hearing her noises. I tried to tell myself that those noises came from my sweet cock, but I knew getting a girl to make noises during sex wasn't that hard.
Then I laid on my back and she got on top. She pumped really hard. She was in a lot better shape than I was. I was panting and dying for a cigarette. I felt fat and that I needed to run laps. She kept pumping, going crazy, her butt wiggling, her belly flexing. I really liked her being on top because if it was bad sex then it was her fault.
Eventually I ate her vagina. I liked my head in between her thighs. Her thighs were little and strong. They were different than the big boned thighs of white and black women. I couldn't recall if I ever had sex with such a little woman. The woman I was going to marry was short, only 5 feet tall. But she was mostly Northern European and a quarter estranged Israeli Jew and had some meat on her. Petra was definitely the smallest woman in bone structure that I had ever sex with. It was a new experience. A foreign one. She had sex just like white and black women but her body felt different when it touched mine. It was a strange experience causing just as many thoughts as arousal.