scummy slag

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Bobby says, wondering what exactly happened.

"I'm retarded," I tell him.

"You're not retarded," he answers with a sweetness that catches me off-guard because I don't feel as if I deserve it, and my heart breaks because it's so nice to hear but such a fucking lie. I can't believe he doesn't say one judgy thing to me in our whole conversation. When I'm so ashamed and I feel as if there are a thousand things he could say to make me look bad.


How can I explain? It was hot. I didn't have a shirt on, just my bathing suit top and jeans. So I'm walking in the sun and this guy stops me in his car and asks if I'm alright.

I don't even know what that means when he says it. Why wouldn't I be alright? I'm fine. I'm walking along, going my own way, and I don't really need to be bothered by anybody. Sure, it's hot, and my bags are heavy, but I'm super tough. I like the suffering. I'm happy. I tell him it's okay and he stills puts on such an air of concern. He offers me a ride as if it is a heroic deed.

I'm like, "No, thanks, but you could be a murderer and I wouldn't know. Sorry. It's very nice of you to offer though. I just don't feel safe." I smile at him in a friendly way and it's all wrong, it makes him brave when I want him to shut up and drop it and leave me alone. He tries to win me over by saying he's got "clean hands," and that his father is a very important man. And I think he says some stuff about how he's like, a good guy, and I ought to trust him. I can barely remember now. It's totally lame. It's not like he charmed me in the slightest. I have no idea what persuaded me to get in the car except that he wouldn't leave me alone and I got all curious and reckless and stupid.

At first he puts on like he's actually interested in getting me home, but wants to hang out a little while first. So I end up in some motorcycle shop feigning interest in this fucking bike he's got for sale there, still without my shirt on, and his friend who works there asks why I've got glitter all over my face and body, and I tell him it's actually the last of my glitter and I desperately need to get some more, and it really gives me pause because I'm kind of addicted to being sparkly at all times and I secretly start to stress out about how I am going to find myself a shop that sells glitter dust. I make a mental note to get more glitter as soon as possible.

He wants to have a drink. We end up in some oceanfront bar and he says I can have anything. So I order probably six random things to get my full alcoholic experience. I am not really enjoying this man's company too tremendously but I don't really expect to and I'm just kind of amusing myself by being happy for the hell of it. I'm still not wearing a shirt. All this guy talks about his how rich he is, and how sexy I look. Over and over, these are his two main topics of interest. I'm the biggest fucking idiot who ever lived because I do NOT want him as my sugardaddy and yet that is obviously where this is headed.

He decides not to give me a ride to the other station after all, but to molest me in his car while he drives drunk to another bar where he was supposed to meet with his friends. He's popping my boobs out of my suit and fondling them with one hand while the other is on the wheel, and he tells me I have the most amazing tits. He keeps using the word "Areola" to talk about my nipples. It makes me sick but somehow seems funny so I don't shove him off. I tell myself it's all fine, it's nothing, it's not really that bad. Then he works a hand into my pants, down McBean Parkway to POUND TOWN. I'm like, "NOOO!!!" but I don't shove him off. He's feeling all over it like the most giant pervert in the world telling me it's lovely and talking about how I am definitely tight. Then he leaves me alone finally like he's savin' the rest for later.

We go to the other bar which is set up outside. He leaves me alone for ten frickin minutes while he's off I have no idea where and I never meet his friends. I'm sipping Stone ale and talking to some chick next to me about God knows what and the sun is shining all around and the day seems like it will never end and it's kind of nice. When he comes back he says we're gonna go have sushi at some ritzy place. I put on my big ti-dye "I'm Fresh" t-shirt before we go in the restaurant. The conversation turns to various ex-lovers of his. It's interesting to learn about him because I'm a curious person but he doesn't seem to have much soul or fire inside. I watch his fat fingers grabbing at a bunch of huge shrimp on his plate and he stuffs it all into his slobbery mouth and I realize I'm done with this man and it's time for us to part. So when we go back to the car I ask about my going home and he makes a phone call but then apologizes because apparently his "limo driver" is too drunk to come pick me up. He says we should go get baked with his buddy.

When I say I feel kind of vulnerable and scared about being with him anymore he gets angry and refuses to understand what I am talking about. He starts chewing me out saying when we get to his friend's house I'd better act normal. I know he's gonna try to bone me and I'm going to have to shut him down which will probably piss him off. And I don't know how I lost my shirt in the first place but when we go to enter the house he won't let me put it back on because he says it makes me look like a goddamn twelve year old and I have to go in there all exposed.

There is a sweet Mexican lady in the house with a cute little baby and a very hostile dog. His friend is very old, and tall, and skinny, and white. He takes me with his friend to some other dude's house where I see a lot of money flash around and his friend apparently buys the guy's boat. While we're waiting for the guys to finish their paperwork I'm alone with my kidnapper, whose name is Abe I forgot to mention, and he's telling me about how he misses cuddling with his ex-wife but he had to dump her because she lusted after cocaine too hardcore and he thought that was trashy. I offer to be his new cuddle buddy, because I like to cuddle, but I don't feel any true affection I am just trying to pretend I care about this man to make myself feel warm inside instead of sick and sad. He brightens up though, and seems really excited about it.

So we light up with his buddy when we get back to the house, and then Abe and I are sitting on the couch stoned and he's sharing his dreams about being my sugardaddy with me, talking about the way he's going to throw his money at me, how I'm going to be taken care of, and the Mexican lady offers me coffee and a shirt. It's good coffee, Columbian. The shirt is probably made for a pre-teen, it barely fits and it's itchy, it's this long-sleeved silver and blue striped sweater thing. But I wear it in the hopes that it will give me some kind of dignity. I try to drink my coffee and feel fine but I am in the worst mood ever. I have to run away to the bathroom and cry uncontrollably in there, thinking about how I am stranded with this horny old guy and it's all my fault. They have a house phone in the bathroom so I pick it up and call Bobby again, but he doesn't answer so I cry into the phone leaving a message about how I'm a hopeless moron. I go back out, trying to breathe easy and act straight but I just look at the Mexican lady and burst into tears. And she's asking what is wrong with me, and Abe tells her I'm tired, and then he tells her I got very drunk earlier, and I try to play it off like I am just some over-emotional dumb broad. I try to smile and tell her I'm alright, and we rush out the door with Abe wanting to kick me in the face. He drives me to some shitty motel, promising to take me home in the morning, angry with me for being sad, disappointed that I have turned out to be such an unappreciative brat after the nice day he has tried to give me. I refuse to take off anything but my shoes when we slip into bed which annoys him, and he keeps trying to grope me everywhere but I grab his hands and push them away rather coldly every time. I think about what a fucking pea-brain I am for being so unrealistically carefree. I can't stand the thought of him trying to touch me in my sleep so I stay up all night pushing him off while he tries to fuck me over and over and over and over and over and over again. But at least he's not a rapist. He can't let it go but he won't force it.

He calls my boobs his twins. I'm like, "They're not YOUR twins!" and he's like, "Okay, OUR twins." And I'm like, "NO!" but I'm laughing histerically at him for totally missing the point. He doesn't seem very amused.

As soon as the sun comes up we're out the door because the tension is so fucking high we can't even stand to be near one another anymore. The whole ride home is painfully silent except when he asks for directions to my house, and it takes more than an hour to get there so you can imagine the level of awkwardness. I feel like there is nothing to say, like if I am friendly he will just want to bone me more and if I am mean he will just drop me off in the gutter to die and there is nothing to do but sit quietly and stew. He fiddles with the radio a lot, barely ever settling on a song. For a moment I am happy when he picks a tune by Simon & Garfunkle. When he drops me off I go to my room and smoke a bowl to calm my frazzled nerves. Then I call Bobby and he is wildly worried and I feel like the only thing worse than hurting myself is making somebody who cares about me watch me drown and I don't really know how to apologize for anything I just hope maybe in the future I might be able to manage to look out for myself a little better.