It doesn’t take a Doctorate in Sociology to know online dating is a pretty normal concept these days. What was once seen as a cause for social stigma is now a general fact of being a single adult. And I had been one of those for the better part of a year now.
The lack of distraction was nice at first. I was finally making time to pursue my dreams, hone my skills as it were. I was getting shit done. Kicking names and taking ass. But, as most carbon-based lifeforms are wont to do, I eventually began to long for the company of a significant other.
I began my search for the future Mrs. Farrelly by embracing a more primitive method of social interaction, or, as it’s more commonly called, “actually going out and meeting people.” Unfortunately, that shit got old in a hurry.
The fact of the matter was, most of the women in my general age-bracket were already in serious relationships and this meant that the only new people I was meeting when I went out were all considerably younger than myself; the kind of people who used “epic” as an adverb and thought Green Day was classic rock. The night that I found myself explaining to a girl who Paul McCartney was, I finally decided that it was time to put aside all of my preconceived hang-ups about online dating and make myself an OKCupid profile.
All of the stories that I post online are published under my real name and because of this, I thought it prudent to use an alias for my dating profile (not because I think that I’m in any way famous; just an easy target for trolls). Though, I did tell my real name to every girl I planned to meet up with IRL and even warned them that there was a good chance our date would end up the subject of a bizarre story on the internet. Surprisingly, none of the women were scared off by this prospect and a few of them even thought it was kind of cool.
The first one who agreed to go on an actual for-real-life date with me was this girl named Candice. Our profiles had an extremely high match-percentage and she was, for all intents and purposes, perfect: well-read, good sense of humor, super hot… The whole nine.
Needless to say, I really liked Candice and she seemed to genuinely dig me as well… That is until she stopped returning my phone calls. I had waited the appropriate three days after our first date to contact her. It was a Wednesday and when she hadn’t called me back by that Friday, I sent her a friendly, totally not-desperate-sounding text that simply said:
We had bonded over our mutual love of the character Joey from Friends and I was sure that this reference would do the trick but there was still no response, which left me feeling kind of hurt and more than a little confused. I thought our initial date had gone really well but I eventually managed to shrug the whole thing off. The fact that my OKCupid inbox was currently brimming with replies from other potential matches helped me to get over my initial feelings of rejection rather quickly.
The next girl that really caught my eye was a profile named “Alabama Worley,” which my more awesome readers will recognize as the same name as Patricia Arquette’s character in the movie True Romance. “True Row,” as I liked to call it, was one of my all-time favorite films and the girl in “Alabama’s” profile picture was definitely cute enough for a meet-and-greet. So I messaged her back and here’s where shit started to go full-on Twilight Zone.
Alabama agreed to meet me for dinner at an Italian restaurant near my apartment complex and the date started out well enough. She had what my grandmother would call “interesting hair.” It was a bob cut dyed bright pink and the first words out of her mouth after “Nice to meet you,” were, “So… what do you think of the hair?”
“Quite awesome,” I replied without hesitating and she giggled, flashing me the cutest smile.
“Why?” I asked as the hostess led us to our table. “Is that your catalyst for a successful first date; what the guy thinks of your hair?”
Alabama considered this as we took our seats and then shrugged. “I guess so… It’s been pretty accurate so far.”
The waiter took our drink order and then I suggested that we split the pesto pasta because I loved, it but the servings there were too huge for me to finish by myself.
“And it’s probably impossible to take the rest of it home in a to-go container without getting all that oil everywhere,” she responded in a matter-of-fact tone that had me grinning from ear-to-ear.
“EXACTLY! I usually end up forcing myself to shovel the whole thing down rather than letting them toss out the rest, because that’s just a waste of good pasta.”
Alabama let out a sarcastic gasp and said, “Sacrilege!”
“Believe me, I KNOW. Which is why I was hoping you could help me out.”
“Well, it sounds delicious… Sure, why not.”
I gave her a sincere nod. “Good. Because that was MY catalyst.”
Alabama laughed, sounding genuinely amused as she asked, “A girl that likes reasonably portioned servings of pesto pasta?”
“Exactly,” I said and nodded again. “Congratulations.”
When we were done eating, I walked Alabama back to her car and ask if she wanted to go get a drink. She said she did and so I asked her if she had a particular location in mind.
“How far is your place?”
Alabama followed me to my apartment, where I quickly discovered that someone had recently finished off all of the beer in my fridge (the “someone” in question being Past Joel, bane of my existence.) With an apologetic smile on my face, I made my way back into the den and said, “I’m out of beer but there’s a coke machine by the…”
Then I saw Alabama standing there in just her bra and panties and immediately forgot what I was saying. She responded to the look on my face with a devious wink as she replied, “Soda’s too sugary… I’d rather just suck on your cock.”
It may sound cliché to admit, but you can’t make that shit up. Those words are, verbatim, what Alabama said to me. Naturally, I was in no position to deny her request because if I’m anything, it’s a good host.
Now, when I tell you Dear Reader that this was the best sex I’d had in years, know that I am not being hyperbolic. I swear to god, it was like I had somehow stumbled through a portal into Porn Land. For those of you unfamiliar with the intricacies of String Theory, allow me to explain:
“Porn Land” is an alternate reality that exists parallel to our own where all social interaction mirrors that of your average adult film: a dimension where every UPS delivery results in full penetration and innuendos about “big packages.” It is a wondrous place where every man is hung like a circus freak and all of the women are perpetually DTF.
And I don’t mind telling you that Alabama could suck a dick like a goddamn champion. Before we got too ahead of ourselves (pun intended), we switched positions and I spent the next ten minutes or so eating her out while allowing myself enough time to regain my composure after such an intense blowjob.
Now, I don’t want to brag but I’m kind of a cunnilingus grand-master and it wasn’t long before I had Alabama’s thighs quivering against my ears. By this point, she was rhythmically moaning in time with each flick of my tongue and just as I thought she was about to come, Alabama patted me on my head and I glanced up to see a look on her face that was so clear, I could read it like a road-sign…
NEXT STOP: Bone City. POPULATION: Doing it.
Alabama was the kind of lover who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it, which made everything that much hotter. I held out for as long as I could and made sure to get her off at least once before finally giving in.
We had made our way into the bedroom by this point and I mumbled an apology as I pulled out of her and collapsed onto the bed. “It’s been a good minute since I’ve had my world rocked liked that and my stamina isn’t quite what it used to be.”
She dismissed my apology with a wave and said, “There’s not a moment of what we just did that you need to apologize for… Besides, it doesn’t have to be over.”
Alabama’s eyes widened as she said this and then the beautiful naked girl hurried out of my bed and over to her purse where I listened to her rummage around for several moments. I heard the distinctive hollow pop of a pharmaceutical bottle opening and then Alabama turned back to me, holding out half of an orange pill. “Here…”
She handed the pill to me and I examined the tiny orange half-circle as I said, “What is it?”
“Little bit of speed. It’ll help you get back in the mood super quick, if you’re interested…”
I shrugged. “Fuck it. I don’t have work tomorrow.”
I swallowed the pill with a sip from the water bottle beside my bed and then turned back to see Alabama grinning as she laid down beside me and spread her legs.
“While we wait for that to kick in…” She placed a hand against the back of my head and pulled me toward her well-manicured pussy as she said, “How about you tell me some more of those tongue-twisters?”
What follows should have been the typical ending to yet another mildly erotic online-dating success story. Unfortunately, it became more of an allegory for why you shouldn’t take drugs from strangers, regardless of how hot they were. The “speed” Alabama gave me caused me to black out and the next thing I remember was waking up alone in my pitch black apartment.
I was still in my bed and reached out, feeling around for the lamp. I managed to find it in the darkness but nothing happened when I turned the switch. Realizing that the power must be out, I retrieved a flashlight from the drawer of my nightstand and slowly climbed out of bed.
I was searching the floor for my clothes when everything started to come back to me. Finally, I found my underwear in a ball by the partially open bedroom door and was pulling them on when I heard Alabama whisper…
“Joel?” Her voice had come from somewhere outside my bedroom.
“Alabama?” I replied as I slowly opened the door and began to scan the empty hallway with my flashlight. “Where are you?”
She let out a childish giggle that made me shiver. “Come and find me.”
Like the complete dumbass that I am, I exited my bedroom and started down the hall. As I entered the den, I aimed my flashlight at the far end of the room and glimpsed a hand being yanked behind the sofa just as I caught sight of it.
“What are you doing?” I somehow managed to ask without my voice cracking from the torrent of fear that had begun to mount in the pit of my stomach. There was another vaguely sinister giggle from behind the sofa and I silently chastised myself for not having pants on as I started toward the couch.
I could hear something moving behind the sofa as I neared. I was suddenly overcome by the sinking realization that I probably didn’t want to know what was waiting for me back there. I couldn’t help it, though. I had to look…
Of course, there was no one there. I crouched down to shine my flashlight into the darkness between the sofa and the wall to confirm this and then quickly bolted upright as more girlish laughter filtered out from the hallway behind me, followed by…
“Oh, Joel-Joel-Joel… You’re bad at this.”
As I started back toward the hall, I saw that someone had lit the scented candle I kept on the dresser in my bedroom, as evidenced by the flickering orange light that was now spilling out through the partially open doorway.
“Warmer,” whispered a voice from my bedroom as I entered the hallway. As I reached my room, the first thing I noticed was a distinctly human-shaped lump beneath the comforter covering my bed. “Warmer…”
I approached the bed and, after what felt like an eternity of bowel-churning hesitation, I reached a hand down and tore back the covers…
At first glance, who I saw lying there beneath the comforter looked very much like Alabama. She was still completely naked and her pink hair was hard to mistake. But this girl was much paler than Alabama had been; so pale that her skin looked almost phosphorescent.
She lifted her head in a quick jerking motion and her closed eyes snapped open, but there was only darkness behind her lids. Her lips parted into an inhumanly wide smile, revealing a deep toothless void where her mouth should have been.
I was transfixed by the inky blackness beyond her parted lips and after a moment of staring, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I was able to glimpse something moving inside of her… something with glistening skin and tiny red eyes… and then suddenly she lunged at me.
The last thing that I can remember was trying to back away from this demonic version of Alabama and freezing up as I noticed the glow-in-the-dark strap-on dildo attached to her waist…
I sat up screaming. It was dawn and Alabama (the normal, non-demon version) was lying beside me with a bemused look on her face. “Bad dream, baby?”
I scrambled out of bed and covered my exposed junk with my hands as I began to scan the floor for my pants. That’s when I spotted the discarded strap-on half hidden beneath my bed.
“Oh god, tell me we did not…” I said as I pinched the strap-on’s pleather harness between my thumb and index finger and lifted it up for her to see. Alabama let out a girlish giggle, causing me to shiver as I suddenly flashed back to the night before. She smiled at the strap-on and my heart started to sink.
Finally, Alabama said, “Don’t worry, Pony Boy. Your ass-cherry is still intact… despite my best efforts.”
“And what does THAT mean?” I said, giving her a wide-eyed glare.
“I asked you if you liked surprises and you were all like ‘I LOVE surprises’ and so I told you to close your eyes and then open them again after I put it on and you turned into a total prude as soon as you saw it and started grabbing your ass and shouting, ‘Exit only! Exit Only!’”
I let out a relieved sigh and Alabama slowly shook her head at me as she said, “It’s not really fair, considering all the places I let you stick yours last night.”
“Yeah? I’d apologize but, as it stands, I’m having trouble remembering much of any of that. Quick question: What the fuck kind of pill did you give me?!”
Alabama sat up and her smile became a guilty smirk as she said, “Yeah, that’s my bad. I forgot I’d thrown a few tabs of DXM in with my ADD meds. You ever tried it?”
“I guess I have NOW.”
Those who’ve read my previous stories know that I’m not normally one to shy away from occasional narcotic experimentation. I’m just not a fan of taking something without knowing what it is, especially when that “something” was a hallucinogen as infamous as DXM. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you: Surprise-tripping is the worst.
Alabama was smiling as she said this and her blue eyes twinkled in the early morning sunlight, making her look exceptionally beautiful. She let go of the sheet she was holding against her chest, exposing two very perky breasts as Alabama started to do a sexy crawl across the bed.
I had another flashback of her demonic double pouncing on me last night. Drug-fueled hallucination or no, the memory alone was enough to make me take a step back as she reached my side of the bed.
“You okay?” Alabama asked, tilting her head in concern.
“Yeah… yes, it’s just…” I glanced at my alarm clock and gave Alabama the most apologetic look I could muster as I said, “I’m running super late.”
“Late for what? I thought you didn’t have work today.”
“I don’t. I… am late for practice.”
“Baseball practice. I coach my nephew’s little league team at that playground over by the lake… Lakeshore Playground?” I said and then threw another seemingly worried glance at the clock for good measure.
“Oh. That’s so sweet. I used to be quite the cheerleader in high school. If you want, I can tag along and help you psyche up the team with my professional pep stylings. You know…” Alabama stood on her knees and started to clap in rhythm as she quietly sang, “That pitch was bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S…”
I forced out a polite chuckle and quickly scanned my brain for a proper follow-up excuse. “And I would love to see that but this is kind of an important practice. Big game tomorrow and I’m worried the boys will have trouble focusing. Maybe next time for sure, though.”
“Understandable. As you know, my sexiness can be quite the distraction,” Alabama said as she reached out and placed a hand on my flaccid penis.
I smiled down at her and casually turned to grab a pair of jeans out of my dresser while peeling my junk away from Alabama’s cold palm as tactfully as possible. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but my macabre memories of the night before were still coming back in fractured bits and pieces and I was worried that if I didn’t get away from this girl soon, I was going to lose it.
Thankfully, as soon as I started to pull on my clothes, Alabama quickly followed suit. Once she was dressed and had collected her purse, strap-on, etc., I walked her out of my complex and followed her down the block to where Alabama had parked her car the night before.
I forced a pleasant smile as we said our goodbyes and exchanged a quick kiss. Then she slid in behind the wheel and gave me a wave as she started to shut the driver’s side door. I returned the wave, sure that I was finally in the clear, when Alabama suddenly pushed the door back open and said, “What are you up to later tonight?”
“Um…” Now, I’m not the kind of snob who snubs a beautiful girl just because she wants to hang out with me two days in a row, but there was a lot I still needed to process and at that present moment I really wasn’t feeling much of a hurry to hang out with Alabama anytime soon. I hesitated for a beat as I considered the proper response and then finally settled on, “Not sure. Call me?”
Her face lit up as she smiled and it was almost enough to make me feel guilty for how weird I was being. Alabama responded with a wink as she looked up at me and said, “I’ll do that.”
With one last extremely girly wave, she finally shut her door and started the car. I watched Alabama drive off as an immense sense of relief washed over me. I justified the feeling by telling myself that none of it was my fault. The evening had started out great but I wasn’t the one that tricked me into eating strange drugs and then attempted to fuck my ass with a strap-on.
Of course, that thing about having to be at baseball practice was a complete lie (I didn’t even have a nephew). Still, I didn’t want to be at my place; not while last night was still so fresh in my mind. It was too early to start drinking, even by New Orleanian standards, so I called up my friend Elisha and asked her to meet me for coffee.
Elisha and I had attended the same fine-arts high school and have been friends ever since we were both pretentious 15-year-olds peddling our awful free-verse poetry at the weekly Creative Writing workshops. Of course, as with most interactions between hormonal teens of opposing genders, our bond began with a misguided attempt at having sex.
As we got older, she and I would sometimes joke about that one awkward night when we tried to bump uglies and eventually Elisha came to the conclusion that “the problem was you actually respected me and that made it impossible for you to fuck me.”*
*[Any feminists with letters regarding the previous statement can address their emails to: JoelFarrelly@gmail.com]
I could try to deny it, but the truth was, I respected Elisha immensely. She was not just a good writer but a great story teller. Plus, our platonic friendship allowed us constant insight into each other’s gender; someone who could translate the thoughts and feelings of our significant others in real time.
So naturally, Elisha was the first person that I called after my date with Alabama. Half an hour later, I was perched outside a Starbucks with her seated across the table from me, nursing a caramel Frappuccino and listening to me run through the bullet-points from the previous night.
When I got to the part about the strap-on, Elisha suddenly interrupted me to say, “Wait, she HAS an actual strap-on? Like the full kit with the harness and everything? Can you ask her where she got it and how much she paid?”
“Are you fucking with me right now, or are you seriously in the market for a wearable sex-toy?”
Elisha’s tone was adamant as she said, “Seriously and I need a good reference on prices. This guy I’ve been seeing, Lance?”
“Ugh… He’s into that?”
Elisha gave me a devilish smile and nodded again. “It’s called pegging.”
“Yeah. In case you were curious about the terminology.”
“I most certainly wasn’t, but hey… The more you know, right?”
“I have this double-ended dildo and I tried fucking him with that.”
“REALLY? How does that work?”
“Unfortunately, not well. I tried putting one end in his has ass while he was in the doggy-style position and then I put the other end in my pussy but that didn’t work. The angles were weird and I couldn’t get a good rhythm going.”
More than a little amused by the image she had just put in my head, I smirked at Elisha and gave her a sarcastic shrug. “Well at least you tried. What else can you do?”
“I fingered his ass while he jerked himself off. That seemed to work pretty well.”
Elisha raised a single eyebrow at me. “After he came, he told me he loved me.”
“WOW… Really? What did you say?”
“I said prove it and sat on his face.”
We both had a good laugh at this as the elderly couple at the table beside us abruptly got up and left. I sighed while watching them start towards their car as I said, “So what would you do in my situation?”
“I’d probably call her back…” Elisha’s devilish grin returned as she said, “But of course I’m not opposed to the idea of a dildo in my ass, so…”
“Well what would you do if you were ME and, you know, sans ass-dildo appreciation?”
Elisha thought for a beat and then shrugged. “It sounded like you were having a great time until you ate that DXM. I’d say give the girl another chance in a few days, once things have settled down and you’re not feeling so…”
“So I probably shouldn’t hang out with her tonight then?”
“TONIGHT? Jesus… when did Desperation Dan get here?”
“HEY, she’s the one who asked me what I was up to. I told her to give me a call.”
“That’s a bad sign. I don’t care how amazing she is at sucking dick. Any girl who wants to hang out the day immediately following the first time you hooked up with her is someone looking for trouble.”
“That’s not ALWAYS the case…”
“Joel, this bitch gave you DXM and carries around A STRAP-ON. The girl is cray-cray all day.”
“Weren’t you the one who was just telling me to give her another chance?”
“Hey, I never said crazy didn’t make for a good fucking. I DID however suggest that you wait a few days. That gap of time…” Elisha pointed at me and her tone became serious as she said, “It establishes an important precedent. You’re telling the other person that your shared sexual exploits, as enjoyable as they may have been, were not vital to your continued survival. Because everybody wants what they can’t have and absolutely NOBODY wants what they’ve already got.”
“You’re saying I don’t wanna seem needy?”
“And when she calls me back tonight?”
So that’s exactly what I did, or rather didn’t do, when I saw Alabama’s number on the incoming-call screen later that evening. The call went to voicemail and about thirty seconds later, she texted me:
Hey handsome. How was practice?
For a moment, I debated whether it was okay to at least respond in text-form… a quick message that explained how I couldn’t hang out tonight so she wouldn’t think I was outright ignoring her… but then I’d have to make up a reason WHY I couldn’t hang out and either way, it would defeat the entire purpose of not answering her call in the first place.
My phone chimed as she sent me another text:
I spent all day thinking about that magic tongue of yours ;)
I shook my head at this obvious ploy to get my attention and quickly suppressed the memory of Alabama’s thighs around my head as I silenced my phone and went to bed.
I was awoken about three hours later, though at first the reason why wasn’t clear. Something was wrong; I could sense that much but it wasn’t until Alabama began to run her fingers through my hair that I finally figured out what it was. I felt my limbs go rigid as every muscle in my body suddenly tensed up at once.
Alabama’s soft lips brushed against my ear as she whispered, “What shampoo do you use?”
“FUCK!” I screamed as I scrambled to my feet and flipped on the overhead light to reveal a completely naked Alabama lying in my bed.
She gave me a worried look as Alabama sat up and said, “What’s wrong?”
“What’s WRONG?!” I screamed in disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?!”
“Nothing that you complained about last night.” Alabama’s tone was playful and she winked as she said this, as if she thought it somehow answered my question.
“How’d you get in here?!”
“You left the window in your den unlocked,” Alabama responded, answering in the slow matter-of-fact tone one reserved for only the stupidest of questions. “Why didn’t YOU answer when I called?”
“You told me to give you a call later and when I did, you didn’t answer. I texted you like ten times.”
“You need to leave! Right fucking now!”
Alabama’s smile suddenly descended into a confused frown. “Did I do something to upset you?”
“THIS!” I used both arms to gesture wildly at her lying in my bed. “ALL of this is upsetting me!”
Alabama’s frown faded and her lips tightened into a thin line. Sounding frustrated, she said, “Fine. I’ll leave.”
She quickly climbed out of my bed and began to collect her clothes. When Alabama was finally dressed, I walked her out into the den and then watched as she stomped over to the front door and yanked it open. She turned back to scowl at me as she started to leave and shouted, “And for future reference, don’t tell someone to call you later if you’re just going to ignore them when they do! It’s fucking rude!”
SLAM! She swung the door shut with enough force to knock my framed A Nightmare on Elm Street poster off of the wall and then stormed away into the night. After that, I made sure to lock the living room window she had come in through and then double-checked the ones in the bathroom and my bedroom before finally climbing back into bed, where I spent the next five sleepless hours watching shadows dance across the ceiling and waiting for the sunrise.
At about 7:00AM, I received another text from Alabama:
That was a hundred percent my fault and I’m sorry. It was all just a stupid miscommunication combined with the fact that I really like you. Again, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was make you mad at me.
Of course, I didn’t respond. Eventually, I had the bright idea to simply block her number and felt immensely better when it was done. Still, I didn’t sleep for a good day or so afterward and it took me close to a month to build up the courage to check my OKCupid inbox again.
Any sane person would’ve probably given up online dating altogether by this point but, on the other hand, soul-crushing loneliness can be a powerful motivator. After enough coaxing from Elisha (who was the self-proclaimed “Queen of Trolling for Internet Ass”) and assurances that they weren’t all THAT crazy, I ended up exchanging messages with a girl named Kat who seemed genuinely awesome.
The first thing that drew me to her was the Sylvia Plath quote at the top of her profile (“Kiss me and you’ll know how important I am[…]”) and so I sent Kat a DM saying that her quote was a good one but that my all-time favorite Plath line was:
They have such a space to cross.
Such coldness, such forgetfulness…
So your gestures flake off.”
And because quoting poetry is and will always be the ultimate panty-dropper, we were soon making plans to go out later that week. The first date went really well. Not only was Kat attractive and well-read but she also had the cutest English bulldog I had ever seen.
His name was Terrance and on our second date, Kat and I took him to the dog park. I was really starting to like this girl and it seemed like she was just as in to me. I had bragged about being a great cook and so, for our third date, I offered to have Kat over to my place so I could make her a quality meal from scratch.
The dinner came out perfectly and it was starting to look like ol’ Joel might end up getting lucky tonight. Kat had just finished her second glass of wine, which told me that she didn’t plan on driving anytime too soon. My suspicion was then confirmed when I felt Kat’s foot rubbing along the inside of my calf. I met her eyes across the table and she gave me a steamy smile.
“This was delicious. Thank you.”
“You are more than welcome.”
“I wish there was some way I could repay you…” she said as I felt her toe trace a line up past my knee, inching closer and closer to what one might call “the danger zone” or more specifically “where my penis is.”
My heart rate increased as most of the blood from my head began to redirect itself elsewhere, leaving me feeling slightly lightheaded. I cleared my throat and went to take a sip of wine. I finished the glass and that’s when I discovered the partially dissolved remains of a pill capsule resting at the bottom of my glass.
I must have looked pretty dumbfounded because Kat immediately asked, “Are you okay?”
I looked up and tried to respond but it was like everything was suddenly moving in slow-motion. From where I was sitting, I could see into the hallway and had a clear view of the closet door opening as Alabama suddenly sprinted out and cracked a metal pipe across the back of Kat’s head while screaming, “HOW COULD YOU?!”
Kat’s limp body tumbled out of the chair and I tried to jump up from my seat, but found that I had lost all control of my limbs. I tried to shout “Holy shit!” but all I could manage to force out of my mouth was a single slurred syllable that sounded like “Hullash…”
She had dosed me with some sort of powerful paralytic. My head was suddenly extremely heavy and I started to do a face-plant straight into my pasta bowl. Alabama caught me by my hair and lifted my head up so that she could look me in the eye as she said, “And now you’re just gonna pass out, huh? Typical.”
She let go of my hair and I immediately punched the table with my face. Alabama walked around to my side of the table and leaned me back in my seat as she began to drag the chair, with me in it, into the hallway. Once we reached my bedroom, she dumped me onto the bed and all I could do was lay there as I listened to her fumble around behind me.
It’s funny how hindsight can make your tiniest lapses in judgment seem like such blindingly stupid mistakes. Mistakes you, the reader, would have probably never made. Of course, it’s also a lot easier to see what’s coming when you’re reading about it after the fact. All I could think in that moment was:
Damn it, Past Joel! How could you not know this was coming?
The truth, which I had been hiding from myself, was I hadn’t really felt right ever since my first encounter with Alabama. The sense that I was being watched had been almost constant and even after washing my sheets three times, I was still finding pink hairs in my bed. And that right there should have been enough of a clue to stop me from luring any future dates into the snare of my psychotic stalker but, unfortunately, I was an idiot.
Alabama slid a hand beneath my waist and undid my belt, interrupting my internal scolding and bringing me back to the horrifying present as she began to tug at my jeans. She yanked them and my underwear down to my knees in one quick motion and then paused to consider something. A moment later, I heard Alabama remove the narrow full-length mirror hanging from my bedroom door.
She carried the mirror around to the side of the bed that I was facing and positioned it so that I could see my own paralyzed reflection. I looked pathetic: lying there on my stomach, completely motionless, my eyes wide with terror and my bare ass pointed up at an angle. If I could’ve, I would’ve started to cry.
Alabama moved out of my line of sight and I watched as her reflection made its way back around to my exposed rear end. She began to strip naked as she said, “You think I like having to crack all these fat sluts’ heads open?! That Candice girl was one thing… I had to get rid of her so that we could be together… But that poor girl bleeding out on your living room floor; what did she do? Nothing except trust YOU. And I know you did it just to make me jealous, too. You think I’m that STUPID?! You wanna see me jealous? WELL, THIS IS ME JEALOUS!”
With that Alabama jabbed a small black object into my side, right above my left kidney, and a surge of blinding white-hot pain flooded through me as my body began to reflexively convulse.
I was still twitching after Alabama finally pulled the taser away and my vision cleared just in time to see her duck down out of sight of the mirror. I listened to her retrieve something from beneath my bed and a moment later she was pulling the strap-on up around her waist.
“Do you really think any of this was an accident?” Alabama set the taser down and removed a small bottle of lubricant from my bedside table. Using the lube, she began to grease up her strap-on as she locked eyes with me through the mirror and continued, “My profile name, the fact that we liked the same movies and music… That was all me trying to be a girl that you could love. You can say goodbye to all of that right now because it’s time for no more Mrs. Gives-A-Shit.”
Alabama reached down to grip the strap-on by its base as she aimed the rounded tip toward my asshole. There was a blur of motion just above her and then her eyes suddenly rolled up into her head as Alabama’s limp body collapsed onto me, revealing Kat’s reflection standing there behind her.
She blinked as she stared down at the unconscious girl draped across me, Kat looking pissed and more than a little lost. Her confusion quickly turned to bewilderment as she finally noticed my bare ass angled up towards the ceiling. I heard the pipe drop from her hand and then clatter to the floor.
Blows to the head can be a tricky thing. Kat was out for less than ten minutes after Alabama struck her with that pipe. Then Kat knocks Alabama out with the SAME PIPE and it puts the crazy bitch into a coma. That wasn’t even the worst part.
Imagine trying to explain to the cops that the naked comatose girl with the bashed-in head is the one who needs to be arrested. Thankfully, Alabama had kept her psychotic obsession with me well-documented. Everything I told the cops was quickly verified once they got inside her apartment and started going through her computer.
That night, while the cops on scene at my place were still taking our statements, one of the CSI techs discovered a jar of human excrement in my hallway closet. This led the detectives to theorize that, unbeknownst to me, Alabama had been living in my apartment for most of the past month. A second jar, discovered under my bed, all but confirmed it.
Needless to say, things didn’t work out between me and Kat. Even after explaining the entire ordeal to her, reigniting that spark didn’t seem likely. I guess there are just some things in this world that can’t be un-seen and my bare ass primed for a fucking is one of them. So it goes….
And yet, when all was said and done, I kind of felt bad for Alabama. Not THAT bad but still, the girl was in a coma and the doctors said she had little to no hope of ever recovering. Then yesterday I got a call from one of the detectives who had been working my case; he was calling to tell me that Alabama’s hospital bed had been found empty this morning.
So, if you guys don’t hear from me for a while after this, at least you’ll know where to start looking. And if you’re ever on OKCupid and you come across an “Alabama Worley” who loves the Cure and Ridley Scott’s Alien, do yourself a favor: