agree. I ain’t never forced anyone to do anything,” I raised my hands from my knees and held them up as I waited on a response.
“I wasn’t done,” Dekk complained.
“Well fuckin’ finish, Dekk. What are you trying to say?” I rested my chin in my right hand and raised my eyebrows at his silence.
He squirmed in his chair for a minute and took a slow drink of his water. Without a doubt, Dekk was my best friend, and would remain so for life. He was a little bit of a romantic, and had some holier than thou frosting spread over the surface that sometimes made him a little bit hard to agree with when it came to my sex life.
He placed his glass of water on the table and rested his face in the palms of his hands. “Just because you tell them not to have feelings doesn’t mean they’re not going to. Women have sex with a man, and they feel . So these women, I guarantee you, all have feelings for you. If you don’t believe me, ask them. But telling them not to feel is no assurance they don’t or won’t. All women want a man to care for them, love them, and cherish them,” Dekk took a slow breath.
I was done trying to listen to Dekk’s preaching. I pulled my hand from my chin and slowly started clapping.
“Tell that shit to someone that will listen and believe you, dude. Jesus. You know me, and I ain’t trying to get preached to. This ain’t the first bitch I fucked, and it damn sure ain’t gonna be the last,” I stopped clapping and rubbed my hands on my shorts as I shook my head lightly.
I really wasn’t in the mood to argue about a woman’s ability to get fucked and enjoy it. Sometimes Dekk could be exhausting with his attempts to be mister nice guy. I was as nice as he was, all things considered. I just had more fun being nice. It didn’t make me inconsiderate or mean, it just made me different. As I exhaled a shallow breath and looked at my empty beer bottle, I noticed a person’s head glide by the top of the table beside us.
“Oh . Good God damn. What the fuckin’ fuck,” I stood up in my chair and looked over Dekk toward the aisle which led foot traffic to and from the bar.
A guy in a wheel chair slowly rolled his way into the bar and stopped at a table twenty feet from where we were sitting.
“Oh fuck dude we gotta go,” I said, half frantic.
“What happened,” Dekk said as he looked over his shoulders.
I reached for my wallet and started pulling bills out.
“Dude. A fuckin’ cripple. In a God damned wheelchair, c’mon. What’d you have? Sandwich? Ten, my chicken and two beers, twenty, three, three, twenty-six. Fuck it, I’ll leave forty and include the tip,” I tossed two twenty dollar bills on the table and put my empty beer bottle on top of them.
Slowly, Dekk turned to look around the bar as he stood.
“C’mon, motherfucker. You know I can’t stay, this is freaking me out,” I started pushing my way through the empty chairs and tables, quickly making my own path toward the exit and into the parking lot.
For as long as I can remember, people who are crippled have always freaked me out. I felt pretty bad most of the time about how I felt, but it wasn’t a decision I consciously made. No matter how hard I have tried to force myself to accept it, them, and the fact they existed, I couldn’t accept it as a part of my responsibility to accept being in their presence. When I see them, try as I might, they kind of scare me. I’ve never been afraid of another human being, and hell, I’ll fight anyone. Place me in the same room as a person in a wheel chair, however, and I’ll stand there and just shake. Give me enough time, and I’d be crying like a baby.
Crippled people.
And fucking midgets.
And God damned clowns.
Crippled people and midgets I feel terrible about. I can’t help it, but I feel the way I feel. To me, they’re like spiders or snakes are to other people. I actually fear them. A clown? They’re just fucking stupid. When I see a guy in a clown suit, I
“I wasn’t done,” Dekk complained.
“Well fuckin’ finish, Dekk. What are you trying to say?” I rested my chin in my right hand and raised my eyebrows at his silence.
He squirmed in his chair for a minute and took a slow drink of his water. Without a doubt, Dekk was my best friend, and would remain so for life. He was a little bit of a romantic, and had some holier than thou frosting spread over the surface that sometimes made him a little bit hard to agree with when it came to my sex life.
He placed his glass of water on the table and rested his face in the palms of his hands. “Just because you tell them not to have feelings doesn’t mean they’re not going to. Women have sex with a man, and they feel . So these women, I guarantee you, all have feelings for you. If you don’t believe me, ask them. But telling them not to feel is no assurance they don’t or won’t. All women want a man to care for them, love them, and cherish them,” Dekk took a slow breath.
I was done trying to listen to Dekk’s preaching. I pulled my hand from my chin and slowly started clapping.
“Tell that shit to someone that will listen and believe you, dude. Jesus. You know me, and I ain’t trying to get preached to. This ain’t the first bitch I fucked, and it damn sure ain’t gonna be the last,” I stopped clapping and rubbed my hands on my shorts as I shook my head lightly.
I really wasn’t in the mood to argue about a woman’s ability to get fucked and enjoy it. Sometimes Dekk could be exhausting with his attempts to be mister nice guy. I was as nice as he was, all things considered. I just had more fun being nice. It didn’t make me inconsiderate or mean, it just made me different. As I exhaled a shallow breath and looked at my empty beer bottle, I noticed a person’s head glide by the top of the table beside us.
“Oh . Good God damn. What the fuckin’ fuck,” I stood up in my chair and looked over Dekk toward the aisle which led foot traffic to and from the bar.
A guy in a wheel chair slowly rolled his way into the bar and stopped at a table twenty feet from where we were sitting.
“Oh fuck dude we gotta go,” I said, half frantic.
“What happened,” Dekk said as he looked over his shoulders.
I reached for my wallet and started pulling bills out.
“Dude. A fuckin’ cripple. In a God damned wheelchair, c’mon. What’d you have? Sandwich? Ten, my chicken and two beers, twenty, three, three, twenty-six. Fuck it, I’ll leave forty and include the tip,” I tossed two twenty dollar bills on the table and put my empty beer bottle on top of them.
Slowly, Dekk turned to look around the bar as he stood.
“C’mon, motherfucker. You know I can’t stay, this is freaking me out,” I started pushing my way through the empty chairs and tables, quickly making my own path toward the exit and into the parking lot.
For as long as I can remember, people who are crippled have always freaked me out. I felt pretty bad most of the time about how I felt, but it wasn’t a decision I consciously made. No matter how hard I have tried to force myself to accept it, them, and the fact they existed, I couldn’t accept it as a part of my responsibility to accept being in their presence. When I see them, try as I might, they kind of scare me. I’ve never been afraid of another human being, and hell, I’ll fight anyone. Place me in the same room as a person in a wheel chair, however, and I’ll stand there and just shake. Give me enough time, and I’d be crying like a baby.
Crippled people.
And fucking midgets.
And God damned clowns.
Crippled people and midgets I feel terrible about. I can’t help it, but I feel the way I feel. To me, they’re like spiders or snakes are to other people. I actually fear them. A clown? They’re just fucking stupid. When I see a guy in a clown suit, I
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