D.B.Metallo

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Thanks for stopping by.

Nothing profound yet. Wait! Here we go:

A Few Girls Sitting Around Talking

It was approaching nine o'clock on a rather temperate night, and the sun had just recently went down, darkening a spectacular sunset. I was on my way to see a few friends of mine that I become acquainted with in my time at the university. The door to their apartment was open when I arrived, so I quietly eased through the door, then slipped into the open kitchen, remaining out of sight as I listened to the conversation that I came in on. I silently grabbed a spare imported beer from the refrigerator. I mean, I helped pay for them, in a certain abstract sort of way.

"You know, I think that Mark McGuire blows. Eats the big one. Big fucking neckless steroid-boosted cheater!! I'll bet he's dumber than a bag of hammers. That fucking ball was juiced anyway. Add that to the watered-down pitching that expansion has brought, and hell, *I* could probably hit fifty dingers," a voice that I recognized as Mary Beth's vehemently expressed to the room. "And he probably has a pencil dick too, if you ask me. And could you turn that fucking music down? U2 has got to be one of the most over-commercialized rock bands in world-fucking-history -- who in the fuck put that shit on, anyway? Bono is such a prick. What's next? U-fucking-2 action figures?!" She paused, then added, "Well, at least they aren't fucking shills for Dodge, I guess, like those aging assholes Aerosmith. I think Steven Tyler blows. Literally. He has that certain look to one that walks 'both sides of the road', if you get my drift. It's those lips of his."

Mary Beth tended to be quite opinionated at times. This was one of those times. You would never know it to look at her. She had a certain "librarian" look to her, with her shoulder-length auburn hair pulled back into a bun, tortoise-shell glasses, and a studious-looking face that she only applied a modicum of makeup to. She was a slender woman, with flaring hips, petite breasts, and a righteous ass. Mary Beth was majoring in biology, in the pre-med program, with a goal of becoming a neurologist. Very intelligent. She was one of many at the university that I sort of lusted after. Then again, there weren't many that I *didn't* sort of lust after. "Sort of", meaning to look at and imagine, but never approach. I was one to almost never make the first move. It's worked so far.

"Like, have any of you ever been to any those so-called "erotic" stories sites on the 'Net?" a woman who sounded a whole lot like Alexis asked the room. "You know, that "erotikstoriez" site and that "Littlerotica" or whatever the hell it's called. Those fucking sites are so motherfucking misogynous, it would be funny if it weren't so fucking sad. I mean, how many of *you* had ever come across an eleven-inch cock?" she looked to see the ladies in the room shaking their heads. "And they use the word 'tits' too much. Man, that's fucking demeaning. Makes me think of a fucking cow. 'Tits', my superlative ass. And what's funny is that while these so-called 'writers' are so hungry for readers for their little cum-filled prevarications, they don't fucking realize that they're being exploited by the people who run those sites. Although, I must point out, I have seen examples of top-notch writing there."

I peeked in to see her pause to note that the people in the room were taking account of her lithe frame, attractive face, and blonde hair hanging nearly to her slim waist. She stood about 5'4". And she wasn't kidding about her superlative ass, either. Alexis had a mind of her own as well, and was inclined to be quite assertive. 'Alex', as she was known to her friends, was an English major, and wrote short stories and poetry as well. It was rumored that she had been published in one of those small literary magazines.

"Don't you think Randy Johnson is an ugly bastard? Tall, scraggly, and ugly. I was glad to see the Series over with, just so I wouldn't have to look at his angry scowl again. Don't get me wrong; I was glad to see the Diamondbacks win it, for nothing else than to loosen the stranglehold the Yankees had on the World Series," the woman who sounded like Lauren said. "Fucking Yankees, buying the pennant every year. Sure, they've had some good teams, but it's no wonder, with that dickhead Steinbrenner opening up his pocketbook every time a good free-agent comes on the market. And who wouldn't want to play in New York, with the tradition, the money, and the press they get?"

Lauren was a ravishing beauty, with jet-black hair that fell to the middle of her back in little ringlets, and a captivating face that stopped people of both sexes in their tracks. She was about 5'7", with medium-sized breasts, and a fine ass. She had a face that reminded one of Calista Flockhart, although in a positive sort of a way. She had a very self-confident air about her, in both the manner that she communicated with people and the way she carried herself in general. In short, she was no one to fuck with. She was majoring in political science. I guess she didn't want a job after she left the university.

"Umm, ladies? Do I sense a modicum of hostility here?" I asked with a wry smile on my face as I entered the living room.

"DC!! Good to see you! What the fuck are you doing here?!" Lauren asked me with a look of uncertainty on her attractive face. The other girls looked on with expressions of interest.

"Good to see you too, Lauren. You know, I can't explain it. I was coming back from the library, heading home to grab something to eat, and suddenly, a voice from above whispered to me -- 'Pssst, go to Mary Beth and Lauren's place. I believe they want to get loaded.' In this *really* eerie voice, too. Frightened the bejeezus out of me. And you know me -- I'd never want to stray from the wishes of a voice from above," I deadpanned, then grinned broadly, drawing giggles from Mary Beth and Alexis. Lauren looked on with a hint of suspicion in her sparkling green eyes.

I was referred to as "DC" because my name was Dante' Carlos, and I imagine "DC" was a bit easier than "Dante' Carlos" to pronounce. I guess. Either that or I reminded them of the nation's capital. In any event, it sounded cool. Just then, there was a loud knock on the door.

"Expecting the police?" I asked, grinning as Alexis went to answer it.

"Brad! Come on in for a sec. I just have to brush my hair and put on a touch of lipstick, and I'll be ready. Mary Beth, Lauren, and DC will keep you company," Alexis told him than strutted to her room.

"Hey Brad. How's it hanging?" I asked, trying to hide my obvious distaste for the guy. He was one of those frat-boy weasels who drove a late-model red Corvette, barely scraping by on a $3000 monthly stipend from his well-to-do parents. I think his father was a vice-president for a major real estate company in New York.

"I'm doing ok, I guess. I'm almost finished summer school, so I'll be eligible for the team again this year," Brad replied, with a tone of self-satisfaction in his voice.

Sure, he was a quarterback on the football team, but he was the third-string quarterback, which meant he almost never played, except in blow-outs, either way, in the 4th quarter. I don't know what Alexis saw in the weasel. It definitely wasn't his dick; I'd seen him in the locker room before. I was betting it was his money.

"Brad, what did you have to make up in summer school?" Mary Beth inquired politely.

"Oh. English 101. Second time. I think I aced it this year. I'm pretty sure I nailed a D," Brad explained.

"Let's go, Brad. I'm ready," Alexis told him as Mary Beth, Lauren, and I were exchanging questioning glances. "Don't wait up," she said giggling as she walked out of the door with him.

"Intelligent man," I said sarcastically as Mary Beth and Lauren looked on.

"You noticed?" Mary Beth replied, equally laced with irony. "What a dick he is."

"C'mon, you two -- DC heard voices telling him to get us loaded, remember?" Lauren said, flashing a sardonic smile as she led us into the living room to the overstuffed couch. She sat on one end of the couch, and Mary Beth on the other, and I settled somewhat hesitantly between them. “Want another beer, DC?”

"You know me; I'd rather have a bottle in front o' me than a frontal lobotomy," I quipped and grinned, quoting something I had seen scrawled on a men’s room wall in a bar in downtown Baltimore years back.

"And he's never one to ignore those voices, if i recall correctly," Mary Beth chimed in, looking at me and smiling as Lauren brought me a beer.

"So, I never imagined that you two were so opinionated," I told them as I gathered my stash out of my pocket to begin rolling a joint. "So ladies, please, continue your bitching session. I'd hate to interrupt," I told them with a grin, and continued to break apart the dense sticky buds.

"Just how long were you there, DC?" Lauren asked me with a growing grin on her face. Mary Beth looked on with subdued interest.

"Long enough to hear about Mark McGuire, 'U-fucking-2', 'those aging assholes Aerosmith', 'cum-filled prevarications', and the fucking Yankees and the stranglehold they have on the Series," I told them smiling broadly, taking great delight in the startled looks upon their faces.

"DC!" they squealed in unison. "Where were you?" Lauren demanded.

"I was in the kitchen, drinking a beer. You girls seemed to be on a roll, and I thought it would be rude to interrupt."

"Did you hear the part where Lauren and I were telling Alex about how we'd both like to fuck you 'til your eyes bulged?" Mary Beth asked me with a devious look on her face.

"Oh yeah? No, in fact, I must not have been here yet -- would you like to tell me all about it? In detail, if it isn't too much trouble," I asked with a growing grin upon my face.

"Didn't hear it? Good. Because we never said it. You never know though... maybe if you get us *really* high," Lauren said, and attempted to suppress a smile.

"One can always hope, can't one?" I asked them with a smile, pausing to look into both Lauren and Mary Beth's faces. "Who'd like to fire this thing up?" I asked them as I held out the bone that I had just completed rolling. A damn fine joint, if I say so myself, and I just did.

Mary Beth reached for the joint, and I quickly struck a match and lit it for her.

"Tastes like some righteous smoke, DC. We appreciate the buzz, you know," Mary Beth said as she passed the bone to Lauren.

"No problem; you'd do the same for me, am I right? Picking up where you girls left off: you wanna know what I think blows?" I paused to see both girls nodding their heads, and Lauren handed the joint to me. "That fucking Miss Cleo... she bugs the shit out of me. Psychic, my ass. She isn't from Jamaica or wherever the fuck she's supposed to be from. She's most likely from New Jersey or some place like that," I told them, taking a long draw of the smoke and passing it to Mary Beth.

"Plus she’s fucking ugly; seems like they could have gotten a more attractive woman to do those ever-present spots,” Mary Beth said, looking into both mine and Lauren’s faces for affirmation. She took a hit from the joint and passed it to Lauren.

We continued to smoke the joint as we bullshitted, and by the time we were through, we were very comfortably “in the zone”. We were all giggling with regularity.

"What about those fucking jerks who get behind the reporter on a news show and wave and make stupid faces and all that bullshit? Don't they realize what colossal asses they're making of themselves?" Lauren asserted.

"They don't care, Lauren. Remember, we're going on the assumption that most people are stupid. And most people are, in my opinion -- but don’t quote me on that -- it wouldn’t be good if that ever got out,” I said.

“What’s the worst pick-up line you’ve ever heard, Mary Beth?” Lauren asked. It left me curious as to what the answer would be.

“This one joker came up to me as I was walking across campus, about a month ago I think, and asked me, ‘If your left leg was Thanksgiving and your right leg was Christmas, would it okay if I visited you between the holidays?’, chuckling all the while,” the auburn-haired beauty told Lauren. “He wasn’t bad looking either.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked her chortling, starting to get higher by the minute.

“First, I gave him one of my patented ‘come hither’ looks as he looked on appreciatively. Then I looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘sorry, I don't date outside my species’. He looked rather crushed,” Mary Beth related, then started giggling. Lauren and I did as well.

“How ‘bout you, DC? What’s the worst line you’ve ever used?” Lauren asked me.

“I’ll have you know that yours truly does not have cause to use pick-up lines,” I told her smiling. I looked to see Lauren silently mouthing the words ‘yeah right!’. “But if I were to use one, it would probably be ‘can I buy you a drink, or would you like to skip the preliminaries and just blow me in the parking lot?’” I told them with broad grin on my face. I looked to see amused looks on their faces.

“Always cracking wise, aren't you?" Mary Beth asked with an appreciable smile on her face.

"Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck," I said to her grinning.

“If you ever said that to me, DC, I’d kick your ass... or something,” Lauren told me with a pretty smile on her face.

“Oh yeah? I’d bet I could take both of your rather shapely asses -- well, provided I had a big stick, that is,” I joked. I looked to see them grinning.

“You know what I think is strange? That a whole boatload of guys have this rather absurd tendency to name their penises. It’s not like I call my vagina ‘The Royal Orifice’ or ‘Heather’ or some shit like that,” Mary Beth announced. She then looked directly at me and asked, “What do you call yours, DC?”

Lauren looked on with a wry smile.

“Honestly?” I asked them, then went on. “Okay, on Sunday, I call it ‘God’, because as everyone knows, you don’t mess with God. On Monday, I call it ‘Rebecca’. I’m usually filled with irony on Mondays. On Tuesdays....” I began to say when Lauren cut me off.

“Cut the shit, DC!” she said, rolling her eyes then smiling. “That ‘Rebecca’ thing was kinda cute though. What do you call it?”

“Okay, okay... I think I chose the logical ‘nom de penis’. I call mine ‘Richard’. Or I guess I should say that I called it ‘Richard’ in the past. I don’t do it in these times of my obvious maturity,” I told both of them, trying to suppress a grin but failing.

“Why ‘Richard’? I must ask,” Mary Beth offered.

“Easy. Richard. Dick. Get it? They didn’t call him ‘Cock’ Nixon.”

“Hey! Pretty good, DC. At least you didn’t call it ‘Cockimus Maximus’ or some tripe like that,” Lauren said with a grin.

“How did you know?! That’s what I called ‘Richard’ in my egocentric teen years,” I joked, and looked to both Lauren and Mary Beth giggling.