Incoming VIP


My steak had just gotten served. Twelve dollars of franchise food, but I was starving. Transcribing all day. I ran on smokes and Coke. All she ordered was a side of fries.

I had my eyes on the hockey updates when she said something. “…you should of seen them.”

With a mouth full of garlic bread I asked, “Who said that?”


“Oh, the girls thing,”

She nodded. She and her friends had went out earlier in the day. Girls talk. A lot.

I smiled. The night before we hung at Jan’s house watching TV for a bit. I was dead tired. My body still recovering from the 5 day shoot. We sat on the couch. She laid into me or I’d put my head in her lap for a few.

I had become the talk of a group of girls I despised back in high school. A gaggle of yappy, unattractive chicks are now a gaggle of yappy, unattractive mothers that wonder about me. How things change.

She was exhausted. The benefits of being the man of the house. She went on a bit about him, the man child, but I directed the conversation away and focused it on my last gig. Talking about the guys who trained military and police dogs.

We check out a Halloween shop after dinner. As we walk around, I grab a plastic pitchfork and stab her in the ass. She runs. I chase for a bit. She laughs.

We part ways so I can finish up a transcript.

We meet back up at Jan’s house and have a Guitar Hero party. I help find the KoRn song on World Tour. We pass around the guitar. Jan’s husband asks if I want to smoke some pot, but the few hits I had the night before got me dizzy when I closed my eyes. Not tonight. I have other things in mind.

After the party’s over, I pull The First into me and we make out. She says we should go to a Tim Hortons. Sure. We get our coffee and I get some food. I was starving still. We pull to the far end of the parking lot and I get in her car. Within minutes, she’s on my lap in the passenger seat and we’re making out. Its like high school again, except I know what I’m doing.

A good twenty minutes pass. She’s burning to fuck. She wants to go to a more secluded spot, but doesn’t want to get lost. I whisper my phone has navigation.


We pull into the park and she gets in my car, mentioning this is where Canadian serial rapist and killer Paul Bernardo dumped one of his bodies. Nice, but I move in and we get back at it. Clothes come off, Klaypex’s dubstep remix of Katy Perry’s E.T. bursts over the speakers and I’m inside. The song is perfect for rhythm.

I thought I was going to burst quickly, but we went on for another twenty or thirty minutes. She makes noises she never made when we were together before. She’s learned too. She moans, cuts herself off and sounds like she’s choking back the sounds. Its hot.

I finally finish. Sweating. As I get out of the car, I say “Oh, hi, officer,” She laughs.

We smoke, make out some more and part ways. As we head home on the QEW, she gives me a wave, I give her a kiss in the air then speed past, Incoming VIP blaring through my speakers.



Bonus Track: Klaypex – E.T. (Katy Perry)

Role Reversal

She was my first girlfriend. A year younger. Infatuated with me. I kept her at arms length for a long time. This was before my first time. This was before my first kiss. I had internet girls. I stayed inside. She was the wild one and I was the hapless nerd.

Then I got kissed.

Within a week I called her up, asked her out, just so I could keep up the insane energy and confidence I got from my first make out. It worked, and it didn’t. I was getting action regularly, but my teenage emotions were running me over like a rich wife over her husband. My nerves were always shot. Infamously, she had to pin my hand to her tits when we were watching a movie I was so nerve shot. Over the course of a year, the First and I broke up 9 times and had a total of 6 bouts of sex.

It was pretty bad.

Fast forward from 2002 to 2011.

She’s a mom to two boys from two different guys, both unambitious and lazy. In June, I visit Niagara Falls from Riverside. Two days before I leave, we hang. I make moves, but she resists. She wants the comfort without the sexuality. I push, but it goes nowhere. My game, while past beginner, still needs work.

We hang when I move here and she’s much more receptive. By the second date she’s latched on. I go work in Ohio, come back and she’s fighting the angel on her shoulder as we make out in a park, mentioning she’s never fucked in a car before. Saturday, we’re at her friends house, which she has a key for, and again its hot. Shirts come off. Time flies by. We’re on the couch, the floor, standing. She’s caught between the guy she’s going to leave and the unleashed energy she has deep inside. Her hindbrain wants to ride me, her frontal can’t reason it.

I’m like a rock, coaxing her past the issues, even while she lays topless on top of me. Between short circuits of yes, no, yes, that savage lust she had as a teen returns. I fight her as she grabs my neck and I pin her down, teasing her about how she likes it. She hasn’t seen this in me. She squirms and smiles. Since I’ve been back we haven’t had sex, but we will.

It takes time for some girls, especially if they’ve wound themselves up tightly like the First has. I offer myself as the drug to her problems. Not the next guy, not the new dad, but the heroin she can take and explode in happiness. I don’t hold back in what I want, but I don’t push too hard. Its as much fun bringing her to her kneels psychologically as it is physically.

Its coming into its own now. Naturally.

The First

I walked out of my parent’s house and saw her standing there, cute, smiling. She gave me a big hug, missing hug, loving hug. We walked to the end of the driveway, lighting up a smoke. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. We hadn’t gone on something like this in seven. Back then, she was the wild one. Pot, drinking, barely sober, but a lot of fun. I was straight laced. The square. That guy. She loved me though. A decade’s worth of feelings. She had two kids now. A history. A guy she hated. Complications.

My life has stabilized. The Zen, as I call it. The way of keeping it sane. It came across during the night. I was cocky, sexual, aggressive. I made my moves. I pushed. But, as if all my challenges are to come before it gets easy, she resisted. I always loved her eyes. They said so much. I kept my eyes on her all night. We talked a lot. Her about her guy. She asked about my divorce. We talked about love and sex and work and life.

We were in a bar that used to be a strip club, sitting on a couch, the only customers there. My arm around her, she leaning into me. This wasn’t The Dangler. This wasn’t Maria. This wasn’t Seasons. This was my first girlfriend. My first. Those feelings are there. As we were leaving, I pulled her in, using my go-to line, “Come here,”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“I would feel guilty.”

“You said you don’t even consider yourself together with him.”

“Its the kids. I’d look at them and feel guilty. They go through a lot.”

“I understand.”

We had a smoke on the patio afterward. The tension was thick and electric. It was awkward. Her eyes said it all.

Pizza. A walk down to the tourist area. Clifton Hill. We went on the Niagara SkyWheel. She said one of her guys had said there was a stipulation. They had to finish before the ride was over. I laughed, “Its only a condition with me, though eight minutes is too short.”

She leaned into me, showing her neck as we watched the Falls and the city from three hundred feet up. I kissed her cheek and her hair and her neck. I could smell the scents from a decade ago. I would push through it, but I cared.

We drank some more. A bar on the hill. A bar near my parent’s place. I touched her hair, her back. Kino for the win. Before we got in the car, I moved in, straight on, she turned her head. “I just wanted a peck,”

“Sure,” she said.

Soon after I got home, she was on Facebook. We talked. I told her what she missed. The fun. The lack of misery. A moment to remember when things go to shit. She knew. I told her when things get uncomplicated, I’ll have her. She knew.

I laid alone in my old bed. Neutral. Quiet. It was a good night.