**Rated R for Adult Content**
Nice Guys Finish Last
"Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes, of course," I stammer with fake diffidence into my coffee mug. Chicks like her never keep secrets for long.
She leans over the table without even bothering to look around at who may be listening. "What I want more than anything is to fuck to death. I fantasize about violence." She finishes neatly, taking a drag on her cigarette. "You know," she exhales. "Carnal carnage."
Upset? No. I'm not even surprised. "Is that so?"
"Mmhmm," she replies. "Scared?"
Not yet. But what do you say to a girl like Jodi, who fucks for sport and thinks the only good night is one spent freebasing? I say the only thing that keeps her interested.
"Wanna score a line?" Her face lights up when I drop a twenty on the table and grab her hand. She exits the booth and I twirl her around twice into a dip I saw once in a Gene Kelly flick. She squeals with joy. I pinch her ass and we leave together in my car. Women are so fucking predictable.
Let me rewind. This is not me. This is some caricature of me, this man with the James Dean leather jacket, three days of stubble, and the who-gives-a-fuck attitude. It started last March. I got totally worked over by this girl--I mean worked over bad. She dumps me two weeks after I propose, right? Bitch took my fucking ring and skipped out in the middle of the night like some runaway from a bad after-school special.
So there I was, all bent-up and miserable, crying into my whiskey at Gerry's. I'd been there for days. He crams his cig into the ashtray and spits at me, "Man, how fuckin' long you gonna piss and moan? When're you gonna figure out bitches are bitches and they're nothin' to get worked up over? Jesus, look at you. What the fuck's your problem?"
He was right, but at the time I felt like he'd poured salt over the gaping wound that was my heart. I don't remember answering.
"Listen. Women are easy to handle. All's you gotta do is be an asshole." I do remember sputtering melancholy grunts of laughter at that. "You sick of getting dicked over? You should be the dick. Hell, you know more about 'em than the broads you run with. Look. It's simple. You just live a step ahead of her. Whatever bitch you get involved with, just make sure she never knows you're impressed."
A few days later I stammered out of my misery-induced haze to find out Gerry was right. The bigger the jerk I was, the more they responded. At a bar, I offered a woman a drink and then told her in great detail how I'd like to fuck her brains out. I thought I'd get slapped, like you see in the movies? She was on me like white on rice. Unfuckingbelievable, but true nonetheless. I was shocked.
I've been running this routine since then. I meet a girl, I tell her every dirty thought I have and act like that's just the tip of the iceberg. Works like a charm. If I want to keep 'em around for more than a day or two, all's I gotta do is pretend like nothing they say interests me in the least. They're like trained seals; all they wanna do is get a reaction from an audience. Of course, it didn't take me long to realize I was always scoring the same kind of girl, the kind who like to think they live dangerously but who maybe wear cotton panties or keep pictures of Mom and Dad in their studio apartments.
That brings us back to tonight, when I met Jodi. At a party on the east side, it's easy to separate the fakes from the real deals. I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into her. A breath of fresh air, if you can say that about a chain smoker. So here we are, speeding over to Gerry's for illegal drugs and maybe a bed. Six months ago at this hour I was crying into a bathrobe and watching late night TV with a bowl of cheerios. Now I'm dragging some half-dressed slut to his house for coke and ass.
The convertible rolls to a stop at a light next to a car full of middle-aged businessmen. Jodi is up in an instant, dancing like she's got a pole to work with, writhing and wriggling up from her seat the way a charmed snake would. Her hands trace over her curves and I stare ahead, pretending not to care that these pricks next to us get to see her tits before I do. The light turns green and I gun it, knocking her back into her seat. She grins.
"Horny fucks. They wouldn't know what to do with me if they had me naked on their laps."
"I think they could figure it out." I check my reflection in the mirror. A year ago I would've lolled my tongue and nodded at anything she had to say. Jesus, what a difference.
"Oh yeah? Think you could figure it out?" She's teasing me now, her tongue rimming my ear, her hand creeping up my thigh. I've already got you figured out, Jodi. Had you figured since the minute we met. Instead I smirk and lean back in my seat.
"No problem, baby." I hope it sounds flippant instead of squeaky. I'm already hard and it's a struggle to keep my eyes on the road. My heart's pounding. Don't let her notice how nervous I am.
She is on me in a flash, fingers nimbly working the zipper of my jeans as we merge onto the interstate. She shoves my pants and boxers downward, letting the fabric bunch around my knees while she slides over the seat in one fluid movement. I manage to bring down one hand from the steering wheel, bury it in her curly brown hair. She moans.
My moan chases hers and we're going 75 down the highway to Gerry's. Her lips wrap around the head of my cock not a second before she plunges fully on to me. I arch my back, let my foot press against the accelerator. This makes her moan again, vibrations permeating every inch of me. Her tongue twirls around me in circles, my hips rising to meet the pressure her mouth provides. This is what I was put on Earth to do: fuck Jodi's mouth while the wind whips through my hair.
"Mmmmf--" The sound gets cut off as I notice the speedometer. 85. 90. The car is racing ahead in overdrive as Jodi does the same on my shaft. My foot feels like lead and I can barely see the cars we're zooming past, let alone think enough to drive. My heart pounds faster in terror and excitement.
"What the fuck? Jodi, stop it!" She grins up at me, precum staining her lips, her arms holding my legs down, one against the gas pedal. "Seriously, that's not fucking funny!" 95. 100.
"Am I scaaaring you?" she taunts, still pinning me to the seat. She is unbelievably strong and I'm still hard and I can't separate those two things in my mind. 105. A road sign warns of something ahead, a chaos of curves I can barely make out as we blur past. That grin, interrupted as she takes me into her mouth again. That grip, holding me against the accelerator as the engine revs in complaint. I'm going to die.
At the last second, I manage to break free of her grip and slam on the brake as the car approaches the first curve. We skid, her mouth still firmly planted on my cock. We spin, her lips milking me with matching intensity. We careen to a stop in an old cornfield just as I release inside her, adrenaline pumping through every tense muscle.
Jodi pops up nonchalantly, dragging the back of her hand over her mouth to erase the excess from her lips and cheek. She leans back in the seat, lights a cigarette, and laughs bitterly into the night air.
"Scared now?" I gulp and try to work my clothing back up to my waist.
"Jesus! You could've killed us both!" I still can't believe it even happened.
"Men are so predictable," she sighs, shaking her head. "So fucking predictable. Look, no offense, but why don't you go back to being a nice guy? The asshole routine isn't exactly working out for you."
As we pull back onto the road, curving east instead of west to Gerry's, I nod. That's exactly what I'm going to do.