It really has nothing to do with now but it was fun as shit to write

***some of you may realize that this somewhat fictionalized story does not take place at the Powers Apartments (pictured left) but rather at the bucolic Billmeyer Apartments (and some McApartment in South Fargo) located across the street in sedate downtown Fargo, ND. Please forgive me. Surprisingly I could locate no pictures of the Billmeyer Apts. Maybe it burned down with my memories because unlike the Powers it was not a fireproof hotel.***

With the buzzer ringing over and over all I could do was writhe around and emit a few pathetic moans. The door could have been a billion miles away for all I could comprehend. The one piercing memory of this blackening night was the vicious disapproval plastered all over her face and the menace of her tensed hands squeezing those beloved hips. She was a vision of steaming hatred staring at my limp drunken self through the kitchen window. Should’ve given her a key, I guess. I vaguely reached out towards the door like someone blind and caneless swiping at a dodging adversary. This was not going to turn out well I remembered stammering and spitting into the carpet. As it turned out this was the beginning of the end. But I moved in with her anyway.

The streets were mirages and the August heat pounded off the blacktop, a perfect day for moving. My parents had graciously donated various sundries from their house. I had assumed at the time it was a supreme haul of most treasured booty but it was probably all shit my mother didn’t want anymore. Regardless, a few castoff Oriental rugs and Malaysian wicker animals made me seem quite the fashionista and one surely capable of settling down to donate some sperm for babies. Yeah, she was amazingly impressed. She even gave me some stupid card with a Dalmatian on it thanking me for not filling the place with blacklight posters and furniture made from Busch Light Draft longneck cases (the Dalmatian card was an ode to the dog I didn’t have but wanted, more of a pat on the head saying, NO FUCKING WAY). Everything was off to a great start, I think I even got a pile of groceries the first day. For the first few weeks it was all naked prancing through the apartment. In retrospect it was most likely way too hot to wear any clothes anyway. We lived high up this triple-stacked Brownstone. Apparently this stately building was a haven of past ill repute and the ghosts of heroin addicts and lonely prostitutes scampered around the labyrinth basement. They never bothered us though because even ghosts weren’t stupid enough to climb the six thousand stairs up to our fledgling nest. Or maybe the ghosts had a pact with the forever bathrobed eccentric creature who lived directly below us not to pass the second floor. She certainly predated anyone who actually died or lived here. She was born of the brick and the mortar that we had always assumed was our rather mundane foundation. This endearing woman would always slide her body out her door and ramble such sweet nonsense to anyone who walked by. She was even there the night my fidelity crumbled away with that amazingly seductive Cuban goddess. As we danced, flirted and soaked ourselves in that steamy nighttime rain shower, that lovely old woman was crafting nicknames for us while watching us like Room With a View. Fred Astaire and Grace Kelly would frantically tear off each other’s clothes on their way to defiling my relationship bed. I thought I was getting even but I was merely beating the girlfriend to the punch. A shallow victory was hers but she never got much of a chance to exploit it. But that is jumping ahead a little bit.

I must have been crazy but on the way home from work I couldn’t stop myself from hitting up the bar. It was smack dab in the way between work and my increasingly naked girlfriend (on the off-night she wasn't shaking her ass at the lame meatmarket club I vigorously avoided). On more than one occasion I could look from across the street at my budding exhibitionist girlfriend strutting her admittedly gorgeous figure around the apartment. This show was definitely not intended for her chronically late boyfriend all reeking of the telltale grease from the bar but nonetheless I pretended it was. At the twisting of my key in the door she would quickly hang up the telephone and think herself clever for uncovering the mystery of why I arrived home two hours after my shift. Like any other rational guy who knew his girlfriend was way more attractive than he deserved, I feverishly ran awful scenarios of explicit phone sex through my buzzed-up head. All these Latino and black men she hung around with would be sitting on speakerphone plotting how they could dispose of me while masturbating to my girlfriend tell them of her unsatisfied sex life at home. While I worried about my prowess, her frequent cheating and the laughs they were having behind my back my girlfriend would finish her grand inquisitions of my whereabouts, somehow manipulate me to pleasuring her fully and yet again neglect to give me a blowjob. It was a good thing I only worked four nights a week. But there was still the upcoming wedding. Our polarity would finally and dramatically intensify, electrify and completely implode in on itself.

I was half-surprised that I was invited to this wedding and for sure my girlfriend was no desired entity at this blessed event. My ex-roommate and for all intense and purpose ex-friend was marrying a sudden and explosive ex-crush of mine who fled my silly life partly because of my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. Heartsick of the horrible games my girlfriend would play at my expense, I withered and heaved into a state of pallid indifference. Fortunately at this time the friend circle was massive and escape (at least momentarily or drunkenly) was always an easy option.

More To Come…stolen credit cards, betrayal, longing, a crushing eavesdrop, darkened room drunken yelling, threatening late night phone calls, broken collarbones, more sex, a classic job resignation, angry abusive gay hotel managers and finally exit, then more hate-fucking...it's all here and true (sort of).