The story I told you about my evening with Jane on Sweetest Day was very tongue in cheek, as always intending to bring my readers to laughter, but as is the case with many writers, I like to think that my writing has evolved. This particular story might not always keep milk spurting from your nose but I hope in some small way it can guide if not learn you some hard truths about helping others. Even though I will endeavor to be as descriptive as always, which in itself will shed some humor on this tale, just know that I do not judge Jane in any way and if what you read seems judgmental it’s only because I care…and probably because I’m an asshole.That having been said, my rock bottom came when I received a DUI a few years ago that scared the living shit out of me and brought such misery into my life that I never thought the embarrassment that came with it would end. Because of that fateful night when I was pulled over for going 47 in a 40 and blew a .081, the next two years were a living nightmare.
Some of you may question whether I was an alcoholic at all, but believe me I spent most of my twenties drunk. When my mother passed away and left me nearly 70 thousand dollars I spent the next two years blowing through ALL of that money on booze. Alcohol made me drop out of college, because of it I lost my job of 10 years, and it made me alienate my REAL friends for hangers on and addicts that were bigger assholes than I was. I made some shit decisions because I had the same addiction my mother had while I was growing up, but that ONE DUI was enough. I didn’t go to AA, I didn’t need counseling, and I didn’t need another DUI. One was all it took and I quit drinking and driving which in turn curbed my drinking habits about 90 percent. Personally I don’t understand people who have MULTIPLE D.U.I.’s because that shit is a mother fucker.
My mother eventually learned her lesson as well. I’m not sure what her rock bottom was, but in the 90’s she started to go to AA meetings. She became so enamored of the program that she began going to night school while working as a guard at Cook County Jail and eventually got her bachelor’s degree in drug and alcohol counseling. When she passed in 2005 there were hundreds of people at her funeral that I’d never met, who all had tales to share about how she saved their lives. It’s times like this, and a tale like the one I’m about to tell you, when I really wish my mother were here to help me…because I’m not as strong OR as knowledgeable as she was when it comes to helping others.
At the end of ‘How I Came to Have My Joint Copped by a Stripper on Sweetest Day’ I told you that Jane and I had made plans to see each other again for several nights after our first date, but that she blew me off; each time with a different excuse. I figured that she just didn’t really dig me so I thought nothing of it. However, now that I’ve had the opportunity to spend a bit of time with her, I understand the impetus behind this blow off a little better.
Jane moved back to Pittsburgh later in the week after we met and when I wrote that story I thought that would be the end of it. However, after she left Chicago, we stayed in touch. Over the past year we’ve talked on the phone, texted each other, and IM’d on face book. She moved to Florida soon after Pittsburgh and then went on to Tennessee to stay with her brother, living in a shack in the woods. There was much I didn’t know about Jane, and to be honest with you because I never thought I’d see her again, I didn’t really feel like it was my place to ask. Why does someone move around so much? Why does someone live basically in a tent in the woods at 30? Why doesn’t someone with such intelligence and personable presence settle down? Get a job? Write a book? In my mind Jane was the ultimate catch, yet she couldn’t seem to settle in one place and although she had a few boyfriends, why wasn’t this woman married to a great guy?
In my experience all the good ones are taken. I mean every time I’ve met a woman that I think is a perfect catch, some other guy has already swooped her up, usually in her early to mid twenties. Perfect women just aren’t single at 30. And to me? Jane was about as perfect as it gets. She’s funny, but not only that she’s witty. I’ve never heard her say something stupid and she always seemed upbeat and full of spirit. Not only that but she has a deep intelligence, which if you’ve read some of my dating stories is a hard commodity for me to find in a woman. Jane’s the kind of woman that I’ve always wanted to be with, but of course in my world of missed opportunity and inconvenient luck…she moved away.
However, last month she moved back to Pittsburgh with her mother. This is home base for her and as we chatted online one night she told me how miserable she was staying back at home; so I told her to come back to Chicago and stay with me. Not in a sexual way, although to be honest I kind of hoped it could turn into a relationship, but so she could get back on her feet. She’s always wanted to be a writer and she was open to the idea of staying with me because it might offer her the opportunity to do what she’s always wanted to do. After all, my place may be boring but it offers the luxury of quiet.
Look, I know a lot of you are saying that making this offer was dumber than Michael Keaton giving up the Batman franchise because he didn’t want to be typecast and I know a lot of you are NOW saying ‘Who’s Michael Keaton?’, my point exactly. After all, even though we’ve talked over the past year I barely know this woman. But in my defense, I’m not getting any younger and this is a woman that I know I can spend time with. I’m not in love, but I could easily fall in love with Jane. Not just because of her looks, although that’s there in spades, but she has a personality that I find very attractive. I can have profound conversations with her and she can easily tell when I’m embarrassed or exhibiting a character flaw of which she has no problem pointing out. And in my mind one of the most important characteristics of love is the ability to not only see through your partner’s bullshit, but for them to see through yours as well. Also, her carefree attitude, desire to better herself, and intelligence are traits that put her in a league of woman that I rarely meet. So the offer stood for nearly a month.
Last Monday Jane told me that she was leaving with Sarah and would be in Chicago the next day. The anticipation I felt was palpable. Jane made innuendos about giving me the other half of the blowjob she didn’t finish, and much more. But it wasn’t just the sex that I was looking forward too. I wanted to show her another side of the city where she didn’t have to feel beholden to an addict. I wanted to take her to my favorite restaurants, maybe the zoo, maybe just spend some time chilling and watching a movie together. From the snippets of her life that she told me over the past year and the updates I read on her face book wall, it seemed to me that Jane always felt like she needed to impress, and I know that men will often take advantage of this desire of a woman to impress people, of a woman’s need to ingratiate herself upon others, to their own sexual ends. However, I saw this as an opportunity to be something MORE to Jane. Of course I wanted to fuck her brains out, but I wanted to really get to know her better as a person as well.
Much like the end of our first meeting, Jane blew me off for several days. Each day telling me she was on her way, and then not leaving. Again, I felt as though she was pulling my leg in telling me that she was looking forward to seeing me because she would say “Packed and leaving right now!” and then the next day she would have an update on her face book wall about doing something in Pittsburgh. Then she would tell me that it was Sarah who was dragging her feet and not her. After about a week of this I just put the thought of seeing her again out of my mind…and then she actually left.
The two ladies arrived in Chicago on Thursday last week and both Jane AND Sarah wanted to come see me. Jane doesn’t have a working cell phone, so I communicated with Sarah through text. These Dostoyevsky lengthed text messages were more rambling than Seth Rogan at a ‘High Times’ cover photo shoot and even more annoying. And while Sarah was begging me not to give Jane any alcohol when they came to my apartment, Jane was telling me on IM at the same time to have alcohol ready for her.
Sarah told me that Jane acts like an asshole when she drinks, and Jane told me that Sarah was being a hypocrite because SHE drinks, but since she’s trying to stay off drugs doesn’t want Jane to drink. Here we fucking go. They’re not even here yet and I’m already in the middle of something. I just wanna watch a movie and take a BJ.
Jane is a grown ass woman, and since the rambling text messages told me that Sarah was a basket case, I decided not to listen to her. I hid a bottle of 12 year old scotch under the sink in the bathroom and figured at some point in the evening Jane and I would share a shot and maybe a make out session. I should have listened to the basket case.
The bottle I put in the bathroom was a gift from Gordon. An expensive gift that he gave me for my birthday last year from his home town in Scotland. There was ¾’s a bottle left, and this shit is not only expensive, but smooth and delicious…or as smooth and delicious as Scotch can be.
So Thursday night they told me they were on their way…7 fucking times…and they never showed up. Friday night, they said they were on their way 3 times and then actually left their place at midnight. Even when they told me they were finally leaving I didn’t really believe them. I mean come on, that’s like 17 blow off’s in the course of a fucking year. Enough already. Well, they finally DID show up at around 2 AM.
Jane came in and we hugged each other for a long time as Sarah stood by and watched uncomfortably like John Candy at the end of Planes Trains and Automobiles. Jane was just as beautiful as I remembered and my heart beat fast as her body clung to mine. When I turned to give Sarah a hug I could see the drugs at play. Sarah was tall but couldn’t have weighed more than 95 pounds. Hugging her was like putting my arms around a bird skeleton and I feared that I’d break her and she’d slip through my arms into a mess of broken bones and skin on the floor.
Finally, with a fresh coat of caked on makeup, Sarah stumbled into my living room like Courtney Love and Jane excused herself to ‘freshen up’ her makeup as well. What is this? A fucking coke bar in 1986? While Jane was in my bathroom for another 30 minutes, I listened to Sarah once again as she battered me with nonsense, at one point ALSO whispering to me that she couldn’t trust Jane, that she stole from her when she moved out last year and again begging me not to give her alcohol. These two women seemed to be in a spiral of mistrust and close quarter agitation, but it wasn’t until later that I realized that it was a symbiotic relationship and as much as they hated each other, one couldn’t live without the other.
At around 4 AM, Jane told Sarah that she wanted to stay the night with me, or what was left of the night. Jane asked her for a few ‘benzo’s’ to tide her over until she came home, and Sarah rooted around her purse and put 4 small white pills in Jane’s palm. I’m so fucking stupid that I thought benzo’s were benzohystimenes which it turns out isn’t even a real fucking word and I thought that word which doesn’t exist was used for allergies. Sarah left, again begging me not to let Jane drink and asking me to bring her home early the next day so they could finish unpacking together. I agreed and as soon as the door closed, Jane gave me a long deep kiss and told me that she was SO glad that we were finally alone. We sat down and talked for about ten minutes when she asked me if I had anything to drink. Thinking that she forgot about the scotch I left in the bathroom, I went under the sink and pulled out the bottle…and it was fucking empty. It was nearly full and she had drank every drop of it. I brought out the empty bottle and said ‘what the fuck?’
“Got anything ELSE?” She asked. I was kinda pissed; you don’t drink an almost full bottle of 12 year old scotch in the span of 30 minutes alone in a fucking bathroom. It’s like taking a brand new Mercedes SLS off roading. Whatever, it was 430 am and I was tired as fuck, so I got her a beer and we went into my bedroom.
After I saw the amount of booze she had put away, I had no intention of fucking her. Call me crazy but I like for a woman to be somewhat…CONSIOUS when we fuck, that or I at least need to be as drunk as she is, but I was completely sober. Plus I was tired as fuck, it’s been a while since I stayed up that late and I still had to go into work by noon on Saturday. I put on some music in my bedroom and Jane asked me to light some candles. As we lay in my bed, she didn’t really SEEM drunk at all. It was really kind of amazing considering the amount she had consumed. I mean, I’m nearly twice her weight and just a couple shots of that stuff will put me down like a tranquilized elephant. As she talked, I began to drift off to that twilight state of sleep where you’re JUST on the cusp of it. When she saw this, she shook me awake again and pulled me close to kiss her. Jane has lips like no other and kissing those lips was like a thousand fingers running lightly up and down my body. My hard on was full and obvious as I was in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. A rock hard cock sword beats the shit out of a red bull any day and I found myself wide awake again. Jane took off her clothes and began rubbing my junk as we kissed.
At this point something happened. Jane began acting erratic like a dog jumping up and suddenly barking out the window. While kissing me and rubbing my tripod, she suddenly shot up naked from the bed and asked me to get her some water. My dick went soft again as the cold refrigerator air brushed against it, and when I came back in the room she was laying on her back. She pulled me down on top of her and began rubbing my dork through my underwear again, guiding it to brush against her pussy. Then, out of nowhere she exclaimed “OH MY GOD! I LOVE THIS SONG, REPLAY IT!” The mood lost again, and my dick softening like an old man’s neck, I got up and replayed the song. Then I lay down on MY back and said “Ok, you’re too drunk for this, let’s just get some sleep”. We both lay there silently on my bed and just as I started to drift off again, I felt her warm hands finding their way to my sack. “Jane…” I said kinda dissaprovingly, but kinda not; too which she replied “Shhhhhhhh…” and began kissing my neck. She climbed on top of me, and started dancing around like a stripper while grabbing her boobs and swinging her hair around. I asked her to please stop doing that and just kiss me. I don’t need the whole production. She brought her face close to mine and then out of nowhere started laughing hysterically. Ok, enough of this shit. My dick is up, it’s down, it’s up, it’s down; my dick felt like the elevator in a 100 story building where the only bathroom is on the top fucking floor. Quit playing mind games with my dick.
Then she lay back down on her back, went completely silent and said without looking at me and in a very serious tone “I want you to fuck me Michael”. I told her that that wasn’t going to happen. She was too wasted and we could fuck in the morning if she felt that strongly about it. Then she gave out a deep exhale, bordering on disgust and with a huff like she was doing a chore, leaned over and began blowing me. GOD did it feel good. After a few minutes, she lay back down on HER back and said, again like she was paying a bill “Ok, fuck me now”. What? I just laid there on my back feeling unmanly because I wasn’t going to fuck her, in all of her beauty, and at the same time feeling stoic in my choice. Sorry, but I just ain’t that guy. Then she started crying. Jesus, I just wanted to go to fucking sleep.
I leaned in to hold her and whispered that we’d fuck later when she wasn’t so drunk. I wanted our first time to be better than this. I told her that she could trust me and she’d understand better in the morning. She sobbed “You don’t like fat chicks…you don’t wanna fuck me because you think I’m fat”. Was I being guilted into fucking a drunk chick? I told her that she wasn’t fat at all, which was the fucking truth. In all honesty this was the hardest decision I’d ever been faced with because she had a PERFECT body. Not too skinny, but not fat at all. Her perfect round 36c breasts sat upright on her chest with tiny nipples that begged to be sucked. Just a touch of hair above her crotch that was not enough to be a mess, but JUST enough let you know this was a woman and not some 22 year old with the shaved twat of a pre teen. As I held her while she cried, she suddenly shouted at me to get the fuck off of her. This wasn’t the raised voice of an upset lover, but a bellowing shout of hatred…at 5AM. I immediately went back to my corner of the bed.
I lay their silently, feeling my once proud and strong hard on sink back down on top of my balls and not twenty seconds later she came to me and started to kiss me again. A deep passionate kiss that once again raised my flag to full mast. The sobbing had completely dissipated and she brought my hand to her vagina. That’s it, we’re fucking.
She made her way down to my dingus and began blowing me again and put the condom on me. Something about a woman putting on the condom is just fucking hot. I pushed her over onto her back and she raised her legs to my chest. I put myself inside of her slowly as we kissed between her knees. We both let out a deep exhale, and she immediately told me to fuck her hard, to which I acquiesced to her request. Her face showed passion and intent. As I plowed into her, making my headboard crash into the wall sounding like helicopter blades cutting through the air, she grabbed my head and kissed me. I was on fucking fire. I was fucking a woman who I WANTED to fuck, and I was doing it well apparently. I was literally fucking the crazy out of her because there was no laughing, there were no odd requests, and the heat between us warmed my bedroom with the growing sunlight. I changed my position slightly and got up on my knees, pulling her ass up so my dick would rub the front wall of her vagina…experience tells me that women like this. She gave out a loud screech and then said ‘FASTER!’ Her legs began to tremble and I could tell that she was on the verge, as was I. It was heaven. Fucking is SO great, isn’t it?
A few more strokes and we’d BOTH be there. I threw my head back and looked up at the ceiling as I breathed heavily. Almost…there. I wanted to look into Jane’s eyes as we both came and when I brought my head back down there was a COMPLETELY different expression on her face…one of tired complacency. Not 2 seconds ago she was completely into this but now she looked at me with disgust and sorrow, and before I knew what was happening she punched me in the face like a man, put her foot on my chest and kicked me backwards off my own bed. I fell to the floor, slamming the back of my head into the dresser as I went. The pain was excruciating but in my tired confusion, my first thought was that she came. I’ve seen women do some weird shit when they cum and I was so proud of myself at first that I ignored the pain and groggily lifted myself up off the floor.
When I came back up to the bed, Jane was sitting upright at the edge with her feet on the floor. She had her head in her hands and she was once again sobbing. Then she said something that made me feel more horrible than I’ve ever felt in my fucking life…she said through her hands and tear streaked eyes “How could you Michael Hempen…I thought you were different”.
Any feeling of pride I had felt moments ago dissipated and turned me into a lilting pile of shit. That feeling of deep genuine goodness that fucking puts into your soul was gone in an instant and I felt like a complete asshole. I had to think about it for a moment…did I just rape someone? If so, I’d have to kill myself, there’s nothing for it. But no, SHE came on to ME! She was into it…FUCK, that’s a lie that people who rape women use to justify themselves. Oh my God, I thought…I’m a fucking rapist!
I didn’t know what to say…I was stunned at my own confusion. I was replaying the last half hour in my head trying to remember ANY signs that were given as to her not wanting to fuck and came up with nothing, but that didn’t excuse my actions. I knew she was drunk and I shouldn’t have done it, even with her consent. I was disgusted with myself. I sat next to Jane and put my arms around her, apologizing as she sobbed. She screamed at me once again to get the fuck off of her and then laid back down naked on the bed with her back to me, crying as she did. I sat there befuddled, when she suddenly started shouting incoherently about random things “I’M NOT IN TENNESSEE ANYMORE!”, “WHERE ARE THE BAGELS?”, and “I LOVE THIS SONG” erupted from her as she lay on her side. She was no longer crying, but randomly screaming into the fresh morning air. I told her she needed to be quiet, after all I have neighbors, and she began crying again. Then she shot up into an upright position and yelled “Oh my god DID YOU CUM?”
I told her it didn’t matter, just lay back down and try to sleep. She yelled again “I CAN’T SLEEP, I HAVE A HANGOVER! I NEED MORE ALCOHOL TO MAKE IT GO AWAY!” I told her no fucking way and she had to keep her voice down. How the fuck can you have a hangover when you’re still drunk? She started crying again. Oofa.
Once again I held her and told her it would be ok, calm down, you’re safe. She turned to me and said “fuck me”. C’mon…that is SO hot when a woman says that. I knew I shouldn’t, but she started kissing me again. Hard ‘fuck me’ kisses. So I fucked her. What was I gonna do? Again, she was way into it, moaning and cooing as we went back to our original position. After a few minutes she pushed me off of her, dug her head into a pillow, pushed her ass into the air and said “c’mon, fuck me harder”. I didn’t last 2 minutes in that position, and when she felt my cock throbbing with the impending explosion inside of her she told me to take the condom off and cum on her back. I pulled out, ripped the condom off, and shot my load. I’d forgotten how far I can shoot my load. If I was lying on my back it could have hit the ceiling fan. On my knees, it was like putting your thumb over the opening of a garden hose and the first shot went right OVER her back and into her hair. It was like a warning shot across the bow. I put my hand over my dork and as I was making those horrible cum noises that a guy makes and living in that moment of PURE ecstasy…she threw her braceletted arm back and clocked me in the fucking face again while shouting at the top of her lungs “YOU ASSHOLE! YOU GOT IT IN MY HAIR!”
Pain ripped into my cheek as one of her bracelets cut me, but I was STILL cumming, but the joy of cumming was interrupted by what felt like a broken jaw. “DON’T...fucking hit me again” I said, starting as a shout, but tapering off as I tried to control my temper. I was starting to get pissed. One only has so much patience at 6 in the morning. Then she got up on her knees and began shouting at me “YOU OWE ME 200 DOLLARS! GIVE ME MY 200 DOLLARS!” and a fear creeped into me like scabies…did I just fuck a hooker? Jane rolled over on her back and started laughing like a lunatic.
I stood there dumbfounded. The dancing on top of me while grabbing her boobs, the obvious addiction she had, the question of how she made money with no job, and finally yelling at me to give her 200 dollars? Jane is a fucking ho. Now granted, this is PURE speculation, but you have to admit that it DOES add up…apparently to 200 dollars. My fear was solidified when I went into the bathroom to scrub myself down and found a Summer’s Eve Cleansing Cloth in the garbage can. Earlier Jane had told me that she hadn’t had sex in 3 months; what woman who hasn’t had sex in 3 months carries around condoms and Pussy Cleaning Cloths in her purse?
I lay down next to her, finally ready for sleep that wouldn’t come. For the next three hours she shouted nonsense and begged me for alcohol. Alternating between bursts of yelling, and fits of crying. I didn’t have to be a genius to know there was more than alcohol going on here. Finally, at around 9 am she fell asleep. I got dressed and went to work.
All I could think about all day was how I should have listened to Sarah, but she didn’t tell me that THAT would happen. That’s like an old Chinese dude selling you a Magwaii without the list of rules. Not only that, but I THINK I just left a drug addicted hooker in my apartment. I feared I’d come home to Guido the Killer Pimp stealing my mom’s crystal egg. But the more I thought about it after some coffee, although I didn’t know about the vagi-pad, Sarah DID give her the condoms and from her face book page I DID know she had a boyfriend in Florida 3 months ago…maybe the 200 dollar thing was just the booze talking shit, maybe the dancing titty choke hold was just leftover stripper stuff, and maybe she was telling the truth about Sarah's dad paying her to stay with Sarah. Plus she didn't have the abused snatch I would imagine a hooker might have...it was actually pretty tight, even to my diminutive excuse for a cock.
Throughout the day Sarah sent me rambling text messages telling me that she needed Jane to come home. She claimed that the neighbors had come into her apartment while she slept and stolen her pills, then a few seconds later she said she found them, but NOT where she had left them which meant that the neighbors had broken in and moved them. She mother fucked Jane for not being there in these hard times and cursed me for letting her drink, which she didn’t even know I had done. I was beginning to see this relationship more clearly. It was symbiotic in that Jane needed Sarah for the pills and Sarah needed Jane around to make her feel safe. I thought that if I could just get Jane away from Sarah, this cycle might stop for them both. This was co-dependence in its lowest form.
When I came home at 4 Jane was still sleeping. I gently woke her up and asked if she wanted me to take her home. She asked what had happened the night before and if we fucked, and I told her we did…and I was fantastic. She apologized for being so wasted and asked me if she could spend the night again. I told her I didn’t mind, but she couldn’t drink anything, and I HAD to sleep that night because I had to work a 14 hour shift on Sunday. I was beginning to think that Jane really wanted to be out of her situation and maybe even clean herself up, and in my selfishness and fear of being alone myself…I was fine with that.
On my way home from work I bought Jane a burrito figuring that after a night of being that drunk she would need it. But when I presented it to her she refused to eat. She told me that she had a headache from a hangover and just needed more alcohol to cure it. I explained to her the SCIENCE of a hangover and how alcohol was no cure. Alcohol causes the body to lose moisture which is what gives you a hangover…what she needed was water.
Jane was genuinely upset at how she acted the night before and apologized to me many times, telling me that it was because of the mixture of alcohol and the pill she took; which I found out was Clonazepam. She told me that if she didn’t take these pills, which were prescribed by her doctor, she’d have seizures…I’ve since learned better. I thought it odd that Sarah pulled these pills out of a dirty diaper bag when they were supposedly prescribed by her doctor, but she assured me that she had simply left HER pills at home and luckily Sarah was on the same medication. She kept asking me for more alcohol and promised me she wouldn’t take any more pills, and in fact she gave ME the pills she had left…or so I thought. I told her that what she needed was to eat, and since the best hangover medicine outside of water is a bloody mary, I took her out to dinner to my favorite place; Merichkas.
Merichkas is a staple in my life and it seems that no matter what’s going on IN it…I always end up back there. I’ve been going to Merichkas since I was in my mother’s womb when my father would take her there. I know the owners well, and even though there’s ALWAYS a new bartender working, they’ve heard of me from other employees. When we got there I told her I was getting her no more than TWO bloody mary’s and although she grumbled a bit, she agreed. I wanted to fuck her again that night, but I wanted her to be sober this time.
I ordered her some food and a drink which she slammed down almost before the bartender was done making it. I went to the bathroom and when I came back she was drinking a huge beer and had another bloody mary in front of her. My FIRST one was still full on the bar. The food came and she refused to eat it, saying that the bread on her sandwich would make her fat. I told her that was retarded and to eat lest she get another hangover…but it soon became apparent to me that she had taken another pill because in this restaurant that I’d been going too for over 30 years, that my father sat in before I was born, that my mother dined at frequently before she died, this woman started acting like an asshole all over again. She screamed at the bartender, told random patrons at the bar that she gave Justin Timberlake a hand job; she laughed manically in my face, and once again began sobbing for no particular reason. I paid the tab and hurriedly got her the fuck out of there.
When we got back to my place at 930 pm, I practically had to carry her up the stairs because she couldn’t walk. I brought her into my bedroom and put her on the bed. She screamed and begged me for more alcohol which I refused to give her. I told her that I didn’t have the patience to babysit a grown ass woman and that I HAD to go to sleep. I was pissed off now and fucking was the farthest thing from my mind. I hadn’t slept in 38 hours and I HAD to be at work the next day for 14 hours; inventory. I told her that if she wanted to drink I’d gladly take her home. She began apologizing again and telling me she wanted to stay.
She calmed down after about an hour and seemed to have sobered up. We fucked again and this time having no reservations about her clarity…I came in all of 15 seconds. We lay on the bed and joked about my prematurity for a time and then fucked again. This time to much more satisfying results for us both. At around 1130 I FINALLY drifted off to sleep to the sound of falling rain outside my bedroom window. I dreamt of an old wooden ship adrift on the ocean. As a storm pelted the boat, it tipped and bowed furiously. Thunder crashed overhead, yet I remained calm and relaxed in the tumultuous throes of an endlessly angry sea. I could feel myself soaked in cold rain water, and from out of nowhere something hit me in the head…hard. I woke up and grabbed my ear, the pain was real and when I rolled over to see where the blow had come from, I got clocked in the forehead with Jane’s elbow. “Getmesumwater” she slurred as she lay on her side facing away from me. I looked over at the clock and I’d been asleep for 15 fucking minutes. Anger shot through the pain in my head and I bolted up out of the bed.
“That’s enough you drug addict piece of shit. Get the fuck up and get dressed.” I regretted saying that almost immediately, but I also instantly realized that Jane was too fucked up to even know that I said it. She sat up and looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes and said “I don’t want to go”. I told her that she HAD to calm down, she HAD to go the fuck to sleep, and she was killing herself with these fucking pills. More lies and excuses poured out of her mouth, and although I felt bad for her, I was still pissed and told her I was taking her home. I grabbed her clothes from on top of my dresser, pulled the covers off of her and threw them in her lap. I simply don’t have the patience to deal with this. As she sat up on the end of the bed I noticed that my sheets were soaked where she was laying and the stark realization of what she had done washed over me like a kid who walks in on his parents fucking.
That’s right folks…she pissed my bed. This wasn’t like a small amount of piss either. Like a tinkle or when your little chow dog accidentally pees on the rug. This was a HUMAN amount of piss and from what I saw? That piss had been stewing in her for quite some time. THAT’S why I dreamt of being wet, and now that I realized it, MY entire side was soaked. This puddle had spread out almost from the headboard to the foot of my bed. I told her to take her clothes out into the living room and get the fuck dressed. I pulled everything off the bed, threw it in the laundry basket, grabbed a towel and laundry detergent from the closet and started scrubbing. I must have washed and rinsed that mattress down a hundred times and it still didn’t feel like enough. As I cleaned my temper receded, I flipped the mattress over, threw on a new set of sheets (all I had were the Star Wars sheets I had since I was a kid) and went out into the living room. Jane was fully dressed and sobbing on my couch. Again she apologized profusely and I really felt bad for her.
However, her apologies dripped off of me and brought back horrors from my OWN past. Growing up I dealt with my mother’s alcoholism on a daily basis. At night she’d beat the shit out of me while in a drunken stupor, sometimes in front of my friends, and the next day she’d wake up and apologize, begging my forgiveness. That night after drinking a bottle of vodka she’d go RIGHT back to beating the shit out of me repeating this cycle for years. Now there’s a woman in my bed going through the same cycle with me only instead of beating the shit out me, she was fucking me…you know the saying; men marry their mothers.
Jane still tried to lie to me about her addiction claiming that the pills were prescribed, but I wasn’t having it. Even if they WERE scripted, she KNOWS she's not supposed to drink while she's taking them. She told me that she didn’t want to go back to Sarah's yet and to be honest I was so fucking tired I didn’t really feel like driving her all the way into the city any fucking way. We sat on my couch together and talked into the night.
She told me that she didn’t want me to think that she could only fuck me when she was drunk and I told her that I thought she could only be FUCKED when she was drunk. It had nothing to do with me. In a moment of clarity she told me that she couldn’t enjoy sex with anyone because of an abuse committed upon her by her grandmother…yes, by her GRANDMOTHER.
It’s the kind of tragedy that most people hear, say ‘that’s a shame’, and then go back to their life without ever thinking about it again, leaving the person it happened to alone and with no recourse but to go back to feeling that they’re a piece of shit and do ANYTHING they can to drop off the planet because they THINK that they don’t have the courage or the strength to kill themselves.
I’ve been given these types of revelations before and every time I hear it, it makes me fucking furious. And in the rare instance when people who DO commit these atrocities get caught my fury only deepens when they’re sent to jail instead of being hung up by their genitals on the field of a crowded football stadium while random people from the crowd beat them with blunt objects until they fucking die.
I can only imagine the fear and hopelessness that comes with moving from place to place on a more or less consistent basis. Having an addiction is bad enough, carrying around that baggage with a tragedy like that stuffed deep down into a side pocket in life’s luggage like a melty warm chocolate bar that’s leaked all over your toothbrush, shaving kit and favorite anal thermometer must be horrific, but doing that while feeling that nobody gives a shit about you can only be a nightmare that nobody should endure.
Blaming oneself for the unbelievable atrocities that someone else put upon them is an age old tradition on this planet. Although for some of us this course of self pity may seem outlandish, we have to consider the alternatives…especially if the person who committed these acts got away with it. Who the fuck DO you blame? There are many types of family dynamics out there and I’m not smart enough to be able to point them all out. But there are secrets in the world that would shatter your eardrums and melt your brain if you heard them. They STAY secret because people are embarrassed and ashamed of what happened to them.
Life is a one way street. There’s NO going back. Most people want to meet someone they can trust and fall in love with, someone they can have children with and build a life. But if that story that we have hidden deep inside of us, down in the shadowy recesses of our souls, were ever to come to light…who could love us? And without that love life is frightening and uncertain. But what these people don’t realize is that by keeping that secret, by bottling up that frustration, rage, and fear…they only push people away by endlessly running from something that’s attached to them like a face hugger from Aliens. I can only hope that by trusting me enough with that story, Jane can feel a tiny bit of peace.
Anyway, to me, and I KNOW I’m not the only one who feels this way, but to me I wanted to hold her until the pain went away. I wanted to tell her that it would be alright, I wanted to give her MY strength even at the sake of turning myself into a quivering pile of shit like Chet in ‘Weird Science’. But in all honesty what can you SAY to someone with a story like that? More importantly, even if the right combination of words exists…how can you make them believe you or trust anyone ever again? Unfortunately you can’t, all you can do is listen. My hope can only be that if I listen long enough, if I listen consistently, trust will come and with that trust will come a hope in her that someone DOES care, because in a world of people I really don’t give two shits about? I actually DO care about this girl.
I told her that whatever she was running from, I would protect her. Whatever she was hiding, she could lay that burden on me, and whatever she was afraid of wouldn’t get near her while I was with her. They were the sad promises of someone who thinks they can mean more to an addict than their addiction. I left for work that morning after Jane had fallen asleep in my bed, and before I did I dumped every ounce of liquor I had into the sink except the small amount of Jack Daniels I had left which I would need after this event was over.
I worried about her all day. And while doing an inventory at another manager’s store, I told the story of that weekend to my friend and fellow manager Martha. Martha was nice enough to let me out of my inventory obligation and told me to go home before Jane Risky Businessed all of my stuff. I came in at 630 to find Jane sober and watching a movie on my couch. It was a GOOD movie too with Adrian Brody, and I was once again reminded of why I was so enamored of this woman.
When I saw her sitting sober on my couch, I couldn’t help but notice the shame and sorrow on her face. These must be the emotions she tries to hide when she gets fucked up. I wanted nothing more than to tell her placating truths in order to ease that sorrow. I wanted her to laugh and feel comfortable. She needed to know that she had no reason to be ashamed of herself around me, that although I may not understand her suffering, she could confide in me and that I would never hold her accountable for her actions while in the grips of those addictions. She would never have to impress me because her very existence makes ME appreciate life that much more and if anything I was indebted to her for that. I wanted to hold her and take some of her pain as my own; I would gladly trade my strength for the indignity she felt.
When she saw me looking at her with compassion instead of pity on my face she began to cry. I held her for a long time. Later in the night she told me that she needed one of her pills because without them she would have a seizure, and then she told me that she needed alcohol because her hangover had gotten worse. I didn’t believe either of these things, I just hung my head and gave up.
I told her that she was welcome in my home anytime, but I wouldn’t let her drink here and if she took those pills at any point she could take a cab back to the city. I told her that I wasn’t judging her but that I couldn’t watch her kill herself. If she liked me as much as she said she did? That’s the price of admission. I went to where I hid her pills, took the quarter bottle of Jack Daniels I had left and put them both in front of her. “You’re a grown ass woman” I said, “Knock yourself out”. Then I went to bed.
The next morning I drove her home and I don’t expect that I’ll ever see her again.
I can understand why people smoke the weed; it relaxes them. I understand why people snort the coke; it gives them a boost of energy. I EVEN understand why people smoke the meth; who needs a healthy body weight and teeth anyway? But these pills? Oofa. What relief can you POSSIBLY get from this shit? All they do is turn you into an asshole and when you sober up you don’t remember the asshole things you did. It’s like when Bruce Banner turns into the Hulk, after all he’s just a big green asshole, but at LEAST he’s saving lives. All this habit does is shut your brain down and if you want to forget your problems, why not just go the fuck to sleep?
These pills kept her AND me up all weekend, they kept her from eating anything and they ruined MY enjoyment of sex! THAT alone is enough to make me go on a drug dealer killing spree. Here I was all excited to be getting laid, I had the song ‘I Just Had Sex’ by The Lonely Island and Akon all cued up on my facebook page, next think I know I’ve got a black eye and half my body is covered in another person’s urine. What the fuck?
And to me? That’s rock bottom right there. If I piss in someone else’s bed? Nobody needs to TELL me I have a problem, off to celebrity rehab I go. And believe me; after this book gets published you’ll see me on the Celebrity Rehab within a year. After all, Hank Moody is my ultimate goal.
Look, we all have demons but I can tell you from personal experience that there is nothing more gratifying than grabbing that red faced, go-tee’d, pointy toothed mother fucker by the horns, pushing his head down, and kneeing him so hard in the nose that his yellow eyes begin to water. These demons ONLY have strength as long as WE give it to them. THEY are beholden to us, NOT the other way around, so fuck them; they smell of brimstone and piss any damned way.
What really sucks is that although I DO have the patience to help Jane with this particular drug problem, I don’t have the means. You need to BE with someone while they’re coming off of this shit. Alone and bored in my house would just give her opportunity and excuses to use again. Feeling like you matter both to someone else and generally in life is what keeps your mind occupied enough to stay OFF of drugs, but I don’t have the money to entertain her, help her go to school, and buy her clothes so she can look for a job…hell, I barely have enough money to do those things for myself. I don’t have the time to sit with her while she goes through withdrawals because I have to work at my shitty job for 60 hours a week. In short, the choices I’ve made in life that led to MY shit existence are now going to ruin someone else’s life…or keep it ruined. Never saw that one coming.
Don’t get me wrong here; I know that none of this matters if she’s not WILLING to stop. You can’t help someone if they don’t want that help. But in MY psychosis I see someone that I care about a great deal, once again choosing something else over me, in this case it’s the drugs. And I can’t help but feel that if I were a better man, a better LOOKING man, that might give her reason enough to choose ME over them. But whether it’s drugs or a man it still feels like a wrecking ball crashing through my heart. Whoever said “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” must have only loved and lost ONCE, because this shit gets old after around the 4th time.
I think that most users find themselves alone and shivering in the darkness because they treat everyone around them as if they WERE stupid…and unfortunately in most cases they’re right. The people they fib to are either dumb or so concerned about their own lives that they just don’t give a fuck. But this planet is fucking isolated in the universe, these lives, ALL of our fucking lives are fleeting to say the least; Drug users or not. You have to give a shit about someone outside of your personal space and I’m not just talking about Sally Struthering a dollar to black kids in Africa with distended bellies and flies living ON their eyeballs. I’m not saying that you should go up to every addict you see or homeless person and try to save them…all I’m saying is LISTEN. Someone you know needs help and instead of judging them, instead of harping on them, instead of keeping them isolated from you…just. Fucking. listen. Sometimes people JUST need someone to talk too, sometimes a person just needs to tell someone how they feel, in short we all just need to feel like someone on this rock gives a shit about us. If you can’t give five fucking minutes of your time to hear someone’s story? Then get the fuck off my planet you selfish dickhead.
Jane is a good and deep human being who I can’t help. She’s a woman that in another reality I would love, marry, and even have children with. But on THIS plain of existence I know that she has to want help, I can’t force help upon her. But I want her to know that I will listen to every word she wants to say to me and she can lie to me until the end of time. I may not know all of her truths and she may not want to tell me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know where the lies come from and whether I believe her or not? I’ll still listen because I DO give a fuck.
Jane asked me several times over the weekend why I liked her and why I cared. Yes, I’ve said before that love STARTS at the point of attraction, but beyond the depth of her eyes and the softness of her lips Jane and I share an understanding of life’s problems. And although our solutions to those problems may differ, to me she’s someone whose life is worth more than those of a great majority of the tumbling dickweeds out there, including my own. There is passion and devotion inside of her, talent and spirit, but it’s buried deep beneath a mountain of pain, and in my hubris I’m willing to move that mountain off of her.
I know that I’ll never have a group of people at my funeral whose lives I’ve changed like my mother did, hell I’ll be lucky if ONLY Steve shows up and he’ll probably have to lie to his wife about where he’s going. But where the people I met at my mother’s funeral gave me a better appreciation for the person she turned out to be, my weekend with Jaime made me miss the woman my mother was more than I have in a long time. I kept trying to think how my mother would handle this situation and I even called one of the addicts she helped whose number I still had from the funeral. Ryan told me some hard truths, the biggest of which I already knew; there’s no helping someone who doesn’t want help. Next I turned to Google and looked up Clonazepam.
It turns out that Clonazepam is a drug that users of heroin and methadone take to keep them mellow and extend their high. Some of the side effects include behavior changes, loss of appetite, urine retention and painful urination, changes in sexual function, confusion, chills, hallucinations, memory loss, mood changes, agitation, aggression, anxiety, depression, hostility, nervousness, slurred speech and the one that concerned me the most; suicidal thoughts. When the pill is taken by itself all of these side effects are minor, however when mixed with alcohol each one can be increased tenfold, and these are only the ones I SAW.
Although I now know that the addict has to taper off of this drug, and it’s harmful to stop cold turkey, I also now know that a doctor will ONLY prescribe it for a MAXIMUM of 9 weeks. That’s it. So the holes in her stories become more prevalent. For all I know she’s still on heroin, although she didn’t use that while at my place. She may have been substituting the alcohol for it. In any case the end result is the same, this combination of clonazepam and alcohol will kill her, and dying is no way to fucking live, especially when you have so much life inside of you.
I’m not a stupid man, I may not have much personal experience with drugs of any kind but I DO know when I’m being bullshitted. The reason why I never expect to see Jane again is simple…she knows I ain’t having it. I won’t believe her lies and I genuinely care about her well being enough to help her get clean…and to an addict? That makes me a more creepy and scurry antagonist than Kevin Spacey in ‘Seven’. But my hope is that she KNOWS, that she’ll remember before she goes too far that I WILL be here for her, that I WON’T judge her, and that someone out here DOES care about her. And when the night gets too long, the darkness envelopes her completely, and the cold rain soaks through to her soul leaving her a quivering mass of used flesh, shattered self worth, and bruised dignity lying in life’s gutter…I will ALWAYS be here at the worst of times; Because I know that in the crevices of my mind, where life’s loose change sometimes falls never to be seen again…that there is hope for GOOD times, as distant as they may seem in her future.
Loving Memory ToNancy Spungen