Crazy (noun) 1 Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results 2 Internet dating

Crazy (noun) 1 Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results 2 Internet dating

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

The Friend Zone: Season 1

The Friend Zone
Season 1 (of 3)

(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) You’re travelling through a vaginal dimension, a dimension not only of desire and rejection but of a sad need to be with a woman who will NEVER want you, a journey into a pathetic land whose boundaries are that of man’s inability to have a grip on reality, your next stop: The Friend Zone (buhd-oo-bud-up!)

By: Michael Allen Hempen

Brought to you by: Cous’n Hemp’n Entertainment

Featuring: Rod Serling

Episode 1: Life is Like a Post on Craigslist…

Rod Serling: Month of May, Craigslist, and a perceived image of beauty; Imperfect, only in its solemnity. And these are the improbable ingredients to a human emotion. An emotion, say like…fear. But as his tales unfold, this man Michael Hempen will realize fear. He will understand what the properties of terror are. In these stories, women will lead him by the hand and walk with him into a nightmare, a nightmare called…The Friend zone.

I know I talk a lot of shit about trying to get laid, actually getting laid, and sometimes I can be a tad narcissistic in my description of what I want in a woman; after all, who the fuck am I to make aesthetic demands on the fairer sex? But wanting to date a woman and wanting to bust a nut don’t have to be mutually exclusive. I’d like to blow a load with the SAME woman on a continuous basis. However, just because I wanna shoot ropes shouldn’t make me an asshole. I’m a man, we ALL wanna drop loads, it just so happens that I’d like to drop those loads on the back, neck, and/or stomach of a woman I care about (yes, I said ‘neck’ I would never piss sperm on a woman’s face…what kind of disrespectful monster do you take me for?) And as much I can be caustic and vulgar when I talk about the ladies, a deeper reason lies beneath my nefarious ramblings; I’m actually looking for someone who gets me.

To be sure, many of you read these stories I tell and think that I must be an asshole, some of you even take offence; and I get that; I truly do. But YOU’RE not who these stories are written for. You’re a humorless cunt and probably an overweight religious one at that. You can fuck off and go read a Danielle Steele novel or a “Cat Fancy” magazine if you don’t like this because you’re about as useful to me as a wet sock. I talk and write the way I do because one in maybe a thousand women will get it. They get that I’m mocking the differences between us all, they read between the lines and can tell that I’m deeper than dick jokes, in essence; they want to find out more.

As for my pickiness when it comes to women, I DO indeed have certain standards that I expect a woman to live up to. I’m not judgmental, although I can come off as such in these stories; but I DO know what I like. And although many of you women say “it’s his personality that counts” or “I just want a nice guy”…let’s face it; you’re more full of shit than the only outhouse at a three day weekend White Castle sponsored hamburger retreat. What’s my proof of this you ask? How about the 28 year old 400 pound virgin with zits poking out of his unkempt beard who works at the gas station by my apartment? He’s a nice guy, so why haven’t any of you fucked him? (I really hope I get famous from writing these stories some day and a super hot chick goes looking for Neil at the Speedway on 111th and Southwest Highway in Worth. That’s gonna be my company motto: “Getting Neil laid since 2012”. I’m gonna be like a vagina philanthropist.)

Anyway, as I said my tastes can be demanding; but it’s only because I’m honest. I’ve said in my other stories that I believe a relationship starts at the point of attraction. You don’t approach someone unless you find them approachable in some way. Now sure, you can BE the approached, but you won’t be responsive to “No wonder the skies are grey today…all the blue is in your eyes” unless YOU find the douchebag who used that line on you attractive…and believe me, the guy who used THAT line on you is a douchebag. Sometimes the internet can turn that theory on its ear though.

As we all know, unless someone sends you a picture when getting to know them on line, you don’t know what that person looks like. And asking for a picture can make a man sound like a shallow and creepy asshole, unless he’s me. I’ve been duped before by women who refused to send me pictures when they could have saved us both some time by just being honest, so usually I try to get that out of the way toot sweet (I have no idea what ‘toot sweet’ means, but I’m bringing it back anyway.) If they don’t send me a picture then I ignore them like you do the slow adult bag checker at Jewel who badgers you about The Bears while you’re trying to pay for a bottle of white wine and a tube of Vagisil at the checkout. “Did you see the Bears play this weekend? Can I carry your pussy itch medicine to your car for you?” No and no, Hodor; now can you please put the mega phone down and get the fuck outta my way?

It’s not that I’m trying be an asshole when asking for a picture, but I’ve been alive long enough to know what I like. “Well we can still be friends even if you don’t find me attractive” you might be saying under your breath right now; no…we can’t. I find it hard to be friends with heavy set women, which I’ll explain in a moment, and the other option is being friends with a hot chick who I either DO or eventually will WANT to fuck. I will not be held with my head underwater in a bathtub, struggling for vaginal oxygen, as YOU sit on my back and fuck some dickhead while feeling NO guilt because, you said “We’re JUST friends”. Fuck you, it ain’t that kinda party.

The Friend Zone is one FUCKED up place to be, especially because I have to think that the woman who puts you there HAS to fucking know that you don’t want to be there. Now, let’s clarify the meaning here. We all THINK we know where the friend zone is, and I’m sure there’s a female equivalent, but the friend zone is STRICTLY a dude hang out. Although it SOUNDS like a nice place, I mean the word ‘friend’ is in it, it is a HORRIBLE place where answers are vague, meanings are open to interpretation, and stupidity is more abundant than in a Republican presidential debate (topical). In short, the Friend Zone is a quagmire of agonizing daily rejection, unrequited desire, and depression caused by indecision and missed opportunity.

But, The Friend Zone isn’t about mistaken intentions or squandered potential, The Friend Zone is a place whose path begins at hope. Hope turns to desire, desire into denial, and denial ultimately leads to rejection and despair. Why a woman would WILLING put a man in this position is beyond me. It’s the exact OPPOSITE of being my friend. In fact, fuck you for suggesting it. I need another friend like I need a third hip.

Rod Serling: Enigma buried in the sands of hope, a question mark with broken wings that lies in silent grace as a marker to the haunted shrine of romance. Odd how possibility consorts with shadows, how reality fuses with fantasy. How does it happen? The question is on file in the silent mindscape of lost hope. And the answer? The answer is waiting for us…in the Friend Zone.

Episode 2: Biggums

Rod Serling: Michael Hempen; an offensive kind of man found guilty of knowing what he wants in a woman and sentenced to it being forever withheld from him. Like every other single man caught in the wheels of dating, he’s scared; right down to the marrow of his bones.  But it isn’t being alone that scares him; the long sad nights of masturbating to a Lady Ga-Ga video with the sound turned all the way down, uncomfortably seeing a friend with a date at a bar and inserting himself into their conversation; it’s something else that holds Michael Hempen in the hot sweaty grip of fear, something worse that ANY punishment THIS world has to offer;  something found only in…The Friend Zone.

Many of you know this about me already, but I’m not attracted to fat chicks. That’s it, that’s my main contention in the world of dating. And because of this, more to the point because I’m HONEST about this; I’m considered an asshole. Even hot chicks don’t like to hear a guy say he doesn’t want to date a fat chick because THEY have lonely fat friends. MY feeling on this subject however is that there are millions of guys, a lot hotter than me, who DO like fat chicks. For some it’s a fetish, and for some they can just see past the sweaty rotund bigness of a woman and into her inner beauty. In my experience, except in a very few cases, fat chicks don’t have an inner beauty. Let me explain;

My disinterest in women of girth be they called “bbw”, “Curvy”, or “Horizontally Challenged”, comes from a more psychological standpoint than an aesthetic one. My mother, for instance, was a rather large woman who, when I was a child, would get drunk and stand in the darkened doorway of my bedroom, naked, staring at me for hours. I could see the silhouette of her varicose veins, her gunt, and her big floppy fat woman titties outlined from the kitchen light casting its radiance behind her. As she would take a drag of her cigarette, the faint glow of it would make her huge pancake nipples visible for a moment as the cherry brightened with her inhale (fucking SHUDDER!) I would stare back at her from the darkness with one eye, barley open, not letting on that I could feel her evil drunken glare, and ready to fight if she came in. Sometimes the outline of her hideous body would play tricks on my mind as I stared back, like that painting of the cowboy where you can’t tell if he’s coming or going. I felt like the old man in ‘The Telltale Heart’, and I would sometimes be afraid that my mother could hear my heart beat and see my one eye open in a sliver of light. It wasn’t a sexual thing, never that, and I never felt threatened in that way; it was just a drunk thing, but the horror I felt on those nights was all too real.    

Then there was Jennifer Lurch. Walking to the bus stop when I was 11 was a race to avoid Jennifer Lurch. Lurch was a monstrous ogre who would kick my ass as soon as I stepped out of my front door. Sometimes I could actually see her breath fogging up the first floor window of our apartment building like some Jurassic Fat Chick in a Spielberg flick.

Lurch was an oafish girl of 14 whose size and stature were not unlike the Kraken in Clash of the Titans mixed with a Jabba the Hutt thyroid problem; add some ‘attitude of Marge Shot’, and a pinch of ‘the smell of dog shit and mayonnaise spread over a 5 day old corpse in the desert in Arizona in June of a man who dropped dead after running a marathon” and you’ve got a pretty clear picture of the woman I’m talking about.

For the 2 years she lived in my neighborhood, I had to decide if I wanted to spend ALL of my time locked up in my mother’s apartment as SHE got drunk and beat the shit out of me, or should I go outside and get the shit beat out of me by a girl close to my age who everyone in the neighborhood called ‘biggums’; giving the kids at school more reasons to ridicule me.

Next came my first sexual experience…which happened with a fat chick. The first time a woman touched my dork happened in the shower at my mother’s condo while she was at work. I was sixteen and one afternoon I invited a classmate over to my mother’s place under the auspices of ‘studying’. At that age you don’t give a shit WHAT a woman looks like, all that’s important is that someone touch your pethis. I was escorted into the bathroom by the VERY heavy set Tina. She proceeded to undress me and guide me into the shower. I don’t think it was because I smelled or anything, I think that because we were young, that’s what we thought we were supposed to do. That or she’d seen ‘Shower Me with Cum 37’.

Because she was so gargantuan, I was forced into the corner of the shower with my back up against the cold tile wall. As a guy, I can tell you that cold tile on your back is where hard ons go to die. But because I was sixteen it didn’t so much kill my hard on, as my ability to splooge a goopy load in a goodly amount of time. With cold tile on my back and warm water on my chest, we made out while she worked my dork like the gearshift of a 67 Volkswagen bus that she was trying to rock out of a fucking mud hole.

I immediately felt a problem. She wasn’t using any soap, and I couldn’t reach around her to grab the shampoo bottle because she was wedged into the shower like an elephant in a photo booth. It’s like we were in some John Hughes movie version of a Gary Larson ‘Far Side’ cartoon. Because I was so horny and because a woman had never been so kind as to grope my scrote as of yet, I was too shy and probably too nervous to force the ‘shampoo’ issue. I don’t know about women, but when a guy feels like he’s getting a good deal, he shuts the fuck up. Fat girl giving me a handy in the shower at sixteen? I thought I was getting a better deal than Chumly from ‘Pawn Stars’ buying William Shatners first hairpiece for twenty bucks.

Water does NOT make for a good lubricant and as she was strokin’ my poker, I couldn’t tell if the smoke I was seeing was steam from the shower, or if a garbage fire had broken out on my nut sack because the friction she was causing was like two dry sticks being quickly rubbed together by The Hulk. The worst part was that because of the fucking cold ass tile on my back, I couldn’t cum which just caused her to yank even MORE furiously.

I’ll be honest with you, this was a long time ago, and I don’t even know if I came or not. All I remember of that experience was that my dick felt like it had been polished down with a fucking belt sander for a week afterwards. It was my dick’s version of ‘Vietnam’, and believe me; if it could have skipped town and went to Canada instead, it would have…he was never the same dick I knew after that. ‘Post Handjob Stress Disorder” the doctors called it.

And more recently, there are the fat chicks I have to deal with daily at work. Every time I see one of these big bitches with their ‘chick mullet’ and their purple Grimace sweatshirt trying to take the 3 inch step up on the side walk in front of my store with the same expression on their face as an Olympic runner taking a hurdle, I want to dive into my back room and hide Anne Frank style. When they finally do squeeze themselves through the front door, the first thing they say to me is full of anger, bile, and special sauce. They ask questions that can’t be answered JUST so they have an excuse to get angrier. And god fucking forbid you don’t carry what they’re looking for as they’ll start huffing and puffing, while stomping their foot on the floor like a hippo about to charge. “Where’s your manager!”, “Why wouldn’t you carry frozen pizza’s at an electronics store?” and “I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied!” spew from their oversized cheeks along with bits of potato chips and Oreo cookies as they look for ANY excuse to make someone’s life as miserable as theirs is.

The mood swings in fat women just disgust me. You could be having a perfectly civil conversation with a big woman when her mood will do a complete 360. Her sugar high starts wearing off, she gets grumpy and sweaty from the exertion of lifting a fork to her mouth, she’ll start misplacing her anger towards you because of her OWN self hatred, or she forgot to take her diabetes medication. You…yes you, the heavy woman reading this right now. When you started reading this you were all laughing and saying “I think I get him…tee hee”, now your face is red and you’re trying to decide if you have any friends who will beat the shit out me for you…you don’t, so put the giant wooden spoon down, throw the ice cream back in the freezer, and do a sit up for fuck’s sake. The whole process of dealing with you is more than I can bare.

Now, granted, I’m not talking about ALL fat women. I’m sure there are plenty that I don’t know and have never met who are wonderful people. To you ladies I apologize for the ferocity of my statements, but what I won’t apologize for is NOT being attracted to you. Trust me, you probably wouldn’t be attracted to ME anyway.  But for all the reasons I just stated…I find it hard to be attracted to fat chicks. Sue me.

Rod Serling: Exit Mr. Michael Hempen. Formerly a lover of all women; big and small. Now a fragmented piece of mirror, shattered on the cold hard cement of the of the internet super highway. A wishful thinker who’s narrowed his options down to nothing. A fat man on his way to join the company of all those whose eyes are ironically bigger than their stomach. Mr. Michael Hempen, with one foot through the door and one foot out of…The Friend Zone.

Episode 3: The Bad Dog Owner

Rod Serling: Witness Mr. Michael Hempen, a charter member in the fraternity of rejection; a loser whose passion is trying to make sex on women above his vaginal clearance level. Unable to settle, unable to swallow the bitter pill of dating an obese equal, Mr. Hempen wanders down the bachelor highway alone, wearing a back pack with that sad Incredible Hulk ‘walking away’ music playing in the background. Hoping to hitchhike his way back to vagina-ville in a sleek newer model Ford Cutie rather than a 69 VW Gigantor, what he doesn’t realize is that there’s no such thing as a free ride and the next woman who picks him up will take him deep into…The Friend Zone.

The problem with my ‘No Fat Chicks’ bumper sticker approach to dating is that HOT women don’t find ME attractive. Ah, irony…it’s not just how a Chinese man named Tony introduces himself. But like anything in life…sometimes I get lucky, depending on your point of view.

Back in March a woman responded to one of my Craigslist posts and told me that it ‘made her day’. She said she couldn’t stop laughing, she read it with her friends who loved it as well, and then at the end of her email; she said “Good luck with your search”.

Let me address something right now; EVERY woman who responds in a positive way to ANY of my posts…sais the SAME fucking thing at the end of her email every time: “Good luck with your search”. I’m serious, you can look through my emails if you want (I didn’t order ANY of those extra inches for my dick if you DO read them…I don’t know WHAT those credit card confirmations are about.) First of all, why the fuck are YOU reading the “Men seeking women” section of Craigslist if you’re NOT looking for a man? Fine, sometimes you and your sorority sisters are hanging out in your pajamas, winded and sweaty after a particularly playful pillow fight (my fantasy), and you want to read through the desperate men ads and try to guess which one will be on next week’s episode of “To Catch a Predator”. I understand that there are plenty of men worth laughing at on CL, but this is serious business to me and I don’t need some tourist getting my hopes up by kissing my ass with no intention of following through. So if you don’t think you’ll EVER go on a date with a guy on Craigslist? Don’t send him an email unless you’re passive aggressively making fun of him in order to goad him into responding so you and the rest of the girls in Phi Kappa Blu Balls can get a good laugh in before getting back to giggling and hitting each other with pillows…occasionally, and accidentally of course, causing a breast to be exposed as you jump on your beds. (Excuse me for a moment…)

(Ok, I’m back. Sorry bout that, had to take care a the kid) So, that being said, I replied to her email by asking her if she owned any cats. She told me that she’d recently gotten a dog and broke up with her boyfriend because of it. Apparently, her boyfriend wouldn’t let her bring her dog into his apartment. He was a cat guy. I told her that she was better off as he was probably a homosexual anyway. I believe men who live alone with a cat…are homosexuals, whether outright or hidden from the world and themselves. She gave me her number and we texted each other over the next week.

I have no problem texting a woman for a time before moving things forward to actually talking on the phone, because it gives me an opportunity to get to know her a bit beforehand. Our conversations were descriptive, personal, and ultimately sexual towards the end. Now, keep in mind that my end goal is NOT just to fuck strangers I meet on the internet. I use the internet like the NBA uses draft picks; I’m trying to find a woman to put on my team who will eventually lead me to a sexual and emotional championship.

She told me, in our texts, that she wasn’t looking to date anyone at the moment and as I always do, I swatted that truth away thinking that she was just saying it in case she MET me and wasn’t interested. But, who wouldn’t be interested in ME? Duh, this could ONLY end well. I mean, she not only shared her sexual desires with me, but her DREAMS of having sex with ME in particular. This inflated my ego to Hindenburg proportions and although I should know better by now, my ego was destined to go down in flames.

After a week of playful text banter, pictures were exchanged and we started talking on the phone. The day after our first actual conversation, she told me that because of my voice (I DO have an awesome voice) that she had a sex dream about me and couldn’t wait to meet me in person, so we made plans for her to come over. I was excited at the prospect of meeting a potential girl ‘friend’; and although she still insisted that we would be JUST friends, I insisted on ignoring that statement. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was in love or thinking to myself ‘this is the one’, I just have an inordinate amount of optimism when it comes to finding a woman with whom I want to spend time with. If I sat around thinking that I’d NEVER meet a woman who makes me smile all the time, or even if I sat around being pessimistic about EVERY potential mate, I’d end up getting fatter and fatter while frittering away my life playing video games and joining chat rooms to discuss the current trends of scrapbooking or some shit. So because my fear of THAT happening trumps my fear of being alone, hope springs eternal within that special place between my cock and brain. 

While we were making plans for a night when she would come over to my place, she alluded to the fact that she didn’t want to leave her dog alone because she was just a puppy. Remembering how upset she was with her ex because of his doggy dysfunction, I asked her to bring ‘noodles’ or whatever the fuck it’s name was, over to my place. After all, I have a very well behaved dog and have had dogs all my life. Plus, my dog Blu gets along great with other animals and this offer could ONLY get me back stage passes to the Lady Va-J-J concert in her pants. (High five!)

When she came over that Saturday night I was relieved to see that she hadn’t lied or sent me pictures of a friend. Unfortunately this is a fear I shall carry to my grave based on previous experiences. She was super gorgeous. I hate to compare a beautiful woman to a celebrity, but in the interest of being descriptive for my audience, she looked like Jamie-Lynn Singer, you know; Meadow Soprano. She was 27 with long auburn hair and brown eyes. But there was more to her than her beauty...she had an intelligence that belied her years. Maybe because it was the first time I’d seen her eyes, I don’t know, but I saw an intellect, sadness, and kindness in them. She was shy, but that’s to be expected when meeting someone for the first time. So I raped her. Kidding, jeez; lighten up.

Her dog was a different story. At five months old, Noodles was a brown and white Pit Bull mixed with something else. She had NO control over this thing what so ever. As soon as she let it off the leash in my apartment, which I’d spent all day cleaning from top to bottom, as one does when one expects a woman to sleep with one, it ran into my hallway and took a huge shit. Blu was locked up in the bedroom, barking at the smell that must have been wafting up under the door, which caused Noodles to start scratching the shit out my carpet AT the bedroom door. She pulled up tufts of carpet before this chick took her by the collar and led her into the kitchen. Hey, it’s not my place to discipline other people’s dogs OR children. So now I have 2 dogs barking and she’s yelling at her dog to shut up while it’s pissing in excitement all over my kitchen floor. She must have hooked this dog up to a Tennessee Water Valley Authority truck before coming over because it produced a nearly nonstop stream of urine from the moment it entered my apartment to the moment they left 2 hours later. NOW I understood why her ex didn’t want the thing in his place. Who’s the homosexual now?

As a dog owner, I know that none of this is the dog’s fault. This is bad dog ownership pure and simple. The animal had NO respect for her and she did nothing to gain its respect. Constant yelling does not train a dog. I asked her if I might discipline her dog, and she skeptically agreed. “NOODLES SIT” I said in a loud, stern and firm voice. The dog shut up immediately and sat down. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting that at all. Although even Blu stopped barking from the bedroom when I said that. Hell, even the chick sat down. (I told you, I have an awesome voice.) I told her that she couldn’t yell and whine at the dog. She had to be firm and commanding. Dogs are calmer and gentler when they’re part of a pack that YOU are the leader of, rather than fighting to BE the leader of that pack. I showed her a few tricks to gain the upper hand and show her dog who the boss was, but she wasn’t receptive at all to my training of her. I told her, put the dog on its back, put your hand on its chest and hold it there until it stops fighting. It’s not inhumane at all, you’re not hurting the dog, and it’s a basic training technique that teaches the dog that you’re in charge; hell, this is something that bitches have been doing to their pups since the dawn of doggy time. She refused to do it because it was mean. Then I told her that she HAS to cage train the animal. Dog’s are cave animals, a cage is not only a home to them, but it teaches them to hold their shit and piss until you take them outside. She didn’t want to do that because it was mean. Ok, enough with this bitch (the dog I mean).

I let Blu out of the bedroom, and for the next hour these two dogs chased each other around my apartment like a Benny Hill sketch. It would have been adorable if her dog wasn’t leaving a racetrack of piss around my apartment. Eventually, she agreed to let me put her dog in the bedroom with mine so we could be alone for a bit.

Although we talked about sex before she came over, I told her that I wouldn’t try anything that first time. She called it a meet and greet and NOT a date because even if we had sex eventually, she just wanted to be friends. Since I know how nerve racking these things can be within themselves, I didn’t want to throw the added pressure of sex into the mix anyway. Just saying that out loud annoys the shit out of me.

As she sat on my couch, legs curled underneath her, I was enamored of her small frame. She wore a low cut top and the man in me took a mental picture of her cleavage for later use. She had the perfect round boobs of a 27 year old and they sat perkily in her shirt BEGGING me to hungrily lap at them like a dog that’s been walking through the desert and comes upon a watery oasis. All I could think about was rubbing my face and/or dork between them like an angel nestling warmly into a cloudy pillow. How the FUCK could I be ‘just friends’ with someone who brings out emotions like that within me? Why would I want to and how DARE she show a starving man a steak like that and tell him he can’t have any! I call bullshit on the whole IDEA of ‘just friends’. I see a rack like that and I wanna git dat shit PREGNANT. I wanna be arguing with my child in nine months over who gets to breast feed first. I wanna kiss those titties goodbye before I leave for work every day. In short, I can’t look at those bazooms and think “wow, I’d really like to go to a bar and watch the Hawks Playoff game with those, get drunk, and then NOT bromsky them at the end of the night.” And THAT’S one of the many reasons why men and women shouldn’t be ‘just friends’, but we’ll get into that more later.

We talked for another hour. I made intentional eye contact as she told me about conspiracy theories. From what I could hear over her dog barking hysterically and the Three Stooges sound effects coming from my bedroom, she was heavily into those; like crazy shit. It seemed like she believed just about anything that was put in front of her, which kind of painted her out to be a dingbat, especially when coupled with her dog owner inadequacies. I try not to be TOO abrasive when I first meet a woman, especially before having sex with her, but when she was telling me about conspiracy theories I wanted to scream at her “HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!?!?” Alas, I bit my tongue and took it hoping that she might do the same in the near future when I told her “did you know that there’s a government conspiracy to KEEP men from having anal sex with women? We should show them that they don’t control US.”

Eventually she left with the promise of coming back over the next night. I told her that I’d make us dinner and we could watch a documentary I have called “Collateral” which is about actual proven conspiracy theories. Now, at this point I was put in a difficult spot. I KNOW that she broke up with her ex because he didn’t want her dog around, so I didn’t know how to ask her NOT to bring her dog back. So I just didn’t. Vagina or dog piss, what would you do? What I didn’t consider though is that with that fucking beast around, vagina would be an impossibility any fucking way.

The next night she came over with her dog. I could hear her shouting at it and dragging it behind her all the way up the stairs. She came in wearing an even tighter and lower cut top than she wore the night before, which made me ignore the fact that her dog immediately began pissing and shitting all over my apartment.

I feel bad for women who are going to fuck me, so I try to make everything leading up to that unforgettable and probably unsatisfying experience as pleasant as possible. I cooked us a nice dinner, had the lights dimmed low with some Jazz playing on the stereo, and the table was set with the good dinnerware and candles. What can I say, I’m a romantic. I wanted to leave the bedroom open as an option for later, so I asked her if I could put her dog up in my bathroom while we ate. She looked over at her dog who was ripping up the arm of my couch like a cat in heat and said “Awwwww, that would be mean. Let’s just leave her out.”

Cut to me cleaning up food and dishes from the floor 20 minutes later as she was at the sink trying to scrub red wine off of her pants and shirt. Her dog got so excited that she was feeding it gourmet food from the table, that it grabbed the table cloth in its teeth when she stopped and yanked it and our dinner off like a drunken magician.  Again, I wasn’t so much pissed at the dog, as I was at her inability to control the fucking thing. Blu was just sitting on the kitchen floor looking at me with her head tilted as if to say “you gonna put up with this shit?” Because the bathroom was out of the question, she agreed to let me put noodles in the bedroom where it barked uncontrollably for the remainder of the evening.

The two of sat on the couch after the mess was cleaned up, and started watching the movie. She sat next to me and how she could be horny in any way with that dog barking furiously is beyond me; but we started making out. Regardless of the dog, my dick was harder than Chinese arithmetic. Pants were undone, boobies were exposed, and a wild grope fest ensued. Despite my size, I’m pretty adept at using my fingers and within a few minutes she had an orgasm on my couch, twitching and shuddering as her mouth grew dry and cold; telling me she wasn’t faking it. She’d been giving me a hand job, but before I could drop the seminal hammer…I heard her dog scratching at the carpet in my bedroom.

There was nothing for it…I had to stop her. I mean, I’ve been trying to get my landlord to give me new carpet for 2 years now and he just won’t, so I was going to have to live with whatever Noodles was doing in there. I stood up, holding my pants in my fist at the waist while shuffling to the bedroom door and opened it. I was greeted by pillow feathers floating all over the room, the comforter on my bed torn, one of my shoes chewed up, and a big steaming pile of carpet cigars that had been trampled on and smooshed into the rug. I asked her again “can I please put your dog in the bathroom?” to which she hemmed and hawed and said she wasn’t comfortable with that. My only other option was to just let the dog out to chase my dog all over the apartment again as it left a trail of piss everywhere. Fine.

I grabbed a dog gate from my bedroom closet and put it up in the narrow walkway between the couch and wall that leads to my living room. I sat back down on the couch, re-unsheathed my pennis, and said “now where were we” as the dogs ran each other in circles like Superman flying around the earth to turn back time in 1. She licked the palm of her hand and reached down to cup my balls as we started making out again. INSTANT hard on. She was wearing a hoody, unzippered, and a low cut top underneath. Her breasts were still exposed as her shirt was pulled down and I reached over and brushed my fingertips along her right boob; goosepimples formed on her flesh and her breath quickened. From her breast, I followed the curve of her body down her ribcage to her hip, where I followed the line of her hipbone to the warm and waiting mound between her legs. She bit my lip hard as I touched her there and let out a deep inviting moan. I followed the crack of her pussy down to the moist hole below, and entered it as her back arched and she put her left leg over my right knee to grant me better access. I bit her neck as I moved my wet finger up again and began massaging her clit back and forth, gently at first. Her breasts heaved against me as she breathed deeply; her hand moved up and down my cock, cupping my balls with every downstroke. Back and forth, up and down; her mouth went cold again as she struggled to say “don’t….stop…” My cock began to pulse as my knees went weak “Almost…” we thought in tandum...

When suddenly, her dog jumped over the back of my couch right between us and started stomping around playfully on my nut sack and pancaking my balls like play dough (I still have a pit bull paw print on my scrote). I jumped up in pain, as the dog licked her face furiously while wagging its tail. Now I was pissed. “NOODLES, DOWN” I bellowed, to which the animal promptly jumped down off the couch and sat on the floor at my feet looking at my exposed cock and flattened balls. The girl pulled up the hood on her shirt covering her face and said “I can’t deal with her.”

Now I was pissed, STILL not at the dog mind you; this was just bad dog parenting and my dick be damned, I couldn’t sit by and watch it any more. I pulled my pants up and said “you have to discipline this fucking dog. You’re not doing it any favors by letting it run rampant.” She looked up at me from under her hoody and said “She’s pretty calm now…” as soon as she opened her mouth, the dog jumped back on top of her and started licking her face while wagging its tail, scratching one of her perfect and perfectly exposed breasteses. She stood up screaming “OWWW” and threw the dog 7 feet across my living room. When it came back to her, still excited, but tail between its legs and pissing the whole way, she kicked it in the face. Noodles gave out a sharp yelp and lay down on the floor, tail still wagging in submission.

Shit…why did you have to go and do that?

As she pulled her leg back to kick the dog again, I pushed her back down on the couch. Not violently, I’d never hit or hurt a woman, not even as incensed as I was at that moment. I knelt down to look at the dogs face and she had blood in her mouth, the girl said “Don’t tell me how to train my dog!” as she was pulling up her shirt to cover her tits. I didn’t say a word to her. I picked up Noodles and carried her into the bathroom. I took a towel down from the rack, wet it and wiped her mouth as she was still wagging her tail and whimpering while looking up at me with sad submissive eyes. Blu had followed us in and her body language said to me “Mike…that’s fucked up. You gotta do something.”

I set Noodles down on the rug in my bathroom and closed the door behind me as I left her there with Blu. When I came back out into the living room, the girl was putting her shoes on and said “I’m sorry I yelled at you, we should get going”.

“YOU should get going…faster.” I told her with a Clint Eastwood ferocity in my eyes. “Noodles stays here. Get the fuck out and lose my number.” She looked up as I towered over her, with an argument on her lips, but when she saw the seriousness in my eyes, she grabbed her purse and got the fuck out. And THAT’S how you talk to a bitch.   

I gave Noodles to a friend of mine who has two little girls and a Collie. Like me, he’s had dogs all of his life and knows how to train them so that they’re happy and fulfilled within their pack. Blu and I occasionally borrow Noodles and take her for walks with us, and at 7 months old she’s now as well trained and happy as Blu, walking diligently along side of us at the forest preserve. I’ve never heard from that bad dog owner again. I can only imagine the stories she tells her friends “I went on a date with a guy from Craigslist and he stole my dog”, well fuck her; I’m a man and I won’t sit by as a woman gets hit in front of me anymore than I’ll sit by and do nothing as ANY body kicks a defenseless puppy.

Why must it be so damned hard to find a woman worth respecting? Fucking reality shows, that’s why.

I tell this story to illustrate to you that as much as I prefer to not date a fat chick, I will not be beholden to good looks when there is no worth behind them. A woman must illustrate a modicum of decency as well as cookie restraint in order to garner the attentions of both my heart and cock. I’m shallow, but I’m not so shallow as to put my dick in the trenches of the losing side. If my dick’s gonna fight, it’s going to be because it believes in the cause. And although that night my dork lost a battle, the war wages on…

Rod Serling: Mr. Michael Hempen, lately returned from a place of near serenity, a journey into ecstasy with a highly questionable women, proving on one hand that the threads of desire are woven tightly and the skein of sex is hard to be undone. But on the other hand, there are small fragments of injustice that cannot go unanswered; cock be damned. Tonight’s thesis to be taken as you will…in The Friend Zone.

 To be continued in "The Friend Zone" season 2; watch for the season premiere on 05/17/12


  1. I can honestly relate to alot of things you're discussing here. Kudos to you Michael, for keeping it real. Can't wait to read part 2.

    ~Michael A. Ferrell

  2. That chick deserves to be stomped on her pretty little face. You probably saved that dog's life.

  3. Holy shit,that was so funny,I couldn't stop reading!!! I almost peed myself when you described the petty girl first coming over then "so I raped her" Haha! Good luck with your search!;). *Suzzy

  4. Thanks Suzzy...and fuck you. I should rape YOU for that. lol.