Written from memory 6/27/2022

Chris is quite the fellow, 6’ 5” and a fit 250 lbs, he stands politely with me as Jason, Poetarch of The Esoteric Cafe introduces us to two men in their 30s, one of whom had hoped to speak with me about writing. Chris and I were thick in Crackpot Conversation, so when the men left without the curious one having a discussion with me, we rose, shook hands and I plan on getting back this coming Wednesday to meet the fellow.

Chris said, ‘I told my wife, that I was meeting a fellow who was kind of a character and she said, ‘Oh, that should be a good one, because you are kind of a character.’

Chris asked, “I was just reading When You’re Food. I have to ask, The upscale woman with the clothes. The part at the end, where the girl friend gave you the bag of upscale clothes, I think noting that she usually dated men larger than you and made you promise not to throw them away and you were too proud to take the clothes home to your wife, so you gave them to the broke black guy, what became of that woman?”

I told Chris over wine that Jason brought out, something like this…

She looked a lot like the girl that played Daisy Duke in the Dukes of Hazzard TV show, was built actually a little better with bigger tits and wider hips. She moved to Wilmington, Delaware to work in Philly for another airline. She was a classic manizer, very sexy, smart and used men. I was her protector/sexual partner in Baltimore.

She knew I had two other girlfriends when she dumped me. I wasn’t hurting. It was good for me. I did more training and reading. Then apparently pissed that I was only screwing two other women than three other women, my wife fires me—I guess for low virility on general principal, and out the door I go.

I get a phone call, “James, I’m flying into town, will you see me?”

“Sure, Babe,” I said, not caring too much, as this woman irritated me. But she had the best body I’d ever had fallen in my lap so was down for the checkup. Yes, she was a great cook with gourmet tastes.

She shows up, all dolled up like Daisy Duke, winces and says, “I have a problem—You have so much stamina, I can’t get you out of my mind...and…”

I put her out of her misery, “I’ve been coaching for ten years now. I could have told you that heavyweights have poor stamina. I don’t suppose the hockey player in Philly is any exception.”

She winced and smiled demurely.

Four hours of rape insued.

She tried to leave, was dragged back by her hair, and passed out before I rolled over and went to sleep. The fact that she was a bitch and irritated me and lacked respect for me on some levels [the financial being key] made it her best sexual experience, because I treated her like she was a misbehaving slave girl. I could have never spent more then 3 nights with this woman without ditching her, she was that irritating.

I woke and she was gone, having pressed her red painted lips against the mirror in my bathroom and wrote her love note in the same lipstick.

This bitch was good for the ego. Some times I would just step away from her and look at her in bed and say to myself, “Damn, she’s much better than you deserve.’

Once Miss Ezz comes over on Monday morning, rolls off of me, unwinds something from around her wrist, and holds up this long blonde hair and grins, ‘I figured the bitch from Philly was a blond—a lazy bottom bitch at that...uh oh, somebody is getting gray roots, hah!” throws the strand of hair out of bed and gets back to work.

It was a rare good time to be me.

She would do stuff like show up just wearing whipped cream. The down side was that I was her Ken doll—but she was built like Barbie.

She would come into town for Friday night, 4 hours of sex and then dinner, then 4 more hours of sex. For dinner, she would bring matching clothes for the both of us. Ajay my roommate would grin and laugh.

Saturday: In the morning watch me spar with the cave men, the Man in the Hat thought she was great. Afternoon was a social event, for which another matching set of outfits were brought, more sex, dinner and another outfit, drinking, a lot more sex… sometimes until 4 A.M.

Sunday: She would always blow me before Sunday morning sparring, for which she came equipped with a can of ready whip. Then she’d watch me spar and fight and leave town, and I’d go home with Charles who called her “Tits Magee.”

This continued from 2002 through 2009, roughly monthly weekends of sex, violence and alcohol. It was hard on her as she tried not to fall in love with me and balance the NHL bench warmer with the terrible little stick-fighter.

My rule with her was she had to be gone Sunday night, because Miss Ezz came over on Monday and Thursday mornings, and I spent every weeknight except for Friday with The Lawyer, the Psychobitch or Megan.

Eventually Megan starting asking for Fridays, and she could cook just as good as Tits Magee. She knew all the other girls, because she took my calls at work. When I could not make it one Friday a month, she knew Tits Magee was in town and it hurt her. She told me, “I know I’m not as pretty as those two, and don’t have the money, but I’m better than that psychobitch that picks you up at the store and I’ll be there for you. Just please, don’t jerk me around.”

Well, one night, I forget which, but it was Megan’s night, Tits Magee shows up and needs to be savagely used, actually begs for a night in the sack with me in front of my female roommate. And I tell her she can stay with Ajay, while I go have dinner with Megan, that I do not discard people for better looking people.

She said, as a tear gathered, “But I’m your best looking girl, by far—you told me so.”

“That’s right. And I’m not going to make Megan cry just because you have a better body and a prettier face.”

She stormed out and eventually came to town again and dropped her door key off to Ajay where she worked.

I have never seen that beautiful bitch since and am better for it. I fear women that are a 9 or a 10 on my personal beauty scale, because they bring out the weakest, and if they are bitchy, the worst in me.