Charmer

The light clawing its way through the gap in the curtains scolds my eyes like a hand on boiling kettle, ripping me away from the warm beauty of the beaches of Baywatch and thrusting me without mercy back into the revolting nightmare that masquerades itself as my bedroom.  Potted plants that stretch up to the ceiling, the fish tank mounted into the wall, constantly emits an irritating whine that scrapes at the inside of my skull. In the centre of the room buried under various items of clothes stewing on the floor is a hammock that not only looks like a flea market reject, but even it can’t do what it was made to do, because anytime anyone sits on it the useless thing unravels. But the worst part of the room is the nauseating rainforest themed wall paper that glows in the dark on every wall; with all my heart I wish to one day repaint over it with blood stains as I slowly beat my sister with the absurd bongo drums that she claims that are utterly chic. I should never have allowed her to renovate my room, who cares if the girl had a nervous breakdown after her affair broke down when the asshole decided to go back to his wife and kids, the silly cow should have know that’s what happens when you sleep with a married man, once they have their little taste of new pussy, they usually run back to the wives and play happy family all over again. Lisa was always emotional, attention seeking mess, every time my father and I would sit down to watch his favourite sitcoms, she would always come swooning in and invent some bullshit problem just to get him to feel sorry for her. I hated how ever since mother died she took advantage of dads fear that we will go through life in bad need of a mother figure, so he thought he had to fill her place. You would think that as the years went by she would grow out of it, no she just kept on getting more self obsessed and conceited as the years went by. At least I finally cut her loose from my life, like I did with the rest of my brother and sisters,  the only one who ever meant anything to me was dad, but he’s dead now, which is probably for the best as he didn’t have to see the giant fuck ups they made of their lives.

Relief from all crap life keeps shovelling on my plate comes in the shape of my remote, my own antidote to make the pain go away. The sweet soothing ding it makes as it switches on, comes wafting from the TV soon accompanied by the delightful hues of rainbow colours that blossom through the dark grey that is my reality. Ever since those afternoons with my dad, the world has never been able to live up to those sitcoms we used indulge on together. The witty one liners, the character that always get their happy endings and the zany title sequences like from The Adams Family and the Honeymooners still are the only thing that puts a smile on my face. The years past, the shows names change, but that warm feeling that pours into my heart never disappears. 

My slow descent into serenity is suddenly interrupted when his hard scaly feet rub against mine, as if he were trying to start fire with pieces of flint. Once upon a time his insatiable appetite for my curve, tits and lips as he liked to call it begins to roar with ferociousness, not too long after he mounts me like his a dog in heat. Only weeks back were his boundless craving for me somewhat endearing, but now being subject to his tides of weird contorted facial expressions and horribly revolting grunts, has now become a choir I no longer wish to suffer with. He has become surplus to requirements, time to pull the ejector seat. As he cries and tries to shamelessly hang onto my waist like a child being weaned, but as all his dignity is being drained out of his body, I can’t help but feel sorry for men. They walk around with all this sudo-intellectual, testosterone filled bravado crap, but as soon as you place a breast in their hand they suddenly turn into little school boys seeking attention and validation. Whilst It still clings to me, sounds of laughter from next door begin to resonate around the room, and in that brief moment as I looked into his saucer ball eyes, I realized that this was a allegory for my entire life; the world is having one big merciless joke at my expense.

The best part about living amongst the rich was that they were always so paranoid that some was going to kidnap or rob them, so they rarely came outside to take up my time to rote my ears with pointless pleasantries, like the poor so adamantly enjoy dwelling in instead of actually doing a decent days work. But of course Rachael just had to be the exception, every morning I open my door to go to work and almost out of spite she chooses that specific moment to walk her over grown rat that she insists on dressing in the ugliest of outfits, damn I hated dogs! But I think it’s true what they say, how dogs eventually start looking like their owners. Once again this morning is just like the rest; I start of by hearing her high pitch butchering of the latest pop trash currently littering the music charts, then I see her chest concealing to inflated beach balls that she smuggles under her chest, every step she takes is like watching a silicon stuffed Barbie doll trying to walk a tight rope, as she struggling to balance her breasts against her helplessly dainty little frame as she skips in my direction. She stops a yard or two in front of me and in her usual squirrel, high on helium voice “Oh hey Veronica, you look so beautiful today, gosh I wish when I get old I look half glamorous as you”.  But as I have her circus tit pressed up against me, I can’t help but envy that millionaire skin stretched over a skeleton of a husband that she is married to, that she pulls at his withered penis every night hopping that she might hit the jack pot and he might suddenly die and leave her with all his money. But as I look into her dull unremarkable murky brown eyes, I can’t help but think of I love Lucy another of my dad’s favorite shows about a doomed to failure housewife who has dreams of fame and money but has no real brains or talent to achieve it, past of course opening her legs to a Mr burns impersonator.

Working in advertising and marketing company means, I sell useless crap to stupid and gullible people on a daily bases, who somehow pathetically think that their drown like obsession of buying anything that is shinny, might in some ridiculous way bring them that one step closer to being like celebrity idiots that they never cease on worshiping, even when they called the Kardashians; whose every last trace of talents or brains they ever possesses to hold in their life, was converted to fat and placed in their arses . As I step into the office just as the day before and the day before that, sat on my table is the same black coffee that I regrettably said was my favourite almost three long agonizing years ago, then as soon as I sit down to casually drop the cup into the bin, the thing ignores this and yet still comes over to me. A second later he wraps his scaly webbed claw around me, I can’t help but turn around to look upon his blood shot bulging eyes, thin unhinged mouth that is constantly left agape like a thirsty dog, all crammed onto a Uncle Festus head. It just perplexes me that this lizard man could ever hope to have chance to sleep with me, it’s rather insulting actually, and the more I think about it the more it infuriates me. He unhinges his mouth further readying himself to speak, but sound of his voice seems to disintegrate before it reaches my ears, because from my peripheral vision I can see him, as he swims through swooning of silly little girls and guys that if asked would probably be as keen to suck his dick as the girls would. Darryl has been here for 2 weeks and yet I hate more than anyone in the world. I dismiss Gollum with one flick of my wrist and adamantly try to focus on graphic sheets for a new cereal, ‘cut up pieces of wood sprinkled with enough sugar to give you children’s children diabetes’. Gosh I can’t stop thinking how much he infuriates me, with his pompous English accent everyone in the office can’t stop gawking at, as if we don’t hear already plastered on every TV show these days. I’ve watched Downtown Abbey and Doctor Who, and all I know is the English accent makes me cringe. I’ve never bothered to speak to the guy, all I remember was that he was some hot shot in a ad agency in England, but was brought here during the merger, some rumours are flying about saying that he was a male swimsuit model with a reputation for dating topless models, but I don’t believe it.

At the end of the day I always take the stairs, I avoid using the elevator at all costs because it’s been faulty recently and the thought of being trapped in an elevator with any of these primordial oozes rejects cluttering up the office, is a nightmare far too gruelling to entertain the thought off. I particularly shudder at the thought of Gollum’s hot clammy breath causing my skin to melt and peel off.  Another benefit of being beautiful in a sea of pathetic perverted men, as they insistently think that one act of kindness towards a woman will automatically make her vagina throb with desire for them, and despite earning more money than most of them do, I still have all my doors opened for me and all my drinks paid for. However the best part means hailing a cab in the middle of New York takes mere seconds, which is very lucky because the rain keeps pelting down remorselessly, caring very little for all the barbecues, parties and dates it ruined. The cab is driven by old Jamaican with face as hard as wood, that someone has curved deep groves in it with a knife, he makes no secret of shamelessly eyeing me up through the reflection in the review mirror. I catch his gaze, beckoning him to flash a vast gold toothed smile towards me, he reminds me greatly of a black version of the old man from King of Queens, only a little bit older. I don’t mind him leering at me, his eyes feel as if they have drank from the most beautiful sun sets, injected with joy from hearing the laughter of many children and gazing into the eyes of a dozens of stunning women after sex, I can’t deny that there is a coy handsomeness to him. If he was maybe a decade or two younger, I could have been one of those women.   

Stepping out of the cab, I was once again reminded of the onslaught of rain as it pounded every inch of my body. As I make my way back into the building, a car just to the left of me suddenly pulls up and a rotund wildebeest with half a dozen brats clinging to every fold of fat waddles out of her car with a box in her hand. I don’t have time to refuse, it just happened to quick. Seeing me she lunges forward and thrusts the box into my hands, before labouring back into her car and driving off without uttering a word.  The rain begins to peel away the side of box; finally disintegrating in my hands it reveals a little puppy rolled up in a ball in some attempt to keep itself warm. With one glance of it and without hesitation, I gently put the box down and walked into my apartment, do I look like some fucking dog pound.  But it it took me almost reaching my door before some mushy party of me forced me to turn around.

What am I going to do with this thing? I thought about trying to locate the women, but that would have been pointless seeing as the hippo just through it at a random stranger. Instead I’ll wait until the weather gets better and I find some place to dump the mutt. The next few days proved that to be a big mistakes, the creature demanded to be taken out for walks daily, otherwise in carefully calculated vengeance it would curl up in a ball under my dining table to cower loudly in an attempt to appeal to my kinder nature, but failing that it usually resorted to shiting in the same spot in my shoe closet every single day until I submitted to its will. But when I do take him out through the park I’m constantly bombarded with the attention of bumbling idiots who think by complementing me, automatically raises their worth in my eyes. One guy when sat next to me on a bench and said he said he was a foot therapist so claimed I had beautiful feet and ankles so I should come to his office during my lunch break the next day. After which I tried getting rid of the dog at least twice, but each time I would get to the pound, I would look around into the kennels to see these filthy waste of oxygen running around in circles trying to bite their own asses, and then there were the ragged and beaten up dogs that when you look into their eyes engraved deep with doors that once opened, lead to swirling mass of pain and rejection. I’ve only known the little thing for almost 2 weeks now, but no way could I leave it there to fester with the rest of the little beasts, or have the possibility of being taken to a home, that would end up engraving the same doors in his eyes.  But at least the best part of living with the dog was it would happily sit next to me during my daily 4 hours TV marathon, without ever pestering me for sex, or distracting me with mundane facts of their day and their instance one sharing their feelings. Once feed and walked, it just sits there curled up in a tight little ball at my feet, with its eyes waltzing with the splendour of the TV shows in same way as dad used to.

Once again during another meeting, the room falls silent as they gather around him like silly little children meeting Santa Claus for the very first time; he cast his eyes across the room waiting for you to return the gaze before he slowly reels you in, then with one flash of his dentist approved toothy smile, he renders the last of your defences useless, your now putty in his hands that he carefully twists and manipulates. He knows never to look at me directly; he knows I won’t fall for his cocksure facade, I’ve meet many guys like him in the past and deep down they are all freighted little boys with some kind of insecurities that they will fight tooth and claw to hide. But why doesn’t he look at me, why hasn’t he tried to shamelessly flirt with me like every other brainless bimbo or sexless and depressed married women here. I think that what annoys me the most, that he doesn’t possess a once of taste. If he at least tried to sleep with me, I could forgive him because it would mean that he had a taste for the finer things in life, but the fact that he chooses to ignore me even when I were slightly tighter blouses every day and shorter and higher skirts, he hardly even shots me a glance, is what frustrates me the most. I’m not sure if its arrogance, stupidity or maybe that he’s actually gay and the casual rub of women’s knees and subvert sexual innuendos in everything he says is just for show. 

It’s the end day, and everyone is pretty much gone. I walk towards the staircase, and then suddenly I hear Gollum’s horrendous voice infecting the whole staircase as he serpents his way up. “One second, I think I forgot something on my desk, I’ll use the steps it’s quicker than the elevator”. There is no way I want to run into him, I have no choice but to take the elevator, the thought of him ceasing the moment of us being alone as an excuse to kiss me, causes every cell in my body to tire a noose around its neck, and with its right hand holding a gun to its temple, while the other cover its mouth to prevent projectiles of puke from gushing out. I hurriedly lunge into my saving grace and furiously tap the ground floor, through the ever decreasing gap I see the creature on his knees sniffing at my chair. But as revolting as that sight is, at least the vermin has taste.  I look up to the top of the door as the floor number descend, but before the elevator can even move half way down it suddenly stop and the doors snail open like a scene from Heroes as everything seems to instantly slow impossibly down when I see Darryl momentarily stand startled before mimicking composure and stepping into the elevator. Silence.  For some reason the sound of my heart beat begins to swell up like a helium balloon, I step a little back worried that he might hear it, but as I do the floor suddenly shakes violently we are both snapped forward as the evaluator malfunctions. I cling onto the material that desperately tries to wrap itself around his bulging arm, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that”, I apoplectically say. However stead of acknowledging it he just blankly looks at me, and then turns away. “Excuse me, you could have the grace to at least say to open your mouth”, I say with all the fury I can muster. “I accept your apology then, I’m sorry I was just preoccupied with the fact that elevator sounded like it broke and we may just have escaped death, but I guess I should be more concerned with you touching my arm”. It wasn’t just the words he said that caused my veins to pump molten lave through them; it was the fact that he said it with his back turned away from me.

 The nerves connecting my brain to my body seemed to almost snapped, before I knew rage begin to control my body, I grabbed his shoulder and with all my might swung his large frame around. “Who the hell do you think you are!” my breath began to grow quicker and more shallow, but soon all the air of my lungs suddenly evaporated when he said “You’re beauty doesn’t faze me, it means nothing to me, I actually pity the fact that you would ever think it would”. I was speechless, but when the air left my lungs, it seemed as if it took the anger with it. Looking at his plump deep-coloured lips, intense, vehement eyes that understand no fear and his skin drenched in gold suspended in a golden aura. With all these pleasantries combined, it proves to being far too intoxicating blend to resist, my entire body begins to erupt in animalistic lust.  But I didn’t want to give him an ounce of satisfaction by allowing him to know so, “You know what, your just like David Brent from the office, you think you’re friendly, witty, and well-liked, but I think your pompous and snide”. Instead of returning with a reply like I hopped and expected, all he is doing looking me, his face betraying no flicker of emotions allowing stead for his eyes to channel and magnify all of them into an intense gaze. He lifted his hand and placed it on my shoulder blade, with a comfortable force he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me, with all the ferocious intensity of a lion going into for the kill.

The next 3 weeks our encounter followed a similar pattern, we would hardly look at each other at work, but with the elevator closed for maintenance we would find other places after work, to engage in her lust for each others bodies.  Everything was going great until the 5th week, when I started to get annoyed as he began to charm the new brazilin secretary, I stopped thinking about Darryl’s sculpted perfection being smuggled under his fashionable suits, instead I was thinking about cooking him dinner, and what his childhood was like. However I never had the guts to actually go on and ask Darryl about them, we barely uttered a sentence outside of the parameters of how we wanted to do sexually and where to do it, besides that all I got from him was grunts and panting as I straddled him with reckless abandonment on my boss’s desk.  It got to an extent where I would go evening’s barely paying attentions to my beloved fictional families, and instead spent time thinking of Darryl. Some night I would even turn my saviour off and lay in bed look at my walls, connecting the glowing leaves until they created images of Darryl, and sometimes they would make images of Darryl and I together having dinner.  I had only been to Darryl’s once, the office and the excitement it brought was extinguished with familiarity, so we began to seek over places to host our heated urges; car parks, bathroom cubicle, and once at Darryl’s but it was a strange experience because he led me through the backdoor and allowed us in the kitchen, where we started up against the fridge and finished up on the dining table. However it was that same night, we instead of leaving straight away, we sat down together for the first ever time and actually he spoke. It wasn’t deep and profound, it didn’t last for hours, it was just 20 minutes or so, but he serenaded me with the most pleasant of stories about his adventure across the globe, and for the first time in such a long time I laughed until my sides screamed for mercy.

A week later, I spent an entire morning cooking; it was a difficult task of chopping tones of vegetables, grilling yards of meat and pealing fields of potatoes. Father didn’t cook much, so I learned everything there was to cooking from favourite TV families. But by 6pm I architected a delicious banquette like I used to see served up every evening to the Brady Bunch or too the Drummonds.  I liked the Jamaican man so much I hired him to be my personal chauffeur, so with wrapped up, steaming pot of roast beef and stew. He dropped me at Darryl’s house, and with all the excitement of a teenage girl going to prom for the first time, I practically flew to his door step. I brought my trembling hand to knock at the door, but nerves swimming around in my body suddenly turned to sharp needless hurtling towards my heart. A minuscule, fairylike creature opened the door, her saucer eyes sizing me up, then with surprisingly contradictory deep British accent regarding her frame “Oh are you the new neighbours, my husband said a young couple recently moved in”, I looked just past her shoulder for a second and saw a picture of her with her thin drain pipe arms around Darryl as he sits down on a chair with two little children sat on his knees. “Oh thanks so much” she reaches for the pot in my hands, I’m so hurt and confused I give no resistance but as she does so I notice the little spawn of Satan harbouring in her swollen stomach, “Actually you came at a perfect time; I’m actually having a small dinner party as a thank you for all the people helped us settle down so easily, you should come in”. She led him into her kitchen, and with a hot tea in my hands I watched her frantically scurry all around the kitchen like Monica from Friends, chopping onions where my bare buttocks sat as her husband went down on me, opening and closing the fridge where I pressed my back up against it as her husband entered me. While I sat in the chair where weeks back, looking into her husband face was thinking that I was truly beginning to fall in love with him. I didn’t know what my plan was, I could tell her now, but that would be too easy. No I want to make him suffer. I got up and helped her cook, and we talked about him for hours, about the happy 8 years they spent together. But as she yammered on, I soon become to privately rejoice in my mind with anticipation of watching their humble abode consumed in flames. If I didn’t hate Darryl so much, I would have felt sorry for her.   

It was 8pm when all the guests began to filter into the living room, of course the man of the moment was still at work, so devoted to his career as usual. But I took the opportunity to mingle around the room, slowly introducing myself to all his friends in the room; even the girl’s mother was present. Then at 9 she said he was coming, I politely made my excuse and left the room. I sat in the kitchen trying to rationalize my next step, and then wafting from the base of the door I could hear laughter and the sound of Darryl’s voice. I slowly push open the door to see all the inhabitancies of the gathering around him like his a king holding court. With a glass held triumphantly in the air he delivers an obnoxious speech about the honesty and integrity of the American people and how they remind him of home and like little children being read a bed time story, they lap up all his bullshit with ignorant naivety. As I make my way through the crowd I still have no actual plan about what I was going to do, then I was disgusted as I looked to my left where the little creature was standing next to her mother with her palm pressed up against her belly. Darryl eyes suddenly locked onto mine, it felt as if the room was suddenly shoved into the centre of the sun, as he’s entire face began to fill with sweat and melt away. But looking at him again just filled my eyes with insurmountable rage and before I could think “You talk about honesty and integrity, when you make me abort our child for the second time”.  The room was suddenly filled with a crescendo of startled gasps, while Darryl seemed like someone had open his mouth and shoved a grenade down his throat and detonated it at that moment.

“Darryl what is she saying, do you know this women” panic and fear begins to contort itself around the creature. The mother began to usher everyone out of the house as Darryl pathetically denied knowing my existence, but she the hulk and lies just angered her more. With the house seemingly erupting in flames I took that as my queue to leave, but I wasn’t done yet, in midst of all the carnage I already planned my next move. By the morning I had given my boss a letter detailing the numerous times Darryl sexually harassed me in the work place, Gollum agreed to support the claim, first because the horny freak would do anything I asked in hopes it would get him one step closer to sleeping with me, and second because I agreed to let him wash my laundry for a month. My boss was left with no choice but to fire Darryl, adding the last blow to his already shattered life.

As soon as I turned on my Noah’s ark I was whisked away down another picturesque; autumn, country path into my dreams, where the characters that always get their happy endings, one liners and peace ran supreme. The door creaked open and in bounded the not so little puppy anymore. He leaped up onto my bed and fell perfectly into my arms, nestled up against my chest I realized he needed a name, as I watched the bumbling, moronic men on Happy Endings, I eventually decided to call him Darryl as a reminder that men can be dogs.   

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