My bread is baking.  My house is hot.  My phone is not ringing.  I am badly sunburnt.  My landlord is playing with the sprinklers.  the guy in Apartment A and his girlfriend broke up – no wonder he was hitting on me.  I’m sitting on my front porch, attempting to stay cool while listening to music, watching my bread, and listening for the phone to ring – it’s not.  Henry should be done by now he should be over here professing his love for me.  Actually, I just need my jacket really badly.  I only work seven hours tomorrow.  I need to get another job.  Soon.  Now.  I am very red.  What a good little landlord I have.  I guess it’s not that late.  He’s come over later than this before.  But he should’ve called by now.  I want a car.  I have too much nervous energy.  My phone is not ringing.  I’m tired of ants crawling on me.  My bread hasn’t risen enough.  I want to talk to someone.  But my phone isn’t ringing.

8:33 PM.  I think.

I’m sick.  I’m hot.  No one wants to talk to me.  I keep getting the chills.  My bread isn’t rising.  Henry’s not home.  Henry’s not here.  I think my pen is runnign out of ink.  I still keep hoping that he’ll drive up to surprise me.  Every single damn car I hear.  [Step-Sister] isn’t home so I had to talk to Dad.  I still have shorts from sixth and eighth grades.  Erica hasn’t called me.  I don’t have any stamps.  Maury got a car.  Coleen is over at Beth’s.  I need more friends.  Laura’s not even home.  I’m almost out of pot.  My nose is stuffed up.  I don’t want to be eighteen.  Why does life have to be so difficult?  How com all he music I have is shitty?  Will I ever have any money?  Will I ever have a tight butt?  Will Henry ever get his ass in gear?  Does he even care?  Should I have struck up a conversation with his mom?  Would she have thought I was kissing ass?  Why isn’t he here?  Why do I have to go through all this crapola?  Why didn’t I go to my prom?  Why do I even care?  Where can I get another job?  I want to go to school.  But I don’t know what I want to do when and if I grow up.  Shit!  Life is so stupid.  Boys are dumb creatures.  All my music sucks.  My bread hasn’t moved.  Why to I hang round my house waiting?  Cause I’m a geek?  Yeah, that must be it.  What if I never find anyone who can put up with m?  Shit, I don’t want to be alone forever.  Can I cry?  This is too depressing, irritating, frustrating.

At least my bread tastes alright.  Not terrific but alright.  EVERYTHING SUCKS!  I HATE EVERYONE!  I’M TIRED OF BEING ALONE.  WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SO DAMNED ALONE?

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

After the incident with the neighbor I felt very uncomfortable in and around the apartment building; I did not want to run into the guy who was clearly “interested” in me in a very intimate way.  Israel told me he’d talk to the neighbor.

A few days later when I came home from work Israel told me he had talked to the neighbor.  He told me he had smoked a joint with the neighbor.  Uh, my boyfriend thought it was ok to smoke a joint this guy who said he wanted to “get with me”?  Let me remind my dear readers that I was 19.  I had certain ideas about how a boyfriend should be.  And I still have the idea that a guy who claims to be my boyfriend should have understood that if I’m upset at someone the best thing to do is not to smoke a joint with that someone, but rather to defend my honor.

Well, over that joint Israel got to the bottom of why the neighbor held out his wallet to me and said he’d pay to get with me.  Apparently, my evasiveness regarding where I worked at night, by saying I worked “down the street,” had sounded to the neighbor like, “I work on the street.”  He thought I was a streetwalker.  And my boyfriend thought that it was funny.

That was probably the turning point in our relationship.

He traveled to visit an ex-girlfriend and despite repeated assurances that he would not have sex with her, he did.  I cheated on him with a regular Q’s customer.  When we were alone we drank a lot.  I still couldn’t buy alcohol, but Israel could.  He bought me Irish cream – of various brands – which I drank over ice.

But we didn’t spend much time alone together since we were both working a lot and I went to school as well.  On Superbowl Sunday both Israel and I worked waiting shifts.  As I’ve mentioned, I was not a good waitress.  It stressed me out to no end.  On Superbowl Sunday Q’s was packed with people watching the game, drinking, and eating.

For the Superbowl there were food specials.  Only exactly what the food specials were was not communicated to us, the waitstaff.  The management and the kitchen staff had different ideas of the specials.  Those of us who were trying to earn tips didn’t know what the fuck to tell the customers.  After being told one thing by my boss and another by the cook, I was pissed.  My boss caught me just outside the kitchen.

I was mad, he was my boss.  There were words, of the loud and disrespectful nature.  He fired me.  On Superbowl Sunday.  I was actually relieved.  I was doing a shitty job waiting and probably wouldn’t have been tipped all that well anyway.  I handed my open tickets over to another waiter and walked home.

For the next few days I went to school and worried about my next job.  Unbeknown to me, Israel was working on his boss – my former boss.  He asked him to hire me back – because he was tired of having me around our apartment all the time.  Nice.  I went back to work, but no longer took any waiting shifts.

Israel announced one day that he had been to the local sex shop.  Back then the local sex shop was nothing like my local sex shop, Good Vibrations.  Back then the sex shops were dirty and sleazy and of the sort many people would only enter on a lark on drunk.  He showed me his purchases, some skin magazines of the extremely large-breasted variety, and a strap-on harness with a dildo.

I wasn’t even sure what the harness contraption was.  He told me he wanted me to put it on and to fuck his ass.  I was a naive flower at the time.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t so naive as to think that him wanting something in his ass made him gay, however, I’m definitely didn’t fully comprehend dominance and submission/top and bottom dynamics.  I had already participated in some BDSM activities up to that point (though not with Israel), but I didn’t get much other than I liked being teased a lot.

Well, I tried.  I put the harness on.  I had a cock.  For about two minutes.  I tried, I really did.  I felt fucking ridiculous.  And silly.  I laughed more than anything and I didn’t even get close to fucking him.  Which may have been for the best as I don’t recall him having brought home lube from the porn store.

The strap-on purchase was a last-ditch effort to make our relationship work.  Another gesture that I considered downright ridiculous and silly was him asking me to marry him.  I was all of twenty.  He wasn’t much older.  No matter what, no matter how young and naive I was, I knew that a relationship of six months in which we’d both cheated on each other was most definitely not a solid foundation for a marriage.

He seemed to think differently because he married the girlfriend after me.  I never met her, but he and I continued to be friendly so I learned that she was older than him.  I figured that by age alone she was more ready to be married.  Many years later I know that there is a shit ton more to being married than “maturity.”

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

It was the perfect place for our rendezvous. The club was dark and smoky. The band played urban blues, down and dirty, slow and sultry. Sitting at a booth in the back, I watched and waited.

I knew it was you the moment you walked in. I had to catch my breath in anticipation of the night about to unfold. I loved watching your body as you slinked closer to me, your outfit hugging the curves of your body. Hips swaying which each step. Arms slowly telegraphing the graceful move of each next step. You paused, looked around briefly, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I rose, and gestured to you.

I had thought we would start the night breaking the ice over a bottle of wine. I had already selected the one adequate Cabernet in the place. But when I saw you standing there, in that smok-filled room, as lusty couples slowly moved to and fro with the raunchy blues, the wine was forgotten. This night we would drink vodka.

Sitting together for the first time, we made nervous and polite small talk, disguising the raging arousal we were both feeling. The small talk grew more intimate. By the second round of vodka tonic and vodka cranberry, a confession: we were both really horny. By the third, courage enough to move together on the dance floor.

We never had to experience the awkward first steps of two people dancing together for the first time. The rhythm of the night consumed us. We began too far apart, but not for long as our attraction pulled us close … very close. Your perfume added the final sensory thrill to our introduction. Our eyes met and locked. Our legs met and gently rub together. My hands soon held on to your swaying hips. Your breasts lightly grazed my chest. I remember how your smile turned into a sultry purse of your lips, and my arousal swelled. You pressed yourself against it, and I could tell the game was now afoot.

The tempo of the next song picked up. The band ground out the four/four beat with a loud sensuality accompanied by a raunchy horn section. You pushed back from me, and flashed me a wicked grin. The buzz of the vodka was filling both our minds. You spun around and backed your fine, fine ass against me, and pressed it against my hardness, wriggling it there, teasing me. Before I could embrace you, you spun around again, stepping back, and rubbing your hands on your thighs below the hem of your black skirt. It was then I noticed for the first time the garter belt holding up the sleek black stockings that dressed your shapely legs.

Watching you was maddening. You had such grace in your tormenting of me. As the dance continued, I noticed your nipples begin to stiffen beneath your blouse. Sweat began to form on my brow; my temperature was rising.

Again you stepped back from me, rubbing your hand along your thighs, raising the hemline higher and higher. Your bare thighs, so silky smooth, there for me to see for the first time, and now all I wanted was to see more and more of your marvelous skin. You danced closer to me, finally, but only to cup the swell of my crotch, before taking two steps back to continue your play.

Again you pressed your ass against me, and I leaned forward and managed to give your shoulder a quick and gentle bite and kiss, before you pulled away, shaking a scolding finger at me to the tempo of the song. The sultry smile returned to your face. You dropped a hand back to your thigh, as the other caressed your neck, and ran fingers through your hair. This time your skirt lifted up so high, but only so that I (at least that’s what I thought) could see, as you dipped a finger into your panties, to let it dance momentarily at the top of your sex. This move stunned me, but before I could scarcely express my delight, you placed your finger in my mouth and let me taste your sweetness for the first time. I grabbed you and pulled your body tight against me, and we kissed for the first time. Our tongues continued the wild dance as our bodies slowly rocked to the rhythm of the waning song. It was time to leave.

[Look out for the next part of Dick Cramden's story.]

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

It’s a contest to identify the pictured substance.  Winner gets a special photo.

Rules:

1. First one to get the complete correct answer wins.
2. Contestants enter by making their guesses via commenting to this post.
3. I will post as a comment one clue per day for each day there is not a winner.
4. Contestants are encouraged to enter as many guesses as they’d like, with only one guess per comment.  Only the first guess in each comment will be considered.
5. Winner will be announced on Saturday, March 13, 2010.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I don’t want to go to bed yet cause I’m thinking too much.  Shit, I don’t want Maury to say anything to Henry about me shit that would be embarrassing cause he hates me I think I don’t know I don’t know anything I hate it when I can’t control a situation.  My eye is watering.  I’m being healthy by drinking lots of water cleaning my system out shit I don’t know anything.  My ear ear itches cause one hole or another is healing.  I don’t like this song – it sounds to disco and some guy is professing his love for some chick.  Yeah, right.  Damn.  Why do I always get talkative late at night?  Why does he act like he doesn’t care?  He must care about something, that is something besides his pot.  Fuck I don’t know anything.  Will I ever know?  I fucking hope so.

After June 1, I will be able to call KROQ without a toll charge.  The phone company has enlarged my local calling area from eight to twelve miles.  I’m just so excited.  This station sucks.  They play the same thing over and over.  Boys are dumb.

Fuck, I’m almost out of pot and I still have to get some for my mother with money I spent in Disneyland.  Crap, shit, fuck, damn.  Why is life so rotten?

it’s like 11am

I’m looking at a dead but.  It’s actually kind of pretty.  And I’m sunbathing.  And I’m wondering why boys are so dumb.  Henry’s already called me today.  Why does he have to be so damned unpredictable?  It’s kind of nice but extremely frustrating.  Hell Mr. Ant.  This station is going to be driving me crazy all day.  Then I’ll have to be getting and and down to change the music.  Why do bugs have to be crawling on me?  I’m not a plant.  Henry just doesn’t make sense at all.  Why do I keep trying to figure him out?  I’m a glutton for punishment.  I don’t want to back to get too much sun.  I don’t like this song.  I think one of my neighbors is home and he can see me from one of his kitchen windows so I can’t take my shorts off for a pair of underwear that look like bikini bottoms.

Later

I think my neighbors think I’m a weirdo.  Should I care?  No, I fuckin’ sunbathing.  I want a car.  Is that too much to ask?  Is that so wrong?

6:24 pm

I hope I’m happy.  I’m very burnt.  Maybe now Henry will feel sorry for me.  Ah, I doubt it.  Supposedly, he might come over tonight.  I’m getting my hopes up again.  Why not, I could use some more heartbreak.  Pretty soon, if I keep putting myself through this, I’ll just give up on love and relationships completely.  He’s doing Confirmation with his nephew (who’s the same age that I am) so he’s at church doing whatever it is they do.

I figured it all out – my landlord and Lori Kwok are related.  Well, actually, they can’t be because they’re from two totally different countries, but they do act alike – laughing for no apparent reason, except that they’re uncomfortable and being awkward with their limbs.  Now, of course, I feel like getting stoned but I can’t ’cause ‘ol Mr. Kawamura is on the premises.  I can see it now:  He comes to the door to tell me not to worry about the check and a huge puff of smoke hits him in the face.  He knows it’s not cigarette smoke but can’t quite place what exactly it is.  So he goes upstairs and asks the very noisy neighbors who never sleep if they could help identify the mysterious smoke.  In the mean time, I’m rushing to get rid of any evidence of illegal drug use and light up a clove.  (I have one in the closet for emergencies like these.)  Then they all come downstairs to try to identify the mysterious smoke.

The way Henry looked stumbling out of the bedroom really depressed me.  It just keeps running through my head.  The look on his face, the way he was stumbling.  He looked very … oblivious, he looked kind of scared too.  Maybe he was.  I hope he was scared enough.  He’s probably on a self-destructive trip right now.  I could help him deal with his feelings – why doesn’t he employ my services?

I have to bake – it’s going to be very hot in here.  Ug.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Israel and I both worked and lived together.  Israel and I both worked days, and I also had some shifts at night.  I was a shitty waitress and I knew it.  I didn’t like having to be really nice in hopes of a tip with only minimum wage guaranteed when I made more than minimum wage when I worked at night as a hostess.  The good waiting shifts were taken by people who were actually good at waiting on people.

Around the same time I began going to school in earnest.  Junior college.  Pasadena City College.  I had graduated from high school a year early, but then had taken a bit of time to realize that I did want to go to college.  That I mostly worked nights was convenient not only because I made more money at night, but also because I could attend classes during the days.

School during the day and working both days and nights meant I did a lot of coming and going from my apartment, sometimes at “odd” hours.  For the most part this didn’t bother or have any effect at all on my neighbors.  One neighbor, however, noticed.  We’d often run into each other in the lobby of the building, or in the back yard where he smoked and I took my puppy, or in the front yard.  When he saw me in the front yard it was usually because I was on my way to my car to go to school.

Because I was on my way to school I was usually in a hurry.  The neighbor was not in a hurry at all; he didn’t seem to do much more than hang out in or near our apartment building.  So he walked me to my car on a number of occasions, and attempted to engage me in conversation.  I had been working at a bar for a while and had begun to see the lame signs that I guy was “interested” in me.  Lame because the guys would pretend to care about what I did with my time when they really wanted to know, “You wanna fuck me?”

My neighbor was interested in me for sure, and pretended to care about my comings and goings.  He asked me where I was going in my car.  “To school.”  He asked me where I go at night.  “To work.”  He asked me where I worked.  I did not want him to come to the bar where I worked to talk to me.  There, I had to be nice to the customers and I was trapped at my hostessing station.  So, I told him I worked down the street.  It wasn’t a lie, and he had seen me come and go to work by foot, so I figured that would be enough for him.

And it was, sort of.  The neighbor continued to be overly solicitous whenever he saw me.  One day he knocked on my apartment door and held out, like a proud child, a rather scraggly looking potted plant.  I thanked him, but I really don’t think I was particularly encouraging.  I still have the plant.

I tried my best to keep our interactions short but sometimes when I was out with my puppy I had to talk to him until she was done doing her thing.  It was dark one evening when he found me in the building’s front yard with my puppy.  It must have been a rare night that I had off from work, and I was not in the mood to deal with him, but my puppy was taking her time.  I wanted to go.

Finally, I began walking up the building’s stairs to my apartment when the neighbor yelled after me, “I wanna get with you.”  I certainly would find that refreshing now, but 19-year-old me was freaked the fuck out.  It didn’t help that I found the man repulsive.  Then, as I was retreating further up the stairs, he held up his wallet and said, “I’ll pay!”

I picked up the puppy and ran to my apartment, where Israel was home.  He could see that I was upset when I told him what had just happened to me.  He thought it was funny.  I did not.

I swear.  True story

[To be continued ….]

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I’m often just over at his place talking about some programming language or math or something and having a bit to eat. Or, I’m walking into the kitchen to see what he’s stirring, he turns a hug into his tongue down my throat, his hands on my ass, and my feet off the ground (he’s stronger than I). This takes me by surprise, but I can get his shirt off very quickly and push him against the counter when I have that kind of cue. Last time he did this he simply took my hand and led me upstairs where he proceeded to fuck me until I couldn’t see any more. He has a gorgeous cock and comes in a flash if I suck on his nipples, but he won’t let me – he holds that off, delays me until he gets me off…we battle over our agenda of getting the other to come first.

It’s rather cute. He’s from the south. Can turn on a great accent.

[This lovely bit was from a guest writer who sought me out, but not to be a guest writer here.  Nonetheless, this tidbit got me wet and I had to ask his permission to please let me share with y'all.  I wouldn't mind watching, not at all.]

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Well, pregnancy erotica.  I stole this image from someone’s Tumblr.  Can’t remember who or which, sorry.

Thing is, it is the rare pregnant woman who looks like this.  Assuming Photoshop was not heavily used, this woman’s body is fucking amazing.  She was clearly very thin prior to her pregnancy.  She’s thin pregnant.  Her breasts, which I assume are engorged, are cute and perky.  She must be very young.  Her ass is tiny.  Pregnant women do not look like this.  Except for her.

I could have a lot of fun with this woman in its pregnant state.  I’d rub my face all over that belly.  I would not be freaked out by the fact that there’s a kid in there.  So much fun ….

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

Those guys were asking me an awful lot of questions last night.  I can just see myself following Henry around and pacing.  I’m such a geek.

Now I’m listening to “Love Line” everyone else has lame love problems and I can’t get anything.  The phone isn’t ringing.

I want hairless arms.  This is a very lame call.  How did she get on the air?  The screeners are fuckheads.  They think they have some lesbian love triangle thing going and the Poorman is being a geek about the whole thing.  What a sexist dork.  Shit, I just want to kiss someone.  Is that so wrong?  Is that too much to ask?  I think not.  Will I ever meet anyone else?  How will I ever meet a bunch of girls who like girls.  My hair falls out a lot.  Oh this poor guy has sex only two to three times a day.  Shit, two or three times a year would be great for me.  I’m so depressed.  The phone isn’t ringing.  I just want to die.  I want some sex.  This is depressing.  I don’t know why I get so hooked.  This boy’s driving me batty.

THE PHONE ISN’T RINGING SHIT!

Why do I put myself through this?  Why do I have to think about him so much?  I hate this!  I get so damn frustrated!  Hey, what would happen if I put everything on the line?  I’m just afraid nothing.  But actually I have no idea how he really thinks or how he will really react.

It’s gorgeous outside.  Wonderful weather.  Apartment A has their air conditioner on.  I think I’ll get stoned and go run.  This is one of the best reasons to live in beautiful Southern California.  Why would anyone with naturally curly hair want to live where it is excessively humid?  Their hair would always be frizzy.

This chick’s on drugs.  Well, not any more, but she still isn’t all together.  The screeners are really fucking up tonight.  Now this guy as a “friend named George.”  Who gives a fuck.  What is the point?  Who cares?  Not me.

Listening to this depresses me cause people have two boyfriends or too many lovers.  Shit, I can’t even get one.  This chick is pregnant.  I’ll never have to worry about that.  I just don’t know about sex and drugs.  They make people act weird.  When I thought last night that Henry had done heroin I got knod of protective.  But he wasn’t doing heroin, he was snorting coke.  Maybe it’s some sort of dealing with his feelings.  Fuck, I wish I could help him.  I can see it now – everyone expects Maury to die from doing just a little too much heroin.  Henry acquiesces to Maury’s pleading for someone to “party” with him but Maury, because he’s so fucked up, sets him up with just a little too much and Henry dies.  But Maury’s just fine.  Irony galore.  I think I’ll have to go run off my depression.  I want to talk to [Step-Sister] about butt talk and boys.  She seems so well-adjusted and normal.  It depresses me cause I’m so fucked up.  At least I sure feel like it.  I don’t want to end up like [Sister].  She’s twenty-two not cause it’s May 6 but I don’t even meet any people so I don’t think I’m in danger of getting married.  She didn’t get married until she was twenty, I have two more years.  I better get a car now that my dumb mother has gotten my hopes up.  My eyes are always watering and I wish I knew why.  Fuck, I need my jacket back.  Maybe I’ll have to call Henry before he goes to work in the morning even though I know he hates me.

Why are guys do dumb?  Then again, girls are dumb too, just in a different way.  Why do my eyes have to water so much?  They have no reason.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.

I also like that some people don’t like it.  I like that it’s a shocking word to say in public.  Every once in a while I like to throw out a good “cunt” when I think people are listening in on my conversation.  Serves them right, the nosy fuckers.

Finally, I like that I have a cunt.  A cunt that can take a lot.

I swear.  True story.

©2010 Random Rim Jobs. All Rights Reserved.