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Chapter Five: Monica from San Diego


"The pictures on my profile aren't really current," she warned me.

In retrospect, that's when I should've bolted. But I was a dumbass, desperate to tie up Chris's score, so I sat there in my car, watching the door of the cafe I was meeting Monica from San Diego at. I assumed she'd probably put on a couple pounds, maybe dyed her hair or something, you know. Typical thirty-something female activities.

"That's okay," I said.

"I'm glad you're so open minded," she cooed.

I fidgeted in my seat. I just hoped she remembered how open minded I had been later on when I tried to make my move.

We'd been talking on the phone for the majority of my drive to San Diego. Monica was okay. She was a little dull but I'm not really great at listening so that might've been part of it. I'd originally emailed her asking her to call me with directions from the highway to the cafe she'd picked and she'd turned it into a two and a half hour conversation about God-knows-what. I preferred driving with music blasting, but no matter how much I hinted, she woludn't hang up the damn phone. Now I'd gotten to the cafe and she wasn't even here yet.

You'd think she'd have used the time to get ready and get over here so she could meet me instead of continuing to babble the entire almost-three-hours that we'd been on the phone now. I kept glancing at my talk time display feeling antsy.

I wondered what the hell she'd have to talk about during the date if she didn't shut the hell up soon.

"Okay I'm parking my car now," she sing-songed into my ear.

"Okay I'll see you inside," I said. I hung up before she could protest and let out a long, gasping sigh of relief as I was plunged into the silence of my car. I basked in the glow of it for a long moment, eyes closed. When I opened them, it was just in time to see a tallish woman with blonde hair pull open the cafe doors and disappear inside. I'd only seen her backside but hubba-hubba that had been a nice view.

A view worth enduring three hours straight talking? Possibly. That's how good it was.

I climbed out of the car, feeling more enthusiastic than I had been moments before and let myself into the cafe. Monica from San Diego stood a couple feet in front of me, looking around. I walked up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to face me.

I balked.

By not recent she must've been took'em when I actually was 29. I wondered how many times this woman had turned 29. Probably about 29 times, I thought. Jesus H. Christ, she was old enough to be my mother. No, she made my mother look young, even.

Her face broke into a grin. "Nate!" she said, "You look exactly like your picture."

You don't look shit like yours, I thought to myself as she enclosed me in a hug. I patted her back, trying to keep the awkwardness out of my face even as I mouthed swear words of disbelief over her shoulder.

One word came to mind above all others: cougar.

If Chris could see me now he'd be laughing his ass off. Which was exactly why he would be getting a highly embellished version of this tale, wherein Monica from San Diego was about 23 and smokin' hot.

She released me and grinned up at me. Her teeth were yellowed from cigarette smoke and coffee. Her hair was frizzy and had about an inch of roots showing under the bleach. Her eye liner wasn't quite on her eye.

Yeah Chris was gonna get an imaginary account of this day.

I was starting to question if tying Chris was even worth continuing with this venture.

"You're a handsome son of a bitch, aren't you?" she asked.

I swallowed, "I guess."

Monica grabbed my arm, "C'mon, let's get some food." I wasn't sure I was hungry anymore. I felt like I was being led to the kitchen table for a PBJ by grandma. I stumbled after her. We reached the counter. "What do you want, Nate, honey?" she asked.

To get the fuck out of here, I thought. "Uh coffee."

"What about to eat?"

"Not hungry," I muttered.

"Of course you're hungry," she said, "You need to eat." The cashier was staring at me, waiting for my answer. When I faultered and failed to answer, Monica said, "Two turkey pastrami sandwiches." She grinned at me, "they're very delicious," she explained. "You'll like it."

"Okay."

I was trying to think of an escape plan, an out. I thought about texting AJ, telling him to call me with an "emergency" or something. I thought about just telling her the truth, that the thought of being with her was currently making my stomach spin in a counter clockwise direction that made me want to toss some cookies.

But then I thought of Chris and his bragging the night before. I thought about how he'd already scored and how him winning would effect me. He'd call first pick on every woman in the bars just to piss me off and immobilize me. I knew he would. He was just that big of a dick when he wanted to be. I looked Monica from San Diego over. Was it worth it, really?

Really?

She turned then and I saw her ass, which really was nice, considering how old she was it was a damn miracle. I took a deep breath. Maybe with the lights out. Maybe doggy style. There was a way to save this experience from being total hell while still managing to tie with Chris. I could do this.

You got this Carter.

She guided me to a table and we sat down and she sprang into a story about her college-graduate daughter. So she seriously was old enough to be my mom if she had a daughter that was graduated from college.

Don't think about that, I coached myself as she babbled on and on - long enough that our sandwiches were delivered to our table and I managed to drain my cup of coffee and pick a couple bites off the sandwich. I'd lost track of what she was even saying when she finally took a breather, leaned into the table, and stared up at me.

I took a bite of sandwich just to be able to focus on something besides the smudgey eyeliner that had eaked its way into the folds of crows feet around the corners of her eyes.

"So do you wanna go back to my place?" she suggested in a husky voice.

And there it was. The moment of truth. Did I wanna go back to her place? I thought of Chris. I thought of first pick and all the ramifications of losing that. I thought of all the lame ass sex I'd had in the past and how Monica from San Diego had probably been hot back in the day. Obviously, nobody just had an ass like that without having been hot once upon a time..... right?

I put down the sandwich because I literally couldn't handle the smell of food anymore my stomach was grinding so hard. A quick glance at the clock and I knew if I was gonna do it an still be home before seven to get online for Princess Neryls that I had to do it now.

I took a deep breath. "Sure," I said, "Why not."




So on the list of "why not", I'd like to put forth the following for myself in retrospect:

1. Sex with old people is gross.
2. Monica from San Diego smelled like cigarettes -- all of Monica from San Diego smelled like cigarettes (and I do mean all).
3. Monica from San Diego had hamsters in plastic balls that ran around her apartment unchecked. You'd be walking along and then zoom a plastic hamster ball would go flying by and the little rat thing inside would be squeaking as it passed, it's legs flailing around in the plastic.
4. You will ultimately get turned off and have one of the most awkward moments ever.

"It's okay sweetie," Monica from San Diego was saying, pulling her bathrobe over her shoulders, covering up her raisin-like boobs. I was pulling on my boxers. "It happens."

I'd started out okay. I'd envisioned Megan Fox for awhile. I'd almost had myself convinced that Monica from San Diego was a babe. Then she'd taken off her shirt and I'd found myself faced with two old, wrinkly mounds of flesh that could hardly be considered boobs and I'd instantly felt the pressure in my pants deflate. I'd turned off the light and tried to get back into the swing, even managed to fake it for awhile with her, running on autopilot, but eventually we got to a point where there was just no hiding my - er - lack of enthusiasm.

What can I say, sometimes Little Carter knows better than I do about what he does and does not want to get himself into.

A hamster ball rolled by my feet and bumped into the night stand.

Monica from San Diego got up and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the dresser. She flipped the lid open and grabbed a lighter. She lit up the cigarette and smoke streamed from her mouth a moment later. Everything in her entire apartment smelled like smoke. I'd been breathing shallowly for the last hour. I grabbed my shirt from the floor and yanked it over my head. Monica from San Diego studied my back. "What does your tattoo mean?" she asked.

"It's a nickname," I answered.

"Did you know they spelled chaos wrong?"

"Did they?" I said dryly.

She didn't answer.

I stood up and grabbed my pants as the hamster ball rolled under the bed and out the other side before hitting the wall. I pulled my jeans on.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," she said. "Maybe we could try again after." Monica from San Diego grinned around her cigarette, baring her yellowy teeth.

"That's okay," I replied. I buckled my belt and tucked my shirt in behind it, letting the rest of it hang loose. I had a feeling my dingdong was gonna be deflated for a few days from the memory of this place. The hamster ball bumped into a laundry hamper across the room.

Monica from San Diego breathed out a stream of smoke. "Are you sure?" she put the cigarette down on an ash tray and shimmied toward me, her bathrobe opening just a bit to show off some wrinkled cleavage. She stared up at me, her eyeliner even more smudgey now. "I could try to...remedy...the situation." Her hand cupped my crotch.

I backed up. "That's okay."

"You're a little young to be having erectile dysfunction," she commented, dropping her hand from my crotch. She grabbed her cigarette again. "You might wanna get that checked out, Nate."

"Yeah," I nodded, "I'll call my doctor."

She took a long drag studying me. Then, "You should get that tattoo fixed," she said. "It shouldn't be too hard to change the K into an H, I wouldn't think. Just add a C."

"Yeah." I grabbed my jacket off the chair. Another hamster rolled into the room. This one rolled its ball to her feet and started bouncing off her ankle. She didn't even look down. "Anyways, I gotta go. Thanks for uh -- yeah." I hustled out of the apartment and to my car as quickly as I could.

I don't care if I didn't actually score. I was counting it as a one-up. I'd been through enough to make it count.