Monday, January 14, 2013

Doorman & the Ladies: Booty Call


An old roommate and very dear friend of mine recently had a little girl. I'm totally thrilled for him. He has a wonderful wife, house, and career as a teacher. He's locked in, and embracing every minute of being a husband and father. And while I value my freedom and bachelor life, I can't help but wonder if I'd be better off in a more stable lifestyle, like my buddy's. I think every single male in his twenties has had that moment where they have to say to themselves "fuck, I need to find myself a wife and cut the shit." This is one of those moments: 

I went out for drinks after work with some of my jersey shore friends. Work ended at midnight, so I was going to be meeting up with them late in the evening. My friends, being the banner drinkers that they are, were already light years ahead of me. I tried my best to catch up, but by the time I was on my 4th beer, they were ready for pizza and the commute home. On any other night, I would sit in a bar and sip a beer while texting every female I've met since moving to Manhattan, but I wasn't up for a chase. All I needed were a couple of empanadas, a couple of tokes from my bowl, and a decent night's sleep. 

While I was waiting for my food at Empanada Mama (incredible late-night eats, you're welcome) I get a call from Amy, a girl that I had met on a dating site a few weeks prior. She was a lot of fun and had a great sense of humor. We slept together on the first date, because I'm a shameful whore, and barely communicated since. 

Amy- "Hey... Hey- Hey! Hey?" 

She sounded drunk enough to pass for a deaf person . 

Doorman- "Hello?" 

Amy- "Hi..." 

Doorman- "Hey, what's up?"

Amy- "What…. what are ya doing?" 

I can't tell you how many times I've been on the other end of this phone call. For the first time ever in a booty call exchange, I have leverage.

Doorman- "Nothing much, just getting some food. Headed home. You?"

Amy- "Just got in a cab. Gonna head back to Bushwick." 

She didn't call just to tell me that she was going home. 

Doorman- "That's nice." 

A pause. The good kind. The kind of pause where you know you're in control. 

Amy- "I mean… Unless you wanted me to come over." 

Doorman- "Want me to pick you up an empanada?" 

Amy- "No thanks." 

After housing three empanadas on the way home, I decided to wait for her on my stoop. It was a nice enough evening. She pulls up in a taxi, and spends at least three minutes trying to figure out the credit card machine. I eventually had to intervene, because the cabbie was getting pissed, and I wasn't about to gather new material for a Doorman vs. Taxi Driver blog. I clicked the 30% tip option as a way of saying sorry. She wasn't pleased with that. 

I hadn't seen her since our date, but she was exactly as I remembered - very cute, very short redhead. She wore a tight black dress with stockings and high-heeled boots that sounded like the Belmont Stakes when she walked. 

Now, she was drunk. Though not as bad as she sounded on the phone… or at least I thought. It's really funny to write about this from the sober point of view. I've calmed down in my drinking as I've gotten older and learned my limits, but I have countless stories where I show up somewhere absolutely shit-housed, sloptard drunk and caused a scene amongst sober people. Please allow me to relish in being the offended for a change. 

I was living in a 6th floor walk-up, which is a pain in the ass for someone in good shape in the middle of the day. Having to escort a girl in heels who has been drinking at an open bar for five hours is a whole different bird. Like an idiot, I opt to lead the way. I'm used to jogging up the steps, so out of habit, I made the mistake of doing so on the first flight. 

She tried to keep up. 

One step. 

Two step.

Three step. 

Four… 

I turned around, and watched disaster strike. She pulled herself up to the fifth step using the banister, but her heel didn't clear the edge. She falls forward, and manages to get her hands down. 

Instead of staying down and regaining her composure, she tries to hide the fact that she fell, and pushes her body up as fast as she could. Then, as if it were happening in slow motion, her little hand just missed the banister, and she fell backwards. 

I'll never forget her face when she realized that she was going down. Her mouth made an "O" as she flailed her arms in the air.  It was like Mr. Bill being punted across the town while screaming "OHHHH NOOOOOO!!!!". Her eyes darted all over the pace. I was too far away to try and catch her.

She landed on her back, then slid down with the back of her head blasting each step, and landed perfectly sprawled out on the floor. 




All I could do was cover my mouth with both hands, and stand there frozen. 

Her eyes were shut. Her skirt was hiked all the way up to her waist. Her black panties were exposed, as were several holes in her stockings near the crotch area. 

Oh, fuck. All I wanted to do was eat empanadas and watch Sons of Anarchy till I pass out. Now I'm going to have to convince the police that I didn't kill this poor girl. 

Then, thankfully, her eyes half-opened, and she started laughing. I was grateful for this. I mean, I was glad she was okay, but she basically gave me full-on permission to belly-laugh as I helped her up. And belly-laugh I did. She was a good sport about it, I must say. I walked her up by the hand the rest of the way up, all the while giggling like a little girl. 

At this point, I'm not too keen on sleeping with her. She was abominably drunk, and even though she called and came over soley for that purpose, I didn't like the idea of fucking someone that I barely know in this condition. 

We get into my apartment, and there's a girl I don't recognize sleeping on the couch. I sent her off into the bedroom, and listened to her boots cloppity-clop across the house as I ran into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. I realize that it may be a good time to smoke a bowl. If I'm going to babysit this girl all night, I might as well be stoned. I'm not a big pot-smoker, but I keep a little bit around in case of situations like this. You're also never too old to pull the ol' college dorm "I have a joint in my room" trick when you're trying to get a woman to come back to your place. 

I get to my room, and she's laying on my bed, completely naked, masturbating. 

Oh, okay, make yourself at home. 

Amy- "Get over here and fuck me." 

Doorman- "I'm gonna smoke a bowl. Wanna smoke?" 

Amy- "No." 

She keeps going. She thinks I'm teasing her. 

I get my bowl and weed, and I start packing as she rubs away next to me, making all sorts of sounds. She's into it. I'll admit that I was tempted, even though I told myself I wouldn't do it. I finish packing the bowl and fire it up, blowing the smoke out the window as I rested my knee on top of the bed. She used her free hand to undo my belt. 

Okay, she clearly has the coordination to masturbate and undo a belt, simultaneously, so maybe the fall sobered her up. I shouldn't feel like a piece of shit if she insists, right? 

Ah, male logic. 

I take a huge hit, and the bowl is kicked. I'm delightfully stoned. My weed-induced brain is having an inner-moral battle. 

"Fuck her!" 

"Fuck you!"

"No, fuck her!" 

"No, fuck you!" 

Then I think about her face when she fell down the steps, and I start having a giggle-fit. I turn my head so she doesn't see, and I do my best to stifle the laughter. 

Okay, I need to snap out of this and get some. Regain your composure, Doorman. You have a cute chick, naked, jacking off on your bed. Unless you become a movie star, this will not happen forever. Seize the moment. Go find a condom. 

Okay, a condom. Gotta find a condom. Where did I put the condoms? Do I have condoms? Fuck, I'm stoned. I should have a place where I keep condoms where they can't get all fucked up like they do when you keep them in your pocket for too long. That's when you know you haven't been laid in awhile - when all your condoms look like old, crumpled-up dollar bills. Maybe my jacket pocket. That's a good place for condoms. No, no, fuck that. What if I visit my parents and they take my coat and the condoms fall out in front of everyone? That would be awful!!! 

What was I doing? I should take my pants off. She's naked. I should be naked, too. 

Just as that thought raced through my clouded head, she lets out a joyous scream and clutches at my sheets. She's had an orgasm. I just stood there, pants around my ankles, wondering what I should do. 

But there was nothing I could do. Because the second she was done, she passed out. 

I've never seen a woman satisfied so quickly in my bed. 

Cut to about an hour later. She's still naked, sleeping next to me, and I'm watching Sons of Anarchy on my laptop, high as a kite. She wakes up abruptly. 

Amy- "AH!!! Where am I?" 

Doorman- "You're in my bed. Go back to sleep." 

Amy- "I have to pee." 

Doorman- "Go ahead, just grab that towel over there." 

She does. The second she leaves, I regret letting her go by herself. The apartment was pitch-black, and there was a random woman sleeping on the couch. She could barely stand on her own feet an hour ago, and now I was sending her into a dark abyss. That's all I needed - to hear a loud crash, then have to break up a fistfight between a couch crasher and some naked bimbo that I brought home. But shit was getting wild with my favorite biker gang, and I couldn't pry myself away. 

Miraculously, she came back a couple of minutes later, alive. She was wearing the towel, and once again, I'll never forget the image that came next:

She yanked the end of the towel quickly, and the momentum spun her around in a half-circle, which propelled her into my work station, like a ballerina. My work station was unimpressive, just a tray table and metal folding chair. She spun, buck-naked, into the folding chair, then crashed on top of the tray-table like Chris Farley in a Matt Foley sketch. All I could see was her naked-white rumpus slumped over the metal folding char, with the tray-table smashed on the floor. 

Jesus Christ. 

Doorman- "Really?… Really?!?"

Amy- "Oh my God. I fell again!" 

Doorman- "I noticed! Who are you, Mary Katharine Gallagher?!?" 

At this point, I heard rumbling coming from the other rooms. It was 5am, and the loud crashing from the metal chairs woke my roommates. Perfect. 

Amy- "I'M SORRY!!!" 

Doorman- "Don't yell, please." 

Anyone who has ever been around a remorseful drunk knows what I was about to deal with. She started crying and begging me to not be mad, apologizing profusely. All I wanted her to do was shut up and go to sleep. This went on for at least a half hour. Finally, she snuggled next to me, and dozed off. 

I woke up the next morning, and she was gone. In an effort to redeem myself with my relatively-new roommates, I cleaned the entire apartment spotless- the bathroom, the dishes, the common area… everything. No one ever mentioned a thing. 

A couple of weeks later, I texted a "Hey" while I was out, and she didn't respond. I haven't heard from her since.

So maybe it's time I find a wife and cut the shit. 

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