|
Love and Happiness by Norman Szabo LOVE AND HAPPINESS'Something that can make you do wrong, make you do right.' -- Al Green
It's funny how things turn out. For instance, when I was a kid I could never stand Al Green, and now he's one of my all-time favorites. I love that guy. In fact I'm listening to the good ol' Reverend Al right now while I try to figure out my next move. You got any divine inspiration for me, Al, then just bring it on home baby because I sure could use it. Because, shit, I never expected to find myself in this kind of mess, six thousand miles from home and freshly infected with who knows what all special fucking cocktail of venereal diseases after doing what I just did. ~ I've always had a hard time asking a girl for a date. It's not fear of rejection. Hell, I've worked in telemarketing and I was good at it too. Which is a job you can't do if you have a thing about rejection, what with all the smartass ways people dick you around before they hang up on you. A lot of guys can't handle it, but I have the self esteem and for me it was never a problem. I'd just think fuck 'em, and move on. Usually I'd hang up before they did. What got me was it became too easy. I could spot the prospects in about five seconds and nail them too most of the time, but after a while there was no challenge to it. I wanted to take on the smartasses but they'd never stay and fight. With me when it comes to girls though, it's a question of embarrassment. I figure I inherited this whole embarrassment thing from my mother's side. She's English, and the English never do anything in public unless they're 110% positive they won't embarrass themselves. Sure they crap and whine for hours when they're on their own, but the waiter turns up and they're as quiet as a treefull of sparrows after a backfire. And hey, in case you've never been there, their pissant country isn't 'quaint' either, it's just fucking small. Talking's no problem. I could always talk. I can make girls laugh too and they go for that. The small talk, the dinner, the date -- most guys hate that shit, but I get that far and I know where things are headed, so I just serve up the bullshit and sit back and enjoy myself. But it doesn't work when you have to explain the jokes and they don't know Homer Simpson from O.J. The language barrier, you know? And the culture barrier too. It's a free English lesson for them and frickin unpaid overtime for me. Jesus. So what I'm saying is it's been hard for me to get laid out here. Back home, I'd hang out and there'd be girls around who'd date one guy and then the next and sooner or later it'd be my turn. I mean, we're not talking long term relationship here. We'd smoke and drink and screw and before long I'd be on my own again and she'd be on to the next guy. Not that I'm ugly or anything, just you know, average. No distinguishing features, as they say. And also, yeah, OK, this bitch once told me that I wasn't a great lay. I'm not gonna go into the details, but girls always get to hear about that shit, you know? Sometimes they'll check you out anyway, but it's two or three dates and then they're not bothering to take the gum out of their mouths and before you know it your privileged access period is over. But that's cool though, I guess. No hard feelings. Out here it's different. The girls'll stick with you but they want things. I've seen it a thousand times. They're cute and they'll put out but they're clingy and manipulative and persistent. They want you to make money and they want you to marry them. Their families always take that shit seriously too, and there's always some cousin or uncle who thinks he's a frickin gangster. Sure, you can always find a few ho's who are just looking for a good time, but they're mostly pretty fucked up. Which they probably would have to be anyway before they'd start hitting on a guy like me. Some of these honeys sure are sweet though. Jesus! Back in the States I never had much of a thing for Asian girls. Nothing against them, but no special thing for them either. But these girls aren't like the ones you meet back home. The way they dress for one: 35 year old sales assistants dressed like schoolgirls and looking like fantasy hookers. And it's not like at home where these bitches know what they're doing. Out here, that's just the way they dress. It doesn't mean shit. I swear ninety percent of them have no fucking clue the effect they have, standing way too close, all pouting and innocent and giggling, and stamping their little feet hard enough to make their tits jiggle. One time I was on this bus that filled up with damp schoolgirls. Man, they just kept piling on. It was a Japanese businessman's wet dream. And I was wedged into this jumpseat through four miles of heavy crosstown traffic with a fucking uncomfortable hard-on and every time we lurched around the corners there was nothing to grab onto except things I shouldnt. But mostly though, as long as you don't violate any of the major local taboos -- such as for instance boning the recently dead -- if you're a westerner you can pretty much get away with anything out here. Don't piss off the natives, and everyone leaves you the fuck alone. Especially the cops, who are too worried about losing face to be confrontational. Hell, you see them sitting at intersections with their light-bars flashing just waiting in line like everyone else. And in any case their level of professional infuckingcompetence is a joke. I've got a certain grudging respect for the cops back home, but here you see these frickin clowns making some high profile arrest on TV and it's flat out scary. Waving their handguns around every which way (Jesus H. Christ, boys, I do sincerely hope those things aren't loaded!) and crashing into reporters and falling over each other as they zero in on some perp's front door. If there was any justice in the world, it's the guy in charge of these raids who should be hiding his face from the cameras. So anyway, after I'd stepped off the plane in Taiwan, whenever anyone asked, I said I'd graduated from Missouri State U. And I guess nobody bothered to check because it only took about me three days to get hired as an English teacher. I did that for a while and then I switched to working for this magazine, which is a glossy arts and current affairs deal with no editorial direction whatever and offices on the 7th and 8th floor of the Rebar Insurance Building in downtown Taipei. Zhong Xiao East Road, Section 3. Not a bad area. Twice a month we give the world our own special blend of soft news and puff pieces and a shitload of pictures -- scenery, traffic, fashion, local celebs -- and about 30 percent of the articles are translated into English alongside the Chinese. Mostly to prove to our readership how cosmopolitan they are because I guarantee you no-one is actually reading this stuff. And I've been sub-editing this crap for nearly a year now and -- until this evening, if that counts -- it's been about a year since I got laid too. And that was a fucked-up three-week affair with this seriously weird teacher who dumped me and quit her school and left the country and wound up back in Scotland where I guess by now she must have put the finishing touches to her nervous breakdown. But I fit in here though. Because I can play the nice guy. The girls here see me in the corridor and they smile, friendly as hell. And I smile back and I don't look at their tits and I do the right fucking thing and not stare at their tight little asses when I follow them up the stairs. And I don't take advantage in the elevator either, which is especially hard because the feng-shui guy has got mirrors installed on all four walls and even on the frickin ceiling. The management gets pissed if I don't clock in by nine, but they don't care how late I go home. So tonight -- this was maybe 6:30 and any time after five I usually have the place to myself -- I was alone in my cubicle and just getting started on my second beer. Minding my own business, you know? Surfing the porno sites and waiting to see if the rain would stop so I could ride my scooter home instead of elbowing my way onto a bus. And then this girl from the 7th floor comes wobbling through the office carrying a foot-high stack of photocopies. She was using her tits to keep the top of the pile from flying away like a shorter person would have used her chin. She had big tits too for a Chinese girl and she had this way of sticking them out like she was some kind of pigeon. Fantastic legs as well and a prizewinning ass it goes without saying. I stared and -- of course -- she smiled. 'Hello, Baoluo', she said, making a big thing out of my Chinese name. And she tottered on past headed for the elevators. I got up to stretch my legs -- yeah, right -- and wandered into the aisle. There she was. White blouse with a pale green bra that was visible from ten yards away, white socks and black platforms and a short red tartan skirt. She got to the elevators and turned and smiled again, and about two reams of A4 slipped out from under her tits and concertinaed all over the floor. 'Oh hey, let me help you with that', I said. And even then I wasnt trying to hit on her. It's just what a nice guy would say and I said it. So I came over and squatted down in front of her and helped her pick up all these frickin sheets of paper. She squatted opposite with her knees towards me and her thighs slightly parted which if this had been a porno shot it would have been about three inches short of an upskirt. She had perfect skin. She saw me looking and smiled. Totally infuckingscrutable. 'Hey, I've got something to show you,' I said. What the fuck was I thinking? Too many movies? Too many pornsites? Too many days without talking to another native speaker, hell, without talking to anyone unless 'Hi' and 'Bye bye' count as conversation. I got her back to my cubicle. 'I want to ask you if you've ever seen anything like this before,' I said. 'I'm doing a survey. What's your name?' 'My English name?' 'Sure.' 'Amy.' I got her watching the screensaver and then jiggled the mouse. Some tart with spread legs and her tits in her hands popped into view. Amy put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were popping. With interest? Horror? Surprise? I tried another image, an animated GIF. A black whore riding this well-endowed stud. 'How does that make you feel?' I asked. She gasped into her hand. It seemed like she couldn't make up her mind. She looked down at my crotch and my dick gave her a muffled salute. But I still couldn't figure if she was interested or what, so I took a chug of beer to give her time. She finally took her hand away from her mouth and reached out and touched me. I guess now that she maybe was just appalled and was trying to push me away. Or maybe she didn't know what the fuck she was doing. But it was a bad move though because she wasn't real decisive about it and I took it as a come on. I put my arm around her waist. She said my name and her voice sounded strange and sexy but yeah, OK, thinking back it could well have been that she was freaked out. I tried to ease her toward me but she moved back against the desk and she was heavier than I thought and instead of reeling her in, I got pulled onto her. Which made her squirm and shimmy -- which was fine with me -- and I whispered 'Amy' into her ear and moved to her tits with one hand and grabbed her ass with the other. Mister fucking Romance. And then she thumped me upside the head with one of those industrial-sized office staplers. Which really fucking hurt. And we both fell down and she hit her head and her blouse got ripped and then we're both standing again and she's breathing hard and I'm blocking her exit. And I'm thinking, this is pretty fucking embarrassing. Everyone in the office is gonna be hearing about this mess -- which is really in any case just a misunderstanding, but it won't be my version they hear -- and I'm thinking damage control and I'm wondering what I should say to her to bring this whole episode to a mutually satisfactory conclusion. But I never even get a word out because she fucking launches at me, kicking and screaming and lashing out and she's got hold of the fucking stapler again and I'll have the scars to prove it. I slap her to calm her down but that doesn't work and she starts throwing things and I'm getting pissed and starting to lose it and I grab the computer keyboard and swing it edge on and it catches the side of her head and she falls over a chair and goes down hard. One of her tits has popped out and she has one leg up over the chair and her skirt is rucked up and I can see her panties. Shit. 'Amy?' I say, and -- I swear -- I arranged her skirt to cover her a little better. But she doesn't move. Because she's fucking dead is why. And I push her skirt back up again. She's fucking dead awright so what does she care? And I'm fucked anyway. And I'm pretty excited too by now and this is one sweet piece of flesh in front of me with her legs open and she's not about to make any kind of objection. So I surgically remove her panties with a pair of scissors and I do her. ~ And yeah I feel kind of ashamed about it now. Which I think proves that I'm not some kind of sicko pervert. This whole thing is just something that happened. It's fucked up and I know you think I'm worse than some mass-murdering death-camp torturer but it was an accident, OK? People die horribly every day. And if I dont get the fuck out of Dodge, I'll be heading for a pretty fucking horrible end myself. Technically I don't know if this counts as aggravated rape/homicide or what, but under the circumstances I'm not too optimistic about any local judge returning a verdict of accidental death. And in any case the deranged fuckers in the Taoyuan maximum security correctional facility are gonna have their own legal opinion on this one. So I've finished the beer and I've figured out what to do. I'm not about to hack up the corpse and put it in bin liners and smuggle it out the building and make like nothing happened. Screw that. There's too much blood and semen splattered around the cubicle to blow any kind of story anyway. No, I'm out of here, babe. On the run. My cashcard's good for about fifty thousand Taibi -- sixteen hundred US dollars -- which I can change into hard currency at the airport. I figure I've got until tomorrow morning, say 7:30 when the cleaners come in. The buses run all night. I can get down to Kaoshiung and leave the country from there. OK, they're gonna be checking the ports of entry, and by mid-morning they'll be all over Taipei International but there's a good chance they won't have their shit together down in Kaoshiung and by then anyway I should be gone. And lucky for me, I've got two passports. Which is not as glamorous as it sounds, it's just a dual citizenship thing that works because my mom is from London and my old man is a bonafide citizen of Bumfuck, Missouri. A quick hop to HK or Manila and then another hop to ....wherever. And I disappear. And enter a whole new world, baby, where I'll probably have to teach fucking English again and watch my back and watch my chances and wait for about 50 years for this to blow over. Me and my two passports and my Cream of Al Green CD and the sixteen hundred bucks from my post office savings account. Love and happiness, baby. So long. It was real. I'm outta here. |