Saturday December 17, 2005
	At the bar.
	"I'll be your Christmas gift," she says.  She has unbuttoned her jeans and pulled the zipper down exposing her panties. I say: "What are those?" "They're my Corpse Bride panties," she says then buttoning up. I say: "From the movie?" She is pulling the zipper up and while she is pulling it she says: "I just love Tim Burton." It's just past midnight and I'm in a bar sitting alongside a woman I met only a few hours earlier.  "You'll be my Christmas present?" I say then putting the Budweiser bottle to my lips.     She lowers the volume of her voice and says: "I use the NuvaRing." "What's a NuvaRing?" I say then ordering another round of drinks. She puts her hand on my shoulder and says: "It's kind of like a rubber band.  I push it deeply into my whore hole and it releases a steady dose of hormones."   My initial interest in her has faded considerably, especially after hearing her refer to her vagina as a whore hole.  The only other woman I ever heard call her own vagina a whore hole was Madge Weinstein. "It's a birth control device?" I say wanting to sound intelligent and rounded and not surprised. "Works real good," she says then licking her lips. "Good for you," I say. She says: "Though, I was constipated last week and I guess all the straining made my NuvaRing pop out." "Pop out?" I say. "I hadn't crapped for some time and I guess I was pushing too hard and before I knew it my NuvaRing rifled out of my whore hole and into the toilet bowl. "I see," I say. She says: "When I looked between my legs and into the toilet bowl I saw the NuvaRing and it was floating and I thought I had the ringworm." I've lost all interest in her and I'm looking around the bar wanting to find another place to sit. "Constipation is a normal part of life," I say then putting the fresh bottle of Budweiser to my lips.  "It's packed in me right now," she says then licking her lips, again.    When she says it's packed in her I'm wondering if she's talking about the birth control device or if she means that she still hasn't evacuated her bowels. "Uh huh," I say. "I'm on the Wellbutrin XL, too," she says,  "For five and a half years I was too depressed to have sex and I'm still horribly depressed but now thanks to XL I'm able to lay pipe almost like a regular woman." "Good for you," I say.  Why would anyone want to make love to a horribly depressed person and how does anyone suffering from depression find the gumption to actually attract anyone?   She says: "At one time I used Yasmin (birth control pills) but I thought that anything that sounded that sweet couldn't possibly keep a gal from getting pregnant." "I once dated a girl named Yasmin," I say.  "She was sweet." To myself I'm thinking: Whore hole, rifled, packed, lay pipe, this woman should be writing for Penthouse Magazine. "I'll be the best Christmas present you ever had," she says then downing the drink I just bought her. I say: "I'll be right back I gotta use the restroom." PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT