Thanks so much for that kind review. Sorry I’m kinda late, I hadn’t seen it till now. I want to add mre – not much, just an ending with finality, but I’m not sure how.
Short Story / I Need A Break From Pussy
Katherine found out that I’m gay a year ago when she created a profile on an anonymous gay sex hookup site using her boyfriend’s pictures. She found me there, looking for a committed relationship, of course, and sent me a message saying, “OMG ur a fucking homo! I knew it! U homo, I love it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody, I promise. P.S. I’m saving your dick pic.” We became friends – closer friends and now we have nick names for each other. She affectionately calls me “homo” and “fag” “booty bandit” and I call her “Pussy”. “Pussy” is a fairly common nick name for fag hags so this isn’t merely vulgarity for the sake of a dirty pun title. Time went on and as she became more comfortable with me, she became increasingly crazy. Crazy enough that I know she still has a picture of my dick she could make into a flier. Since then, she invites herself over to collect souvenirs from my apartment in the form of anything I own that her 5 foot frame can physically manage and anything from my fridge exceedingly high in caloric content. Pussy is over-weight.
“You got any food?” She’d ask, already bent over and ruffling though my fridge.
“Um, there’s some celery you can dip in cottage cheese for a light snack.” I’d reply.
She would glare at me as if my suggestion included sex toys and a personal lubricant. Once, I came home to find her already in my apartment wrapping my plates, utensils and glasses with news paper and boxing them.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” I spat.
“Hiiii honey, how was your day?” She replied singing her words.
“What are you doing with my fucking dishes?”
“By the way, you need to buy milk. I had to have my Apple Jacks dry.”
“WHAT-THE-FUCK-ARE-YOU-DOING?”
“I need dishes for my party, English.”
“Why can’t you use your own?”
“Eww, I don’t want 20 plus people putting my spoons in their mouths and leaving traces of their spit on my shit. Mouths are fucking dirty.”
I went silent because sadly, I understood the logic. I looked around to realize that my TV was unplugged and my cable box was disconnected and on the couch.
“Okay…why?” I asked, pointing to the box.
“Your TV is bigger than mine, I’ll borrow that too.”
‘Borrow’, in her language, had proven to roughly translate as cease indefinitely.
“How did you get in here?”
“With the key you gave me, remember?”
“I would never give you a key.”
“And why is that? You don’t fucking trust me?” She asked as she stood with the box of my dishes.
“Not so much that I don’t trust you than I already think it’s too much to have you next door.”
“You know what, English? Fuck you! Fuck you badly! Fuck your mother! And fuck your fucking boyfriend! I hope you get AIDS and die you fucking fagot!” She screamed, “Now follow me with your TV; I can’t lift it – thaaaanks.” Now smiling and singing again.
She attempted to turn and leave but I stopped her by grabbing the box and tugging aggressively. She had my camera, my iPod, all my prescription medication and even my laptop power cable. She wasn’t gonna get my fucking dishes too, even if I had to threaten the bitch with a cardiovascular workout. I looked at her and growled with my eyes. She laughed.
“Okay, that’s enough tough guy. Who do you think you are, Batman?”
“Give me my shit and get the fuck out!”
“Oh no, honey. Oh absolutely not.” Flicking her hair back by swishing her head, “You don’t talk to ME like that.”
Sometimes she spoke as if in competition with Tyra Banks to be America’s next top drag queen impersonator.
“I’ll talk to you any way I feel like and you are not getting my dishes.” I said sternly, “And I want my fucking power cable back!”
“Sorry honey, but shit grew legs.”
I yanked the box from her hands and made way very calmly back to the kitchen intending to stack them in the cupboard. She attacked, of course, and purposely knocked the box from under, turning it over and down to the floor. I could tell by the sound the crash made that absolutely nothing survived.
“If I can’t have them then FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU BADLY AND FUCK YOUR BROKEN DISHES, BATMAN!”
I stood there frozen at the sight of broken pieces of porcelain spread out to opposite ends of my apartment. Somehow I knew those dishes would die that day the moment I came home to find her. The hard-wood floors rumbled with the vibration in the anger of Pussy’s exit. She stopped at the front door and turned to say what I was expecting to be the obligatory final, “Fuck you”, as per all cliché angry exits dictate, but instead she asked sweetly and with absolutely no sarcasm, “Hey, do you think I could still borrow your TV, pleeeease?” My mouth was still ajar from the shock but my expression quickly morphed into disgust. Her tone seemed genuinely hopeful but I just looked at her. I looked at her as if she had just asked me to perform her doctorless abortion with a wire hanger.
“Yeah, well FUCK YOU THEN!” she spat.
The walls shook for what seemed to be a full minute after she slammed the door.
That night at 4am she called, miraculously recovered from her dish breaking, AIDs condemning, door slamming display of anger from earlier. I was awake, as I always am at 4am, and decided to answer despite having caller ID. If I didn’t, she would call and call and call as she often did when I screened her. And if I turned off my phone, she would come over.
“Hiiiii English!” She sang, elongating her words.
“What do you want?”
She laughed – much harder and longer than necessary. It was a jolly laugh like Santa’s and fluctuated in inflection sounding like a cross between an opera singer’s high note and a witch’s cackle.
“No, but seriously,” she began, “sorry about earlier. Can you come over and cuddle?”
“What?”
“I’m lonely. Let’s watch Cinemax and cuddle.” She meowed like a cat.
I went silent momentarily.
“I’m not coming over to cuddle with you; I’m going back to bed.”
“You’re an insomniac and I have your sleeping pills; don’t fucking lie to me.”
“And now I won’t be able to sleep for days at the thought of cuddling up and watching soft-core Cinemax porn with you.”
“FUCK YOU!”
I could hear her though the phone and through the walls from her apartment next door.
“FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FAG!” She screamed.
I could tell that tears were accompanying her shrieks. CLICK!
Her emotionally frantic phone calls became increasingly common.
“Hey sweetie pie, I need a favor.” She’d ask, “Can you come over so I can use your head to make a wig?”
“What?”
“I’m making my own wigs now, isn’t that economic of me?”
“No.”
“Yes it is, I’m saving money because the hair only costs $20 and the-“
“No, not that. I’m not doing it.”
“But you’re gay.”
“And?”
“And you went as Naomi Campbell for Halloween so don’t act like you’re butch all of a fucking sudden.”
“I’m still not doing it.”
“WELL FUCK YOU! I HOPE YOUR MOTHER DIES FROM CHOLORA YOU FUCKING FAG!”
CLICK!
“Hey dumpling, guess what?”
“What, Pussy?”
“I bought some frogs at the pet store today. Wanna come over and throw them at my ceiling fan?”
“What?”
“Let’s see if they stick.”
I went silent.
“Umm, I’ll pass on that thanks but you have fun.”
“You know what you are, English?”
“What am I, Pussy?”
“YOU’RE A FUCKING FAG!”
CLICK!
“Oh, my God, English, I have a great idea!”
“What?”
“Lets go rent a BB-gun and shoot Mexicans on the street!”
“What?!”
“Mexicans!”
I went silent.
“No, sorry, some other time, maybe; I’m not in a racist mood.”
“So what, you’re gonna stay home and drink and binge eat like every other Homo I know?”
“I’m the only one you know.”
“FUCK YOU! I know plenty.”
“Well go ask one of them to shoot Mexicans with you.”
“And you know what you can go do, English?”
“What’s that, Pussy?”
“You can go take it up the brown eye you FUCKING FAG!”
CLICK!
“Oh, My God, he raped me!” She screamed, hysterically crying.
I jumped out of bed.
“What? What happened?”
“The guy I met off Myspace! He just raped me; I’m bleeding so much.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! Where are you?” I shrieked.
I had one leg already in my pants as I held the phone to my head with my shoulder.
“I’m in a ditch with Lindsay Lohan.”
I went silent.
“You’re a fucking cunt!” I spat, “That wasn’t fucking funny.”
She cackled till she started coughing with laughter and I stayed silent waiting for her to finish hoping she’d choke.
“Oh, my God, that was so funny;” breathing heavily, “I did let a guy eat me out tonight though.”
CLICK! This time, I hung up.
To be continued…
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greggelz reviewed Version 1 -
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You have a clear voice and have created a perfectly imperfect conflict. The problem I find with most short stories is the ending, as most authors opt for death as an ending. With your to be continued, you have set yourself up … now how do you finish it? 8 of 10 so far
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johnstanley637 reviewed Version 1 -
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This is “raw” prose in the best sense of the word…why end it? You’ve put “To be continued…” which kind of makes me think you’d like to keep writing it, based still in reality or not. You’ve honed two great characters and built a conflict-based relationship that cries out to be explored. Sorry, I don’t mean to gush but I read this first last night on the list and then my laptop collapsed and you wouldn’t believe the combinations of words ending in “pussy” I tried to search to track it down again…luckily I did, finally.
Carry this on, in this vein and you’ll upset alot of people, but as one of my friends “Matty” says: (I’m paraphrasing) evoking reaction and emotion in the reader is what writing is all about and I, for one, want to know more about these people…maybe I’m just greedy for great writing, I don’t know, but this is an excellent piece…if it’s going to be a short story: cut the TBC at the end and let it stand alone…if it’s going to be more, I’ll be first in the queue to read. Cheers. JSx
Sangs reviewed Version 1 -
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I don’t dislike this, but it’s not yet convincing, at least in my humble opinion.
I think the first couple of mini-episodes fully establish the neighbor is unstable trouble. After that is established the reader, at least this reader, needs some degree of progression, either up or down. We know he’s gay, we know she’s a mega-needy psycho-bitch, isn’t there any more to this? Pick a direction that this ‘relationship’ can go and get on with it, escalate the shit out of it, make it something really worth reading.
Just my opinion, good luck with it.
ScottBJohnson reviewed Version 1 -
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It doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight, if someone treats you like that you need to call the cops on them. I wonder what it is though about straight people clinging to or thinking that they can change gay people. Maybe it’s just that you are too nice. I mean really… she took your laptop and what put you over the top was some dishes?? Dude! You need to get your priorities of things of value sorted out! :-)
So here’s my suggestion for the end of the story… call the cops on her and move away.
Shotfire reviewed Version 1 -
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What a strange story! It flows well and I like how you have summed up the continuing phone calls at the end, but it doenst seem to elude to anything, not does it have any direction. Drop some hints as to where it is headed. It has some of the criteria required to be published ie. the story grabs you right from the beginning and has interesting characters which are developed as the story unfolds by use of repetition but again, seems to head nowhere. Look forward to finding out who wins though
thewizard83 reviewed Version 1 -
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I’m not exactly sure what to make of this. You are, without a doubt, a talented writter. The piece has excellent flow and the narration is genuine. The dialogue feels 100% real. The characters feel real as well though I shudder to think this ‘Katherine’ has a base in reality. She’s like a rabid dog that needs to be put down. The only part that doesn’t add up is why the protagonist puts up with such obscene behavior. I hope it’s not because she knows he’s gay. Even if its because he’s a push-over it is still almost too pathetic to read. I suggest toning down ‘Katherine’s’ obscene personality and giving the protagonist at least a small backbone so that readers aren’t turned away.
Camoomelish reviewed Version 1 -
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Very funny. You work with dialogue very well. It definately draws the reader in. I think, however, that certain areas of the piece are confusing. The dialogue, as I metioned before, is very good, but some action needs to be included in order to string the dialogue together better. All in all, the way you portrayed “pussy” was hilarious, and I overall enjoyed reading this
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