The Hummus King and the Bathtub Queen E-Book

Ilan Heitner

• Herausgeber: BooxAi
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The pain and frustration caused by the inability to find a woman or a job, turned Amir, a sensitive guy with a gentle soul, into a sex monster. In a vulgar, yet sensitive manner, Amir tells us of his sexual and non-sexual experiences in New York, to which he went to study film. While there he meets Philly, with whom he fell head over heels in love, yet during a wonderful orgy she totally flips and kicks him out. This only made him sicker. And what was he asking for? Love!!
“I thought I love women, so I was with a lot. And then I met someone who told me that a guy who loves women only needs one. So I was with one woman every day.”

Bio of Ilan Heitner:
Author of some of Israel’s best selling books for over two decades.
His first book "Wisdom of the Pretzel” (1998), sold over 150,000. His second book “King of the Hummus” (2005) sold over 130,000, his third book “MeatBalls” (2008) sold over 100,000 copies, his fourth book “The Perfect Idiot” (2011) sold over 80,000 copies,  his fifth book “The Man” (2016) sold over 50,000 copies, and his most recent book "7,250" (2018) has sold more than 30,000 copies in the first two months since it was published, and
It seems to be his greatest success ever!

Leseprobe

THE HUMMUS KING AND THE BATHTUB QUEEN

Ilan Heitner

The Hummus King and the Bathtub Queen

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2021 by Ilan Heitner

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by BooxAi

ISBN: 978-965-577-915-8

THE HUMMUS KING AND THE BATHTUB QUEEN

ILAN HEITNER

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

I went in for gas because the dial had been on the edge of the red line for almost two days. She was filling in front of me in some middle-class Japanese car. It looked like she took it from her dad. She looked pretty horrible in a general matter, but I couldn't take my eyes off her giant breasts, who were completely sticking out of her bra like they're yelling at me - take us, lick us, bend us. I can't see very well from afar, but I'm pretty sure a part of her nipple wasn’t held by her bra. I lost it. Like a man that hasn't eaten for a year and is now going to a feast at the Moroccan King's castle. Images started running through my head and I completely lost my concentration, especially after she looked at me like a slut, to the point I thought I was about to take the gas pump and shove it up her ass. I didn't have the guts to go talk to her and I felt the whole thing slipping away from me. I was filled with frustration.

To skydive, to open a business, to draft screenplays, to pitch in front of the top 50 executives at Universal Studios, to bungee jump from 493 feet, I can do all these things, but I can’t hit on a fugly chick that’s been eyeing me for thirty minutes?

I saw that she was taking her time with the cashier and was throwing non-stop looks my way. It’s now or never. Now. I just went in her direction without the slightest clue of what I was going to say. My heart was racing like a maniac. She had just signed her name on the receipt slip, so I asked her if she could give me her name as well, or if she only gives it to the credit card company. It turned out well. She gave me her number. I felt like that moment when you raise your Academy Award in the air, after saying all the thank you-s, in which you haven't forgotten anyone.

"So… Maybe you can come to my place and we can have a good time?" I had to make sure she knew what we were going towards.

"Come over to your place and have a good time?" She answered like she had just got off an armed vehicle.

"Yes, why? What's the problem with having a good time? Everyone wants to have a good time, no?"

"Yes, but... you're so direct."

"Direct...? I’m not that direct," I smiled to myself acknowledging my previous thought, "I have DirectTV, but other than that..."

A giggle. A silence. The moment of truth. Now we close all the inseams of this deal. What I say now is very crucial. I'm either in her mouth in six hours or I'm jerking off to the internet. It’s all about saying the right thing now.

"Come on, I'll come to pick you up, just tell me when and where and I’ll report for duty."

What can I say - I felt that if I don't bend in the debate, the deal is going to blow up.

"Let’s smoke a cigarette and talk for a bit," she replied, and started walking towards the corner of the gas station, over by the air pump. How exasperating, just what I need, that someone will walk by and see me with this monkey and her tits out, sitting and smoking a cigarette by the air pump of a gas station.

Why am I being ticketed for only wanting a simple thing - to touch a breast after an ocean of celibacy? Did I ask for too much?

It felt rude to bail now, so I followed her to the air pump and sat on the curve like I was about to get up at any moment, like I was sitting there by accident. She lit my cigarette. I didn’t talk much. She didn’t either. She must've liked it, because she told me she had just bought two amazing thongs. We agreed I’d call her later and check them out.

I went back on my moped, and I was angry with myself.

I can’t see the sun, the trees, the clouds. I can barely see the road. I'm only seeing my little Philly.

It’s evening. I'm laying in bed at home, dead tired, dialing Philly's number, but unable to press "call." Instead, I call that chick, just cause I want to pass a few minutes of my life, and I tell myself that no matter what happens, no matter what she says or what we talk about, there's no way I’m seeing her. After thirty minutes, I find myself in her bed having her cat's tail rub against my ass cheeks as I give it to her doggy style.

At the peak of my anger I smacked her cat off the bed, and then she told me that it isn’t nice to hit cats, and I told her that I didn't hit her, that I have a cat and I love cats, and I just threw her off the bed because she kept rubbing on me and it interrupted me, and then she said that the cat was here before me and that it’s not interrupting. And this whole discussion continues while my dick is in her doggy style, and then the cat got back on the bed and I didn’t shoo her cause I wanted to keep fucking and I forgot about everything and really got into fucking her and she started screaming and squealing, and all of a sudden something smashed right in the head and I didn’t understand what it is until I saw the curtain rod on the bed and my dick fell from the pain and I realized that she was so excited she pulled the curtain and pulled the whole thing straight into my skull. I stopped fucking her cause this crosses the line and I’m pissed at myself over how I even got there and my forehead hurts and I wanted to die and then she asked: "are you ok?" And me, all I want is to go home but somehow, we get back into it and then at the peak of madness a mosquito gets in my ear and I find myself fucking her with everything I've got while smacking myself in the ear, and I want to die. My dick is totally flaccid in there from the mosquito and the cat and my forehead is incredibly swollen from the curtain that came down on it at 100 mph, and I’m all angry and sweaty trying to imagine crazy porn films to get out of this terrible situation, and then right when I manage to restart it and I’m about to cum she goes "not yet, not yet" and then I start thinking of bin Laden and 9/11 and cartoons and the fact I’m not successful in life and I’m begging for the mosquito or the cat to come back and knock “him” over for me but they don’t show, and I feel like I’m about to explode and she yells again "wait for me, wait for me," and then I just stopped, stood up, and felt the burst stop at the very last second, at the edge of its edge, a split second from the point of no return. The world stood still, I’m hitting the brake hard, and then right at that moment she moved backwards and I squirt a bit of it in there and I pulled out of there cause I’m not wearing a condom and she’s not on birth control and I start rubbing it outside to somehow save this god-awful orgasm, and a split second after the hose fully opens I feel a very rough tongue in my ass hole and from the terror I moved aside and slap whatever it is with everything I got and I hear a sort of "meowww" and then silence.

The kitty is dead.

What a mess. The girl started screaming and squealing, "you killed her I can’t believe it, you killed Schlompi," and me, I have nothing to say and she starts crying, "why did you do it? Why did you do it?" And I say I’m sorry it was an accident and she yells "how, how," so I’m trying to explain to her everything I was going through and she cries, "she was a kitten, a kitten, oh, my Schlompi," and I don’t know what to say anymore so I decided to go home and at the edge of the door I turn my head back, see that ugly chick I met at the gas station this morning crying over her cat that’s laying there breathless after I smacked her while she licked my asshole the second I came, and I think to myself, "isn’t it time for you to get married already?"

I left her house and I knew it was time for love.

CHAPTER1

I met Philly in New York. I went to a Pet Shop Boys concert with a friend of mine, and only then I realized the song "It’s a Sin" talks about the lead singer who realized as a teenager that he was a faggot. It was a big concert. Honestly, being Israeli, almost every concert in NY is going to be "big." Even when I got out the yellow taxi and stood in line for tickets, I felt like the world was in my pocket. Here I am, Amit from Israel, going to a concert in fucking New York City with an American audience and an American line and an American show, and here they are on stage and I'm here by myself, with a friend, greeting them in a New York stadium and remembering the first times I've seen them in a music video on VH1 while my mom was frying schnitzel in the kitchen. Amazing. We left the show and he asked me if I felt like stopping by at his friend’s house, and I said yes. I always like going over to my friends’ female friends, moreover I just got here a week ago and I'm scared shitless of this city and don’t know anyone.

We walked into her apartment and I was baffled - how can it be, that in an age when I was still using "AZZARO" perfume in my parents’ bathroom in Ramat Gan, this chick is paying for an apartment on her own in New York? And she’s only 21!

We got inside and sat in the living room. She asked if we wanted to drink anything, and before we could even answer, she said that the water was already boiling. A girl that puts a kettle on the stove before even asking what I want to drink definitely does it for me. She had dreads too, and magnificent skin, and amazing eyes, and a sweet ass, but instead of focusing on this unique magic I couldn't stop imagining her paying her bills or buying a couch or carrying a TV or talking to movers.

How did she find this apartment? Who's her landlord? And in English! In the United States of America!

She caught on the fact I was mesmerized by this issue, and it seems to me like she's pretty amused by it.

"Give me a week and I hook you up with an apartment", she said and went in the kitchen. I nodded at my friend a kind of "niiiiice" with excitement - what a girl you hooked me up with, kudos! And I went in the kitchen after her. She had just poured the tea into small glasses, and we agreed that it's more fun drinking out of small glasses, because you can see the end of your beverage, and see that you’re almost out. That's how you appreciate every sip. I told her how when I do my grocery shopping at the supermarket, I always like buying the babaghanouj at Nisim's bodega, and that's where I always buy a small portion of that and raspberry syrup. A large portion of babaghanouj is significantly less tasty, like it’s a different type of eggplant, and I never eat it all anyway. After a week, I find this yellow crust on it and throw it away. A small portion is never enough though, I always need another spoonful or two, and that's probably what makes it taste better, and that's exactly why it's more fun drinking out of small glasses. She laughed, but more than the story of the eggplants, she liked the raspberry syrup, and the fact I go specifically to Nisim's bodega to buy it. "Only Israel has that," she said "those sweet little bodegas, with an old couple that's been there for fifty years." Then she added, "there's not a type of syrup in the world that you can imagine that doesn’t exist in America, there's everything here, from orange juice to wheat grass juice, but raspberry syrup?

“Oh, how I want raspberry syrup! Wow," she yelled and added sugar to the tea like she didn't notice. She just said one of the greatest sentences of all times and made me love her forever and ever.

I wanted to hug her. The way she said, "oh how I want raspberry syrup! Wow," and went back to stirring the sugar with a nostalgic smile and a face filled with innocence and truth; I felt like my heart was exploding.

Not only she put a kettle before asking what we want to drink, but her eyes are filled with happiness and livelihood, and her skin is amazing, dreads in her hair and a beautiful butt, and she wants raspberry syrup in the middle of Manhattan, and she doesn't just want raspberry syrup, she wants it badly, she wants raspberry syrup from the deepest, most sincere place in her heart. Her "oh how I want raspberry syrup" was on a high level of desire, of longing, of nostalgia, of loving the motherland. So, she lives in New York by herself, and she didn’t forget that her real life is in Israel. Perfect. That’s just what I need.

We went back to sitting on the couch and my friend told us that next week he's going to Pennsylvania, so she jumped up and said Saul is going to be there too.

"Who's Saul?" My friend asked, and she replied, "oh, just a friend of mine."

Who's Saul? What's Saul? Why is she talking nonsense right now? I was thinking to myself. What, she’s trying to ruin the whole raspberry syrup effect in one second? I can’t stand these girls that all of a sudden shove into their already boring story the names of their friends whom I don’t even know!

I can get to know a girl for barely five minutes, let’s say even on a blind date, and I barely know her name but all of a sudden she'll tell me, "So I went there with Miri.."

Who’s Miri, you bitch, who's Miri? Do I know Miri? Why are you pushing your friends’ ugly names in the story like it's helping me in any way understand your point? What's the purpose of it, for me to ask you who's Miri so you can tell me "Miri is a really good friend of mine, were really... it’s really hard for me to explain our relationship... anyway... Miri and I go to this place and..."

Fuck Miri.

We continued having a light conversation until my friend said he had to leave, so I left with him. I went home and got in bed but couldn't fall asleep. I was trying to imagine her paying our bills.

From my experience, I learned that the more excited I am over a girl, the less she is about me.

What causes this vicious circle to happen every time?

I haven't found a single reason other than maybe the more I’m stoked on somebody, the more scared I get, hesitant, and take her way too seriously, and chicks don’t like scared, hesitant men who take them too seriously. Moreover, it seems like all men are excited over the same chicks, so every chick experiences an endless number of scared fags who treat her like the princess of England, when all she wants is someone to treat her like shit. In the beginning, at least. Someone that won’t make a big deal out of her, that will lay down the law and won’t take her schedule into consideration. Someone that will treat her like what she thinks a real man should treat a real woman. One that will set rules and will follow them with the utmost respect and kindness. That’s it. How long can she stand through that ritual where some scaredy cat calls her, all mumbling and possessed with anxiety, then later waits for her downstairs all nervous in his car, looking fresh and smelling nice, and he has mints that he offers her before she even had a chance to sit down, and then drives her to a Japanese restaurant she was just at yesterday with the other fag that tried to impress her. How long can she stand that for?

Go to her in the afternoon on a moped, give her an old helmet to put her Pantene shampooed hair in, tell her you're hungry and take her to Jaffa for some hummus, and that’s it. Don't make a big deal out of it.

I called her the next day and asked her if she’s going to Philadelphia for a big party a friend was throwing. Philadelphia is three hours away by bus, the party is at night, which means that if she says yes, we spend the night together too. I'm going all in. You wanna go - cool, you don’t wanna go - also cool. I have no energy for the "regular" way anymore. I called her. What are the odds that she’s going to be available for two whole days, and not only that, that she’ll choose to spend those two days with a moron like me?

She said yes. Not only she said yes, but there was no hesitation in her yes. Like I asked her if she had a cigarette.

I came to pick her up from her place like a kid that got amusement park tickets from his dad. We got to the station where all the busses left from and got so lost that we missed the bus by a second, we literally saw it drive off right in front of us. We kept walking around until the next bus and we got on that one at the very last second. We both knew that this tardiness was a sign that indicated a good connection between us, so we didn’t even mind missing another bus. We were good together. We sat at the back row of the bus, because that’s the only row that had available seats, and we were stoked that we had the whole row of seats to ourselves. We started making fun of the American stupidity - how once they have an assigned seat they only sit in that seat, even if there’s a seat that’s a thousand times better, they'll never take it. After ten minutes of a sweet ride, where we held hands and smiled, filled with anticipation like two children, disaster struck. One after the other they approached us and emptied their rotten bowls on our laps. One after the other. In Israel we don’t have restrooms on busses. Who can imagine the necessity of a bathroom on a bus that drives for only three hours?

We took an important role with lots of responsibility on the bus - being the gatekeepers of the bathroom stall. The lock must have been broken and the door didn’t close all the way, so the pooper had to hold the door while taking a shit, and trust us that were attentive enough to know that they're there, so when the next person comes and asks, "Is there anyone in there?" We'll say, "yes, someone is in there, you’re welcome to shit on us in five minutes, thanks."

Sweet Philly had to pee as well, but she didn’t want to go in there. She said she’d wait till we get there, and I said she should just go here, what’s the big deal?

Me, I can’t even think of peeing and shitting in places like these. When I think that there's someone out there just waiting to hear the beginning of a stream of liquid, it stops my entire mechanism. Maybe I’m a little strange, but if it’s not a fucking emergency, it seems to me a bit rude to shit in someone's presence.

I wanted Philly to pee. There’s everybody in the world, and my opinion of everybody in the world, but the girl that's mine, when she’s already with me, she’s allowed to do anything she wants. I can see other chicks behaving exactly like her, and they can seem to me as beastly or rude or stupid or exhausting, but my girlfriend can behave the same and seem like a princess to me. She's always number one, and she’s even allowed to shit in someone's lap on a bus to Philadelphia.

By the way, Philly is short for Philadelphia, which is how the Americans call it. When we went to buy the tickets for the bus and we told the cashier "two tickets to Philadelphia please," he said on the microphone to someone else "two tickets to Philly," so we looked at each other and smiled cause this name is so cute and said to each other "we are going to Philly," and ever since, till forever, we would call each other that. Philly.

Some old lady came out of the bathroom and shook her head as if saying thank you and sorry at the same time, and after her a fat Japanese man walked in and peed like a horse. We looked at each other and couldn't stop laughing. We talked about how usually girls pee sounds are much louder than boys because it hits the water from a closer distance, but that Japanese guy broke all the records. We felt like we were sitting at the edge of a 30ft high waterfall.

After that I asked her what she wants to be when she grows up, and she said it depends in which moment I asked her that.

"Are you asking me now what I want to be when I grow up?"

"Yes, now, if not now so when?"

"Cause in five minutes, or tomorrow, or a month from now, you can get a completely different answer."

I'm an idiot, so when I was asked what I wanna be when I grew up from age 6 to 28 I've answered the same thing.

She said she wanted to travel the world for about two years, and that she wanted to start a business that would give work to the homeless people, and that she wanted to be a chef, and live by the sea, and that she wanted to be a salesperson in a toy store, and she also wants to study architecture, and a million other things and she wants all of them at the same time. She said she had lots of "I's" to her, but not one "I" that is her. There's the "I" that wants to fool around and have a good time, and there's the "I" that tells her to be serious and think of the future and how to promote herself, and there's the "I" that wants to take care of others and make the world a better place, and the "I" that wants to only take care of herself, and lots of other "I's" and that each of them wants a different thing and she doesn’t know what to pick.

I was shocked. Five hundred courses about spirituality filled with "Ommm's", meditations, yoga, and she already knows it now....

I asked her if she knew George Gurdijeff and she said no.

"Gurdijeff was some sort of philosopher, who allegorized our lives to the one of a ship trying to get from point A to point B. One captain goes on deck and turns the wheel to the left, then ten minutes later another captain goes and turns the wheel to the right, then two days later they switch captains and this one drives the boat back where they came from and a week later a new captain comes and breaks the wheel to the left. So how will the ship get to point B? That’s how we’re like, us humans. We don’t have just one "I" that’s in control, every few minutes a different "I" gets on deck and takes the ship wherever it wants. What you’re saying right now is exactly when Gurdijeff said."

"So what do I do with it, how does knowing all of this help me, I already know this!"

"We have to aim for one "I" to lead us."

"But how do I know which "I" to choose when every five minutes or few days it changes?"

"It's not like you have that many "I's," it’s the fact that we live like slaves of our passions and ego, and they are the ones that throw us up and down and make us think that there are many. "I's". Someone that’s important to you gives you a compliment on a drawing you made - you’re over the moon and imagine yourself at an architect's firm. You failed a test in college that everyone passed - you want to become a social worker and help the world. You gained a few pounds and some asshole on the street asks you how far along you are - you want to go to Costa Rica and live on the beach cause you’re sick of everything. I'm exaggerating, of course, but what I’m trying to say is that we’re affected by our environment like a leaf in a storm and we have to be stronger on the inside."

I have no idea if Gurdijeff even said that, but it seemed about right.

"But how can we do anything differently? Is this all there is to life?!"

"It's not all there is to life, it’s looking at yourself through others, it’s giving in to your passions and ego, it’s always wanting "more" - looking better, be more successful, be happier. You fulfill a passion and then another one comes along, it’s like a bottomless pit and no matter how hard you try to fill it, it’s always going to be empty. You’re going to spend your whole life trying to fill this pit and it only guarantees you a life of emptiness. They say in the Bible "a small organ, man has. He who feeds it is hungry and he who is in hungry is full." So the more you fuck, the more horny you get. If you stop fucking, you'll be full. It works in reverse, you see, and that’s how it’s like in all areas of life. You’re always going to want to look better, to have more money, and more weed to smoke, and another chick and another piece of cake, and a bigger car. The moment we stop chasing our passions we'll be full and happy and content, you get it?"

I leaned backwards and felt content that somehow I comprised an answer that seemed to make sense to me, and if I could light a cigarette this would be the perfect time for a satisfaction smoke.

"So I’m never going to follow my passions and desires cause they're never going to fill up the bottomless pics, ok. So what will I follow, what will I do with my life?"

She nailed it to me, that little shithead. 21 years old and she nailed my ass. They never ask you these questions in the workshops, how do I even know the answer to that?

The restroom was vacant and this guy with a cowboy hat approached us, all fat and jolly, one that eats steak all day and has a lot of shit in his ass. We held hands super tightly and covered each other's mouths because we felt bad for him to hear us cracking up while hearing his loud "flops". Every flop sounded like a ship that fell from the sky into the ocean.

We agreed that when he comes out of the restroom we'll pretend to be asleep, cause if we accidentally look straight at him we wouldn’t be able to hold back from laughing. He came out of the restroom and nodded his head to us like a guy who just came back from an epic win at a wild-wild west style combat, like him and his flops have nothing to do with each other, like there was never a flop at all. He kept on walking across the bus with the pistol still smoking from battle, and Philly and I felt our lungs tearing up.

Sometimes I think that if I can have such a raging laugh attack at least once a week I’d be the happiest man alive. How do you make these bursts of laughter come to you more often than once every two years? How?

Some guy in front of us picked up his jacket from the seat next to him, and three seats in front of us we saw someone stretching, and in front of us on the left side some woman started looking for something in her purse, so we realized that we're almost there. We laughed about the fact that if you look around you, you can recognize premature signs to everything.

It always happened, when you’re not allowed to do something and then all of a sudden it’s allowed, you do it with more joy, so when we got off the bus we sat on the pavement in silence and smoked. It was time to be in silence, enjoy a cigarette. A reunion cigarette.

Our friend's name was Guy, but his nickname was mister Penk. Guy was a low-key LSD addict who somehow found himself studying at Wharton, one of the best schools in the world for business management.

A year before he got accepted in that school I was surprised to receive an invitation from him to come to Jerusalem, cause he was founding an organization whose goal is to widen and go more in depth in the conversation between Israelis and Palestinians in eastern Jerusalem. I was surprised, because what does Mister Penk have to do with a no-profit and peace, did the LSD eat his brain cells that badly? Afterwards I realized that this is the only reason he got into Wharton. They like entrepreneurship and social movements.

We took a cab to Mister Penk's place and the taxi just drove and drove, and we didn’t know when it’d stop, but we liked it. Until it stopped. We dialed Penk's apartment number and he came downstairs to greet us, we hugged and went up to his place, and Philly really liked his apartment. He talked a bit about this and that and went downstairs to eat something light on the way to the party Penk promised us, the one we came all this way for. To be precise, it was a sophomore year wrap party for the business management students at Wharton.

We took a cab to the party, which turned out to be a faggot party like no one has seen before. Twenty-year-old Americrappers, rich, stupid, empty and shallow, each of them trying to show the other just how much fun they’re having. The guys were dressed in suffocating ties and expensive suits, and the girls had fancy dresses and torturing high heels. There wasn’t a single move on the dance floor that wasn’t carefully planned out, not one dance move that came from the heart, from feeling, from loving music and dancing.

It felt like every guy and girl had a poster of their parents hung on their backs, and based on how important that person was you could examine the giggles and smiles around that person. The ones with famous posters walked around like peacocks and looked like the noise around them was usual. Most of them weren't even dancing, if you could call what the other people there were doing the dancing. It was a complete disaster. Philly was super bummed, that cutie, and I was extremely upset with Mister Penk and his never ending persuasions for us to come to that party. What happened to him? Does he not see what’s happening around him? Does having loads of money really make you that blind?

At least I enjoyed watching Philly being bummed, cause she was so cute doing it. Every time she's upset she frowns with her eyebrows like my nephew and perks her lips. It amused me how on the one hand she’s so mature and smart, but on the other hand she’s still that 21-year-old girl that gets completely bummed if she doesn’t get exactly what she wants. At my age I've eaten so much shit in life, so many disappointments, that one more doesn’t really matter to me. Let’s just say that these days I’m more surprised to not be disappointed by something, than I am by being disappointed by it. The only thing that disappoints me is that I’m not disappointed by anything anymore, which in other words means I have no expectations of anything, which in other words means life beats me.

But I’m not willing to accept it. No way. I can’t accept the fact I’m no longer disappointed, because not being disappointed means you’re not surprised in a good way by things, it’s living for nothing, no hope and no despair. I’m healthy and the sun is shining and my family is healthy, and that’s enough of a reason to smile. We all know it, but no one is smiling, and when I say smiling I mean true joy that comes from the heart, not the kind of joy you get from going abroad, or buying a piece of clothing, or a compliment, or a deal we close, or half a bottle of whiskey. Cause we’re going to have to come back from vacation, and the joy you get from buying clothes passes after you wear them for the first time, and the deal passes and the high ends.

I want real joy, joy from a constant love, joy from being happy with what I have to be happy with, joy from gratitude. How do you get that, goddamn it?

We went back to Mister Penk's house and fell asleep spooning on his couch. My hand was resting under her rib cage and I felt it go numb, but I didn’t want to move it cause it looked like Philly is extremely comfortable right now, and besides, I need to be a man, and a man doesn’t complain about his arm going numb when his girl is crazy comfortable. At some point I felt like my arm is about to fall off, and right then she mumbled something like "being with you is so pleasant," and it was clear to me that even if they had to chop off my arm right now I’m not moving it out of there. At some point I felt like it was crossing a line, and that I couldn’t feel my arm anymore, and if I ever want to jack off again in my life I have to get my arm out of there, or start practicing jerking off with my right hand. Yes, I’m left-handed.

I said something to her along the lines of "hmm.. babe... babe..." and she lifted up a bit so I could get my arm out, but I couldn't pull it out of there cause it was completely numb and weighed a million pounds and didn’t react to my brain commanding it to move. Using my right arm, I pulled the dead arm from under her ribs, and my wrist was hanging there like a rag doll. Luckily a few moments later I regained sensation in the arm, and with that also regained my joie de vivre. I started rubbing her back a little, trying to gently bypass towards her ribs, as if I’m not aiming for her boob but just casually rubbing her back, but the road to her boob was blocked by her elbow, which didn’t seem like it's intending on moving from there. No matter how hard I tried to turn her on with small pecks on her back, meaningless mumbling in her ear and light licks to her neck, the elbow didn’t budge and she remained in the spooning position, refusing to turn around for a kiss or a hug. Every five minutes or so I gave up and tried to fall asleep as well, but after a while I got a signal from my dick that no matter what I command it, he's not going to let me fall asleep like that. You can’t bring the donkey to the watering hole and not let it quench its thirst, he complained, and started avenging me with blue balls. I went on another mission to try and turn her on, which failed, tried falling asleep again, couldn't, another go at turning her own, and that's how it lasted until the light peeked through the windows and my balls were pitch black. First thing in the morning I heard Mister Penk talking on the phone to some faggot and sharing experiences from an amazing night. A man who's a stoner, smart, loves life and truthful, that dancing for him used to be popping two cartons and trip while dancing for 20 hours inside a giant speaker, dances for thirty minutes while waving his hands in the air in a suit and tie and says it was an incredible night? What happened to the man? Could personal agendas change a person 180 degrees? Or maybe changing positions causes a change in knowledge, like the people from the opposition always scream their hearts out against something, but then when they get elected for the coalition they do the exact same things they fought against?