Headass- A Short Story (That Would Have Been a Text but I’m Trying Not to Humiliate Myself Anymore

“I’m looking at your pictures, and I can tell that you and I are going to be an item, and it’s going to look like we’re hiding each other from the world because we “keep our relationships private” so your significant other never meets everyone but not in a ‘side dude/chick’ kind of way. Just, nobody knows what you look like, but they know you’re with her.

“Okay, that sounds a lot like ‘side dude/chick’ kind of stuff lol.

“And you don’t even sleep on the first date. Like, I know I probably will never end up sleeping with you, despite the fact that you very much want to sleep with me. But you feel like you’re hiding me without wanting to hide me, but the urge to keep your life completely private- like not having a banking account vibe- is strong with you. Hey! Same. I totally get it.

“But seriously, you and I should just end up sleeping with each other soon lol. Because as cocky as this sounds I know we both want each other in the same way. Don’t roll your eyes at me lol I know it because you fuck with dudes who look like me heavy, dude. Like, deadass, just make it happen, yo.

“It’s on you boo lol”

This would have been sent to someone I just started talking to on OKCupid. I’ve been fucking up royally with “potentials” sending shit like this. You’re (killing yourself) Smalls! Not just on OKCupid, but POF and Twitter, too. I am so goddamn embarrassed with myself. You don’t even know them, and you decided to not even bat instead of throwing up your own pitches for her to catch. You’re not this kind of idiot. You don’t even look like one who could get away with kind of crazy talk. What are you doing?!…

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD. For info, and how you can purchase the novel, go here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html

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Client 8: Norman

“Hello?”

“Well now, don’t you have the sweetest sounding voice.”

“Hi Daddy, thank you. Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“I used to, as a kid.”

“Well let Candy Cane help revive it.”

“Candy Cane. Now there’s a treat. Today’s my birthday, ya know.”

“Happy birthday, daddy. The Christmas season is the best time to have a birthday.”

*chuckles* “I used to think so too. Not since I was twelve did I have anything sweet to eat.”

“My pussy is plenty sweet, daddy.”

“Does it taste like birthday cake? Could really go for some.”

“Tastes just like Carvel ice cream cake.”

“Ahh now there’s a splendid memory. That’s when my lips truly tasted sweetness. My mother made sure of that.”

“What did that evil woman do to my daddy?”

“She used to make everything about me. That is, until I turned twelve. Then everything became about my kid brother. I became something of a spectre around the house, and leaving for college was an act that seemed to solidify my non-existence.”

“You’re real to me, daddy.”

“I was real to my mother’s many boyfriend’s too. Oh I know she suspected something afoot. But you know how it is in suburbia; don’t ask, don’t tell. The men took plenty advantage of this. I still can’t quite sit comfortably.”

“What did daddy do about this?”

“Daddy tracked these men down. Let’s just say they won’t be speaking anymore. As for my mother, well,”

“I hope she gets what’s coming to her. Nobody should be hurting my daddy.”

“I agree, which is why she never saw the tire iron coming. The very same one used on your daddy. *Brief pause* Thanks for the talk, sugar.”

“Any time, daddy.”

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html

Minnie Blue Eyes- A Short Story

It’s two years to the date and I still remember where you live, and I frequently map the route in my head as if I’m still on my way to see you, as if anything would have gotten passed the first night.

I can still see the smile you greeted me with outside the pizza shop, can still feel the hug you embraced me with, smelling your dirty blonde hair.

I can sometimes hear your voice but the memory is selective with which words I hear.

You welcomed me into your apartment- paid for by daddy in Florida, where you’re from- and it instantly felt welcoming. Like I belonged there.

We watched Drunk History but it became background noise as we talked over the pizza, passing a blunt back and forth.

I took your hand, locked eyes, kissed your pretty lips. It felt right. YOU felt right. The swell of your breasts in my hand fit like a glove. You blushed when I called you baby girl; God, I could live on those blushed cheeks.

We took it to your king-sized bed, too big for the room. Undressed, you were exactly how I envisioned your body. Splendid.

I wanted to taste you from behind and could hear the embarrassed LONGING in your voice- one of the few things I’ll never forget. You let me while repeating “that shit is fire” adding “for sure” in a white girl voice. More of something I’ll never forget.

We never quite went to bed, never quite stopped having sex. I never came but certainly could tell- spiritually- my nuts had been spent. Your body told me you had physically come, and that was more than sufficient for me.

In the morning you let me shower. Crossed legged and arms sitting on the couch as I got dressed you said “you probably don’t even remember everything you said last night.” Shirt off, sneakers half tied, I looked you straight in the eye, said “I remember EVERYTHING.” And you believed me but I knew you were so scared of the truth that when you closed the door on me, that would be the last time I’d ever see you.

Those blues still haunt me some nights. Even when I fantasize, create scenarios with us passed that night, I still can’t go to sleep. I’m partially ruined because you were too scared to accept a sure thing. Yet somehow I still blame myself. All this time gone by and in my head it feels like I still did something wrong. Only thing I’m guilty of doing is being the right one.

I’m the right one. I have to keep telling myself this…

Drabble #100

It was one date; why the hell is she still on my mind?! The nerve of my brain for allowing her to occupy precious space! I’ve got better things to think about; why are so many scenarios- running into her, picking up where we left off- manifesting themselves knowing damn well it will drive me mad.

Is that what my brain wants?! Well, fuck you! I refuse to play your little game. Give me my sanity back!

 

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html

Drabble #99

I know you don’t like getting calls this early. But I gotta tell ya. I gotta tell you how I feel.

I’m so proud of you. Like, I know everything you wanna accomplish will get done. Your silent tenacity is loud and clear. And it’s beautiful.

I gotta tell you that you’re…sigh…you’re the W after being in the home stretch down and maybe out(?). You’re the come-from-behind W. The kind they don’t expect you to get, but you managed to pull the greatest comeback.

You’re the greatest W I could get. You’re. IT. You’re… you’re just it.

I don’t wanna see myself thinking about who will fill in that it spot because I’ve finally got it.

I gotta tell you that…that everything I have to tell you just had to happen. You’re the long shot. The buzzer beater.

You’re the date I wanna go on dates with. Forever.

You’re the greatest victory.

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html

You Are Cordially Invited- A Short Story

The black four-door sedan pulled up to the curb with the driver parking, exiting, and opening the back passenger side door in less than a minute. The very fact that he was even riding around in one, with a driver no less, was silly. Nonetheless, he tipped the driver who tried to refuse it by saying the company took care of tips.

You’re going to deny yourself more money?” With an embarrassed laugh he accepted the money, shook hands with him, and took off as he entered the front doors where an associate with the store donning one of those microphones backstage handlers wear escorted him to the top floor.

“Everything has already been set up. Most of the guests have arrived with some waiting for space to open up. It’s a pretty big turn out.”

“Apparently I’m a big deal.”

“Being a best selling author will do that.”

He profusely blushed as the elevator doors opened on the top floor. Voices chatted in a steady murmur which then grew to a harmonious cheer as he entered the floor, making his way to the podium.

Before addressing the audience he talked shop with the manager of the store, his agent and, to his surprise, a sponsor from Kindle. All of this hubbub made him blush even more. The size of the crowd didn’t help either.

From the time he announced his first book being published it seemed like nobody cared. Anyone he considered a friend made no moves to talk with him about his work before nor when work you could buy became available. Now, with the success of his third novel, everyone wanted to meet him in person.

Seeing some of the faces without avatars was surreal. Those from his early days on Twitter and tumblr turned out, even some he hadn’t spoken to in years. One girl who unfollowed him for not saying happy birthday to her sat next to her father.

Friends from all grades turned out, including a fellow writer who had been busy of late with the launch of his fashion line.

His eyes scanned each face and eventually landed on some he never thought he’d see again, or even figured those they belonged to didn’t care about him enough to remember he was a writer. Or for his existence in general.

Old flames. Some of them, at least. The first one belonged to a girl he knew in his early twenties. Having gone on one date and then having sex in a park only to be told, in so many words, she never wanted to see him again, really made him scratch his head seeing her there; much of the same story with a few faces mixed into the crowd. Another from some years back who wasn’t really an old flame but more of a potential writing buddy who just so happened to be sleeping with him was there. The smile on her face as he acknowledged her was baffling to him, too.

Three of his ex-girlfriends, one of which had to fly in from Florida, sat between her two small children. His most recent ex was visible only as she turned to speak to the sister sitting on her right. He missed her. His heart ached for her touch.

The one face he never thought he’d never see again came from a girl he knew he should’ve been dating, she knew they should’ve been dating, but she instead chose to run. Her face was at the front. She shied away from his gaze but only for a second. She knew why she showed up and in that instant, when both of their eyes met, he knew too.

He missed her so much despite having only been out on one date. He met her after his ex broke things off due to school being a burden on her social calendar. Her energy, the vibe he got from her, it was too strong to ignore. It pained him when she said her “gut” was telling her to run when he could tell by her hesitation she wanted nothing more than to stay. He could suddenly feel the pressure of her small lips on his, the caress of her hand on his skin, her voice just before telling him about her “gut feeling” and how hesitant she was in even wanting to utter the words. Why do people put themselves through that kind of torture?

There was another face similar to hers that sat in the crowd next to what he could only assume was a female friend that ended in a similar fashion but he knew nothing serious would have come to fruition. She was fun but didn’t offer much substance. At least to him.

Most of these women, no doubt, he thought, gathered here today because parts of the book had been “leaked” with its contents describing each of them. Even a couple old friends who loved to ditch him whenever they’d enter a new relationship sat scattered about. He was tired of being “such a good guy.” 

The power writing that book had given him made him feel good and by the end knew it would be a hit. After all, it was his brand of storytelling; the kind his fans have come to expect. But mostly, it gave him great pleasure in having killed some of those women. Even the one he missed so much sitting right up front.

He tapped on the mic and a collective hush drew down on the room. “Good evening, and thank you all for coming…”

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html

Bromance Breakup- A Short Story

I know I’m not gonna send this because despite wanting to do what I say, I know I’m only going to ever do 50% of what I said I’m doing; this message is one of those things I said.

I just know I can’t do this. I know I said I’d try but I can’t and I’m sorry, totally respect you’re hating me but in a respectable way. Like, “damn, I really wish this would’ve happened” mad/but respectable said in that tone.

I want this to work out but I know it won’t, and I hate even myself  for putting you through it in the first place. I’m too damaged from trying to make friends with men. I really do think this is one of those “I grew up without a father” screw-ups in our genetics. I don’t know how to form bromances, and when I do it just shatters. Not forced bromances. I mean when the nucleus just blends together. Shawn and Gus from Psyche. John and Christopher in Scrubs. Cory and Shawn in Boy Meets World. But when I’m forming one and the nucleus is just about joined, there’s a betrayal.

The betrayal eventually leads to a break-up. Don’t laugh, bromances still experience the heartache of a break-up between yourself and the gender of your choice.

Think of it as Shawn not telling Gus he’s moving to San Fran to be with Jules- the honesty aspect of it- that kind of betrayal.

So I’m sorry I’m betraying you like this instead of just opening up about it. Hey, wait, maybe since I can’t form bromances it’s a complete scale from the side of when doing so with women. No wonder I’ll never have guy friends!

God, I love and hate figuring things out about myself. It’s sometimes so depressing when you finally realize “hey, this is why this thing is this way, because of (insert smoking gun moment here).”

I’m sorry. It’s just, I see it ending this way. The same romantic way I see things ending with women, only platonic.

I’m sorry it had to end up like this. . .

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD http://www.lulu.com/shop/dexter-valentino/duality/paperback/product-23210372.html