Friday, July 9, 2010

Sexing poets collab interruptus

I've got a novel excerpt and it's not a sell-out, so agents, you don't need to read this and you can hate me for playing with your small little hearts. This excerpt is not from This is my sell-out novel; this excerpt is from Homegirl!, my new something novel and it's copyrighted, biotches.

This is Chapter One, maybe:


Homegirl was better off without either of them, probably, or so she thought. She’d met the one in her writing workshop – a rich anarchist, and the other at work – a punk anarchist. Both of them liked to fuck. A lot.

So did Homegirl.

Homegirl did the rich elitist in her car. It was their second time; the first was at his house. They’d done it in her car this time cos they were coming from some workshop bar get-together and he only had a moped, a souped-up Italian moped, some hipster brand Homegirl couldn’t remember. While they were making out in the front seat of her hatchback, rich anarchist’d started pulling her hair hard and he hadn’t even penetrated her yet. Then he was biting her all over, and he started to put his cock in very slowly. She liked it and wanted more and said so. He started pinching and slapping her and then he pulled out without coming, without even getting his dick very wet.

I’m done, he said and wouldn’t say any more. He went kind of catatonic. Homegirl was kind of worried about him and tried not to be pissed. Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole cos the other time they’d had all right sex. At least he’d finished. Maybe this time he’d had too much drink or a combo of drugs + alcohol or just a combo of drugs. Homegirl was naïve in a hard kind of way and that was the worst way ever to be naïve.

She thought she was safe from naivety cos she was hard, but that made her even more susceptible to naivety. She knew people were bad and she knew the bad things they could do because she was bad herself. She didn’t always realize there were people way way worse than her.

Homegirl drove him back to his flat cos she thought he’d never make it back on his souped-up mopeddy thing. She watched him as he took his long-legged time going up his steps and tried not to think he was doing it on purpose, torturing her for no reason. Look at these legs, bitch. You could’ve been straddling them. We could’ve been doing things together but you fucked it up.

Homegirl was still wet and only very partially fucked.

She went where she thought the punk-anarchist might be. She went where she knew her punk rocker could be.

The dive bar.

They did it in the bathroom then, of course. The bathroom had no lock on it but they didn’t care; Homegirl wanted to be a writer and punk rock boy was as close to nihilistic as most blue collar Miltown guys got.

Writers keep themselves open to all sorts of experiences, or at least that's what I'm told. And, need I say? Nihilists just don't fucking care.

Homegirl always carries a black notebook as proof of wanting to be a writer. It’s a moleskine she stole from rich boy’s flat. He had a bunch lying around his bedroom and when he left to go piss after they’d fucked that one time successfully, Homegirl’d scooped this one up and put it in her big pleather bag. The notebook was only very slightly used; it had a sketch of Richboy naked and he looked elven and someone had given him wings. Probably one of his other girls, cos it was signed Cos I’ll always love you but I’m looking for that heart of gold, Happygirl. And Happygirl was outlined in a big golden heart, and Homegirl not only couldn’t appreciate the Neil Young reference cos her parents were fans and thoughts of them slow-dancing to After the Gold Rush made her gag, but she also didn’t know or care to know who the fuck Happygirl was so she ripped out and burnt up that hipster irony in her bathroom sink after her roommates went to bed.

After having sex with Punkboy in the dive bar bathroom, and that was hot and Homegirl got off, thank god, Homegirl pulls out that moleskine at the bar and writes, The only thing the nihilist woman cares about is the cock. She changes it a sec later to Cos the only thing the nihilist hetero-woman cares about is the cock. Then she looks at Punkboy but he’s busy staring at his tallboy of PBR. Homegirl looks back at her notebook and corrections and wonders when she got so p.c. and/or who is she trying to impress.

Homegirl’s awkward like that. She envies Richboy his ease, his ability to sidle up to anyone or better even, to be aloof and have everyone come to him. He’s super tall, good-looking, well dressed, and everyone says he’s hot. Homegirl’s tall, good-looking, and well-dressed, too, but she thrifts cos she has to, and Homegirl’s hot but it takes a certain brave soul to acknowledge it cos she don’t look like everyone else. She’s exotic and erotic. A lot of men want to fuck her but don’t know why and can't be bothered to figure it out, either.

Homegirl’s not a classic beauty, but she is. Her face is, but she don’t act like it. She doesn’t let her face rest; she doesn’t wear enough or the right kind of make-up; she makes funny faces; she worries too much about stuff. Class stuff, especially. That’s why Richboy could do particularly anything to her.

She knows this but doesn’t really know it yet.

Yours, back to selling out soon,

No comments:

Post a Comment