1st Base. 2nd Base. How's My Blood Taste?

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I would apologize for not updating in a while, but there’s absolutely no point as you would gloss over it (and not really care), I wouldn’t really mean it (and would have tons of excuses lined up) and it would be a general waste of space (and its fucking lame).

So without further ado, a nice little story to whet your appetite.

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After the Chinese Restaurant Jailbait Fiasco, or the “Undercooked Dumpling” story, not much happened over break. I met the usual people I meet in New York City; neighborhood friends, highschool friends, family and because New York City is a pretty interesting place filled with pretty interesting people, I had no need to party or get drunk or do any of the many things I do to keep myself entertained in other locales.

Plus, who the hell was I going to hit on…I don’t like going after friends and I didn’t want to try my luck with another Undercooked Dumpling…or Undercooked Kim-Chee Chige…or Spoiled Sushi…or Overfried Chicken…

This trend of not partying was quickly reversed on New Year’s Eve. As everyone knows, New York City is THE place to be for New Year’s and the whole city basically shuts down and parties for a full day. And no, “the party” isn’t in Times Square to watch the fucking ball drop. No New Yorker has ever gone there (ask your New Yorker friends…I’ve never been there), as you have to wait 5 hours in the freezing cold without bathrooms or snide New Yorkers anywhere in sight with only lame, Wonder Bread white middle aged tourists from bumfuck, Ohio as company just to get a glimpse of a small fucking crystal ball shakily move down for 5 seconds, and you can’t even drink to make it slightly bearable because some huge Irish schmuck from the NYPD is standing in front of you chomping on a Krispy Kreme with a huge shit-eating grin on his Mick face because he’s getting triple overtime as he bravely fights the war on terror by booking revelers on the streets.

So no, I didn’t go to fucking Times Square cuz it’s lamer than the offspring of Tiny Tim and Helen Keller. The real party is on the streets. New Year’s Eve is just a humongous block party that devours the whole city…but problem was, this year it was colder than a cock-blocking polar bear so everyone just threw ridiculous house parties.

Instead of going to a high school friend’s party, or some other party where I would know everyone, I decided to go to my friend Amy’s party. Amy, as you might remember from a previous entry, was my best friend in elementary school. Pale white from her Irish blood…she moved into the baddest, blackest and scariest neighborhood in New York, Bed Stuy. To give you a sense of how dangerous this place is, consider the Marcy stop (home to Jay-Z’s Marcy projects) is two stations away and is considered the “safe haven”. Consider Biggie Smalls, Busta Rhymes, Mike Tyson and basically every Brooklyn thug comes from this hood. Consider the nicknames for Bed Stuy in NYC are “Do or Die”, “Get High” and “Murda Ave”. Consider that rent is actually affordable and its 5 stops from downtown Manhattan, and you can easily paint a picture of Bed Stuy.

Anyway, I went to this party not because of the allure of the neighborhood (trust me, I enjoy not getting mugged, shot, stabbed, cut or getting dunked on in pickup basketball games), but because I wouldn’t know anyone. I could actually try to spit game and hopefully reverse my slump. It was quite a long shot, as I never slept with girls in the city that coincidentally never sleeps.

I got there around 8pm, aimlessly circling through this hood as I was lost without the numerical street naming convention found in Manhattan. I finally worked up the courage to ask the least threatening random black guy on a corner which direction I should walk. Which in hindsight is like asking the least sleazy pedophile to watch over your little sister as she changes into a schoolgirl uniform.

After he gave me directions and he didn’t shoot me, snatch my wallet and make a Billboard #1 Rap Single about it, I finally found myself at her apartment.

The party was raging but problem was, everybody was reveling with their significant others. So fuck even spitting game, I was doing my best to not be awkward as I was the only single guy there. I knew all of two people there, Amy and her little sister (no, she’s barely 18 and my friend’s little sister)…there was also a black girl there that looked vaguely familiar, but since they all look alike, I didn’t put much thought into it.

Me and Amy spent some time catching up and telling some of our hilarious capers from our childhood years (read them here). A huge hit with the crowd was our reliving our “First kiss story”.

We were in second grade waiting in line for disgusting inner city free school lunch (yes, we were poor) and apparently she was “dared” to kiss me on the cheek. This was unbeknownst to me and I turned around just as she had closed her eyes and was leaning in. Frozen in place, my normally amazing good reflexes were strangely missing and I watched in slow motion as she closed the distance and a repulsively wet pair of lips squished onto my mouth. We immediately pushed each other away as everyone hopped around yelling “Oh snap!” (remember that phrase?) and the usually strictly enforced line disintegrated into a encirclement of explosive elementary school excitement.

I spent the rest of the day frantically drinking from the water fountain trying to rid myself of her taste. Our friendship fell off for a few days as I was convinced she had attacked me in some deep feminine conspiracy to befriend males and hit them with a drive-by cootie offensive when their guard was dropped. Or, as I slowly began to reason, I was extremely good looking and she fell in love with me and couldn't stop herself from kissing me (yes, that kiss was the root for my unjustified confidence in girls). She remained convinced that I had done it on purpose and generally avoided me. We eventually got back together but we never mentioned it again. Which sucks, cuz she’s fucking smoking hot now and our parents were obviously trying to set us up at every single opportunity.

As we retold this story with the crowd loving every moment, I suddenly had a hand thunder onto my shoulder.

“Wait, GEN!”

I spun and found myself face to face with the black girl. “Huh?”

“It’s me, Kellan!”

Struggling to focus through the deadly combination of hookah smoke and whiskey rippling through my body, I offered up the thought foremost on my mind.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Kellan, from your fuckin’ middle school!”

I spent a moment or two parsing her simple sentence.

“Oh shit! Kellan!”

We spent a good twenty minutes catching up (we hadn’t seen each other in 8 years!) and tried to retell funny stories from middle school but we had run in completely different circles. We racked our imbibed minds, but came up blank.

Then…”Hey, didn’t you go to that bar-mitzvah in 7th grade?”

“Oh shit, yea!”

“Were you in the back of the fucking bus on the way back?”

“Yea…”

I remember a vague truth or dare game (see how much trouble this innocent game is?) we played in the back of the bus. And it collectively hit us.

Holy shit.

We both looked at each other, eyes wide.

Holy shit.

And we started busting out into uncontrollable laughter.

The crowd around us hushed. Finally some hipster douchebag wearing an American Apparel hoodie and super tight H&M jeans broke the silence. “Yo, so like, what’s so funny?”

We both stared at each other, still clutching our sides.

“We once played a truth or dare game…”

“In the back of a bus…”

“After a bar-mitzvah…”

“And Gen was dared…”

“To fondle her breasts…”

Here hipster dude chimed in, “And?”

“Nothing.”

Everyone looked slightly disappointed at the anticlimactic ending. But then we both explained, we were both 12 years old and we had blocked that memory since then. I had assumed my first double had been in junior year of high school with a Korean girl. And I had remained in this bliss until just ten seconds ago. I hit my first double when I was 12! With a black girl! Drizzle some chocolate into my rookie stats!

Apparently, I was also the first double she had let up. She had assumed she gave up her first double to some black guy in high school.

She turned to me, “Yo, if we hooked up, we would make awesome children! Student-athletes up the wazoo!”

“What’s stopping us now? Let’s make Pharell babies!”

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She actually wanted to make “Pharell babies” with me, but I restrained myself. The head on my dick was ready but the head on my shoulders definitely wasn’t. She was cute, but considerably larger than my small frame and would’ve easily crushed me. Plus, as much as I want my son to be the next multimillion music producer who ties up the American and Asian music industries, I don’t want an illegitimate child in my senior year of university with someone I barely know.

So to get these weird images out of my mind, I poured another triple of whiskey and a chaser of New Year’s Eve champagne and proceeded to drown myself in alcohol.

Pretty soon I passed out.

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I woke up completely disoriented and still reeling drunk.

Judging from the darkness outside, it was sometime around dusk and I was in some bed. I reached down to my jeans pocket to get the time off of my cellphone…but something was blocking my hand.

I looked down, and there was a girl latched onto my neck.

I closed my eyes to end the banging drunkness reverberating through my skull. A normal drunken night in my life…

OR NOT!

What the fuck?!

I looked down to make sure.

Yea, a fucking girl was attached to my neck!

What the fuck?!

I pushed myself up.

It wasn’t Kellan. Or Amy. Or Amy’s sister. Good.

So who the fuck was it? I pushed her off of me.

It was some small white girl.

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing?”

She stared at me utterly confused.

I continued my sporadic interrogation. “No habla English? Who are you?”

She looked even more confused, “You’re…You’re not Jimmy?”

The situation, if not confusing and hilarious enough already, was quickly degenerating into a riot. I haven’t had a “golden story” a la Roppongi-PD GTA, Capsule Hotel Orgy or Streaking Through Tokyo in a long time and this was already shaping up to an epic.

I started grinning at this amazing opening scene and wondering how crazy this story could get as I pictured retelling Teddy and D-German at our next party.

But first I had a moral dilemma. Was I “Jimmy” or Gen?

I was drunk so I had an excuse…but I went with the honest choice. “No, I’m not Jimmy…”

She returned to my neck.

I pushed her back up. “Hey, I’m not sure if you heard, but I’m not this Jimmy fellow…”

“Oh that’s ok. It would be awkward if you were him.”

She went back to devouring, licking, kissing, sucking, biting my neck.

I guess being honest has its merits. Or she didn’t care as long as I had a cock.

I laid back, waiting for her to segue either North to first base or South to third.

But five minutes passed and she never strayed from my neck, only moving laterally East/West across my neck.

Maybe she expected me to take over…

I placed my hands on her hips, but whenever I tried moving my hands North, she slapped them down.

After the getting caught on my way to second a few times, I sighed.

Let’s start over from first.

I gently placed my hand underneath her chin and started inclining her head towards mine. But she stayed on my neck until the last possible second and then her blue eyes reluctantly looked up into my eyes.

Fuck, she was cute…

But as I positioned my eyes on the target (her lips), locked on and started homing in, I screeched to a halt.

Her small, sharp teeth were stained red and there was a mess of red liquid dribbling down the sides of her mouth and down her neck.

Her neck.

I slowly put two and two together and hesitatingly reached for my neck with an index finger. I shakingly brought it up to my eyes.

There was some liquid on it…red liquid…

Blood.

What the fuck?

I bolted upright and threw her off of me.

I started sputtering, now standing on top of the bed with the sheets clutched in my right hand like a shield, “What the…who the…”

She was laying on the ground muttering “Ow, ouch…” as she massaged her bruised hip like any other normal person. But does a normal girl suck blood out of a guy’s neck?

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I frantically looked around the room for a weapon to wield, but the room was pretty bare. Wait, maybe you can bolt out while she’s too injured to stand!

I bolted for the door but in my peripheral vision I saw her starting to rear up. Screaming, I threw a few pillows in her direction and managed to make it to the door.

I slammed it shut but I could hear her getting up inside the room.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

I looked left and right down the hallway for a place to hide.

The bathroom! There has to be a lock on the door. I sprinted down the hallway, and as I overshot the bathroom due to my frictionless socks and drunken depth perception, I saw the doorway of the bedroom slam open and her head pop out…looking left, then right, then seeing me frantically trying to get a grip on the hardwood floor to reverse my inertia and reach the safe haven of the bathroom.

She bounded out of the room, flying towards me…I finally got my left hand on the bathroom doorframe and using all my puny arm muscles, hurled myself into the tiled sanctuary as she flew past, also unaware of the dangerously slippery floor. I slammed the door shut and locked it with fumbling hands.

Scared shitless, I leaned against the door as I heard her clawing to get in, the doorknob shaking violently, the door shuddering from hits.

After ten minutes of continued hits, the attack on the door finally ceased, and I crumpled into a heap. Completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally spent.

After sometime (I was afraid she was stalking just out side the door, waiting for me to open the door), I managed to stand and glanced at my reflection in the mirror.

I was a mess. Like any other “drink shitloads and pass out” night, my hair was disheveled, my eyes were bloodshot and a shadow of a scraggly Asian beard was forming. But this was nothing compared to the carnage below. My whole neck was covered in what looked like dried blood that had flooded half of my white tee like some horrible red to white fade. And I could see tiny bruises, bite marks and small down feathers (from the pillows?) adding to this amber Jackson Pollack piece below my chin.

After spending considerable time just staring at myself (I’ve never seen this much blood other than the time I got my dome smashed by too many substances and a hyperactively violent Texan), I finally opened the door and peeked out.

All quiet on the Western front.

After making sure she wasn’t hiding anywhere else on the floor, I went back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out what I had just gone through. My drunkness had temporarily subsided and I could finally think logically. But the conclusion I kept coming to was completely illogical.

She was a vampire.

Ok, look, as an educated collegiate intellectual, I know how fucking retarded that conclusion sounds…but look at the facts. She was sucking my blood…and yes, it could be some weird fetish, but if it was, why didn’t she at least let me get to first or second? Why else would she be sucking my fucking blood?

Then other worries hit and I had my face in my hands, trying to hold back tears.

If she was a vampire…was I…was I a vampire now too?

I tried to delve back into memories from elementary school, trying to recall children’s fairytales on the subject. I couldn’t remember, but I think that was the case…

Oh no…I’m a vampire now.

And even worse…even worse…

Could AIDS be transmitted via saliva to blood contact?

I mean, her saliva definitely mingled with blood…I tried to recall high school Sex Ed classes on this topic but I couldn’t remember anything…

Oh no…I have AIDS.

Wait, but could vampires even get AIDS?

I tried to remember boring conversations with my preteen sister about the Twilight vampire novel trilogy she was reading and the amazing powers vampires had. But once again, I couldn't remember, and I came up empty.

Wait, but even if I have AIDS, could I die?

It was here that my dark concerns were interrupted by a hand on my shoulder. I screamed, falling backwards, hugging a mangled, bloody pillow as I tumbled off the bed.

“Umm…Gen, are you ok?”

It was Amy.

“Oh my God Amy, thank god you’re here. I need to tell you something really fucking important.”

I recounted everything, starting from when I had woken up.

Amy’s eyebrows kept going higher and higher and she had a huge smirk on her face that only got larger and larger as the story went on.

When I came to my conclusions, she finally couldn’t hold back and busted out laughing.

“Hey, yo…I’m serious…I mean…I’m a fucking vampire that has AIDS but can live forever! Yo, stop laughing…I’m serious man…”

I guess the look on my face was so pathetic that she decided not to continue laughing at my expense.

“Gen…Gen…I think you need to realize some things before you say something stupid like that again…”

Here I started to protest that my conclusion was nowhere near stupid and I was completely right with my assessment, as I was a Computer Scientist at university, but she shut me up by speaking over me.

“AND…AND…1, vampires don’t exist. And if they did, they don’t live forever. Trust me, I’ve read Twilight. 2, that girl, who’s my friend Kate by the way, does not have AIDS. 3, you’re drunk as fuck so you’re not thinking straight…and finally number 4…”

Here she paused for dramatic effect, relishing having me in this position where I was clinging to her every word.

“Kate was also drunk out of her skull from too many cranberry vodkas…she passed out next to you, then vomited onto your neck and because she couldn’t find any towels in this room, she was trying to clean it up with her mouth. If you actually cleaned your neck in the bathroom, you would see you don't even have a cut...just a massive amount of hickeys.”

I sat there in silence, mulling over this boatload of new data.

I looked up sharply, “So I’m not a vampire?!”

She looked at me like the retard I was, “No Gen, you’re not a vampire.”

“And I don’t have AIDS?”

“Nope.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief as she laughed beside me.

There was still one more question I had to ask.

“By the way, who’s Jimmy?”

“My boyfriend…why?”

I smirked. I finally got a small win in this night of epic fail, “Not anymore.”

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Photos

Amy's Sister and Amy
Sisterly love

A New York Greeting
Fuck Times Square, motherfucker.

Me and Amy's Sister
Disgusted by the thought of hooking up.

Me and Random Jap at the Party
We bonded over bad dancing and bad eyesight

Re-enactment of Elementary School
minus the lip to lip contact

Contemplating
Any stories from 7th grade?

Oh SHIT!
2nd base!

Motherfuckers throw up the Westside
In Crooklyn, of all places...

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