King of the Perverts Read Online Free PDF Page A

forward and slams me back.
    Again.
    “OH!”
    She finds a rhythm. Rock forward. Lean back. SLAM! “OH!”
    Rock forward.
    Lean back.
    SLAM!
    “OH!”
    Rock.
    Lean.
    SLAM!
    “OH!”
    Rock lean slam OH! Rock lean slam OH! Rock lean slam OH!
    I’ve nearly passed out from oxygen deprivation when she comes.
    It’s loud, it’s long, and it results in much pain to my person. But even amid all this chaos, it’s magical. I realize that, not only did we maintain our connection, we did it standing up. And against the wall. And fair Danielle is currently coming her brains out loud enough for half of Muncie to hear her. That’s enough for me and, despite the hot pain in my chest and the gathering darkness of unconsciousness, I join her.
    It’s an alligator fuckhouse for the history books.
    Take that, Baton Rouge Bob.
     

 
     
     
    Interlude 3
    The Gameshow
     
    I did what anyone whose wife just gave birth to someone else’s baby might do. I drank, a lot.
    It’s actually a good thing. I have a very low tolerance for alcohol in all forms and iterations. Hard liquor, beer, mixed drinks, wine spritzers. I drank it all. I went on raging benders that lasted for days. I got into fights, got kicked out of bars, had random sex with strange women. Possibly a man who looked like a woman, but I honestly can’t remember.
    That was a bad week.
    But that’s all it took was a week. I hit bottom, saw the light, made my choice to stop drinking. Moved on. Actually, the first morning I woke up puking and hurting from a hangover, I was pretty much done. Like I said, I’m just not much of a drinker.
    This wasn’t a vow to never drink again so much as it was a realization that making myself sick was not only stupid but going to get boring really fast. And I was always better at quitting things anyway.
    I tried to move on with my life, what little there was left of it. I no longer had a wife, no longer had a job, no longer had a future. I didn’t know what I was going to do next. The only thing I knew for sure was that I would wake up on my brother’s living room couch, but there wasn’t much of a future in that, either. His wife wasn’t going to stand for it much longer, having me camped out in her living room all day, watching soap operas and talk shows and doing absolutely nothing but moping and feeling sorry for himself. I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t want a loser like that sleeping on my couch for very long, either. I knew I had to get off my ass and try to find something. A new direction for my life.
    Or at the very least, a new venue from which to do my searching. Before I figured out my future, I had to do something with my present. That’s why I answered the ad in the newspaper. It was something to do. I had nothing else going on, anyway.
    It was a vaguely worded want ad calling for extras to work in the entertainment industry. It promised a chance to possibly ‘ EARN BIG $$$$! ’ Despite the rapey stripper connotations of the ad, it was good enough for me. I called the number in the paper and got a gruff sounding guy who had no idea what I was talking about at first. The phone was handed off to another guy who told me when and where to show up and then hung up on me. A little strange, but I didn’t really pay attention.
    Two days later, I showed up at the when and the where and found about two dozen other guys milling about in a dingy waiting room. They all looked pretty much just like me – average, quiet, with a look of desperation in their eyes. I waited for an hour and a half before they finally called me back. We were in a bank of offices located in a warehouse-like building that until then I had always assumed was just an abandoned structure. Taped to the cracked window in the door to the back office where I was led was a piece of paper on which someone had written in craggy, black Sharpie, CASTING.
    The guy inside looked like the guy I had imagined when I called two days earlier. He was short and round,