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A DuD: The Ass Menagerie (A Two-Act Play), Part 2

Highly Important Note: Act 1 is located here. Read it first.

Act 2: The Fall of Rob (into the penthouse zoo)

Like a happy ending to a ladies’ man fairy tale, I was in the back of a sleek towncar limo, headed home with a girl so hot that I have to take periodic “writing breaks” to keep my penis from exploding as I remember the details. Once alone in the car, we left restraint back at the pretentious nightclub and clawed at one another lustfully. She and I were two strangers warming up to play that game that adults play – the one that keeps us young and naked.

limoShe occasionally murmured into my ear with a sweet cooing voice as the car snaked through Central Park, swerving up the narrow road that connects the West Side to the East Side. In the quiet a.m. hours Central Park is so desolate and still, it’s hard to imagine that it’s the epicenter of New York City. The only sounds in the car were the occasional smacking of our parting mouths and the soft hum of classical music the driver used as a thin distraction from what was going on in the backseat.

Aggressively, she pushed me against the door, hopped on top of me, and started straddling me. I was fumbling with her bra strap when the car jerked to a stop. She leaned back, smiling coyly. “We’re here,” she said, reaching behind me and pulling the door handle.

I stepped into the balmy summer night, feeling the rush that always comes before sex with a beautiful woman. No matter how many times we do it, those thin, precious moments before sex for the first time with a girl you’re wildly attracted to are some of the best you’ll ever experience. I surrendered to the moment, letting her fingers find their way in between mine as she took me by the hand and led me into her outrageously lavish building.

We wisped by a fleet of doormen as we made our way to an elevator that appeared destined for heaven. Once the elevator doors closed, foreboding set in. “Do you like animals?” she asked, as I pulled her pelvis into mine.

“Sure, why not,” I mumbled, feeling her up as I tried to re-ignite the passion we’d shared in the car ride.

She shoved me. “No, for real,” she asked. “Do you REALLY like animals?” She asked in a voice that sounded tiny yet emphatic – not unlike clowns who make balloon animals for screaming children. She waited for my answer with gigantic bug eyes and a huge, saccharine smile.

“Uhh…” I stammered, “Yeah, they’re cool.”

“Good boy,” she whispered, her voice returning to a sexual octave as she started undoing my belt.

Ding, the elevator chimed as if christening the lascivious acts to come. The doors opened and she led me to her penthouse suite. From when she opened the door, I knew I was stepping into the most opulent, haughty piece of New York City real estate I’d ever seen. She pushed me onto a piano bench as she scampered into the next room to “get something.”

She came back with a small bag of pot, which she dumped into a small pile on the piano that reflected our faces like a sheik, black mirror. She laid out a trail of rolling paper and assembled a joint with unnerving speed and ease. She lit it, took a long hit, and passed it to me.

Trying not to break the rhythm, I took a long drag from the joint and erupted in a coughing fit. As any reader of this column knows, I don’t do well with inhaling combustibles. Moreover, this was the first time I’d ever smoked pot. But, as the regretful refrain of bad decision goes, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

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About Rob J. Rob J. is a writer and dating instructor in New York City. Themes that resonate in both his teaching and writing are masculinity, genuineness, rational self-interest, and general awesomeness.

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