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Trying To Have Sex With Erica

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Summary

Trying to have sex with a girl I met and eventually getting rejected.

Genre:
Drama
Author:
PascalScherr
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
18+

“So we’ll see how human behaviors are socially constructed, and how these constructions function and can be deconstructed. There’s no solid basis for gender as sex, or things like hegemonic masculinity being in power. Femininity is a construct that has been pushed upon women and girls throughout societies to keep them docile and submissive—there’s a long history. Now I’ve got some slides …”

I was in the back, next to a girl. I built up the guts and whispered to her, “What brings you here, foxininity?”

“Shhh. I’m trying to learn.”

“Yeah me too. You see that fat guy over there?” I pointed to this sad-looking guy.

“Yeah, what about him?” she asked innocently.

“Would you hit that?”

“No.”

“’Cause he’s fat?”

“He just doesn’t do it for me. People aren’t fat because they’re bad. There’s metabolic issues.”

I laughed. “That’s what they always say when you say fat people are fucking decadent. It’s always, ’People have different metabolisms’ or ‘Different people are just built differently’ or ‘People can be beautiful in lots of different ways’ so—look, what I’m trying to figure out is, What exactly is a metabolic issue? Is not exercising—ever—a metabolic issue? Would you be my Valentine if I go to a protest for metabolic issues with you? You know, the M C D O N A L D S Plus Plus community—we could do a hunger strike. Or a march. We could erect a monument and do like sacrifices of big, fat people to it, unmade from whence they were created, and thus reunited with—the Metabol.

“The Old Fat Ones are out there.” I said, “Watching TV. Dreaming nightmarish things to be. Like The Call of Barbeculhu—right?”

“You’re not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“There’s food deserts in America. People really struggle with their weight.”

I nodded, “Because they wear too many shirts. Not you or I, fair slim madamsel, though.”

“I put in a lot of effort to … stay fit.”

“What was that?” I grinned, “I thought beauty was some kind of subjective however-I’m-feeling kind of undefinable nebula? But, no, wait, it sounds like you’re saying …”

“I’m just saying I like to be fit—but other people they don’t have to.”

“That’s good, because they’ve got metabolic issues, you know. And about the shirts—”

“Look I’m trying to listen to this talk.”

“I’m a trigonometry major.” I said.

“I’m trying to listen.”

We listened.

“And you know that wasn’t nice, at all.”

“To be honest,” I leaned in toward her to whisper, “I’m disillusioned with kindness. My pal Fritz theorized that people valued selflessness because so many people were selfish that to be selfless was rare and admired. Well, I think life’s gotten too soft and overly giving and now there’s a new wind rising where people admire selfishness and hardness and the tenacity to be harsh. Niceness … is … toxic. You know that word? Toxic? I hear it now and then, I always wondered like … what the fuck does it mean? Specifically, you know? … Because …” I trailed into it, “what if it’s people who are living in conditions totally unknown to natural instincts—with social media and ghosting and no exercise nor Roughness nor will and with junk food and TV shows and not enough alpha males to spank you right nor fathers nor,” I was repeating ‘nor’ with diligence because she normally would’ve tried to make a guy ashamed of using a term like that, “children in your twenties and being stuck in white collar cubicles and ‘having anxiety’ … and these conditions,” I was grinning, “Being unnatural—like what the meaning of the word ‘toxic’ evokes, how about—are so ingrained in them and their neuroses that they have to obsess about calling everything that,” I finished quickly and gleefully.

“What about community? Or never socializing?” she stabbed back.

“I would but I’m wearing too many shirts.”

She rolled her eyes but what I’d said just before had stuck with her and she thought she had a retort, silly girl—just kidding—“And of course selfish people want other people to be selfless—that would benefit them! But no one wants people to be selfish.”

“Yeah, but there’s a kind of weakness that’s so sickly-selfless it hates itself and admiring its opposite is exactly in line with its psyche. Tell me something: why isn’t what’s good for me Good and what’s bad for me Bad? Right?”

“Because that leads to abusing people—which is bad, whatever you want to say, it’s bad. That’s just that.”

“I feel the burn of moralic acid, you puritanical—temptressette. There’s a belt around your hat but you can use belts for lots of stuff. Like putting around your waist, and wrapping things up, and—”

“I don’t know what the fuck moralic acid is.”

“Something can’t be bad because it’s bad. This guy over here isn’t fat because he’s fat—he’s fat because he won’t eat a salad and take a hike.”

“We don’t know why he’s fat!” she shouted and I think some people heard her.

We looked at each other, as they all turned back to the talk, and then we started laughing.

“Christ you’re going to get me in trouble.”

“You could use an adventure. Something amoral. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I want to listen to the talk.”

I looked her dead in the eyes and made a show of hiding a grin. I waited like that. One … two … three … “You do?”

“No,” she laughed a little and shook her head. “I guess not. Come one—whatever, yeah, I guess—let’s go.” She got up and nodded toward the door.

We began walking out.

“What’s your name?”

“Franz.”

“I’m Erica.”

“So what’s the most interesting thing about you, Erica?”

“I, uh … I don’t know,” she laughed and shrugged. “How about you?”

“I’m gonna do something great. Something that shakes people to their foundation.”

“That’s cool.”

“You know I ask people what the most interesting thing about them is a lot and almost everyone doesn’t have an answer. It’s really strange.”

“It’s kind of a weird thing to ask people.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “People just want to small talk to soften up.” She paused. “I had this idea—Sometimes I think, like, about history and how insane everyone was—like all this stuff you hear about that they actually believed and based their lives around—and it’s like, Isn’t that all of us? I mean aren’t we going to be looked back on the same way? Right?”

“That’s pretty good,” I said. “I’ve thought that too.”

“Yeah.”

“You have a boyfriend?” I asked after it fell quiet between us.

“No. You?”

“No, me and him broke up. It was rough.”

“Tragic,” she laughed.

“I did have a girlfriend a little while ago, but not anymore. I’ve actually only been with that one girl.”

“What was her name?”

“Parker.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“She was this rich girl. She wasn’t actually rich but she hung out with these guys who were. Anyway she latched onto your humble one-handed hand stander because she could see I was going to lay tracks toward thunder.”

“Maybe she just liked your smile.”

“Who was your first guy—I’ll trade you stories, how about.”

She was looking away and didn’t say anything but I thought that was an Okay.

“’Cause I’ll say fucking anything.” I started. “I really will. I think eugenics was a good idea.”

“What’s that got—So what was it like?” she pressed, ignoring that.

“Awkward. I tried to dominate her and be rough and all of that like how some girls like it but it was like trying to do something dexterous and fast and hard with fucking chopsticks—just,” I mashed my fingers and arms around in stiff awkward jerking motions. I moved my arms like that like I didn’t have control over them until my right one went up into a Heil.

I shook my head in consternation and pulled it down with my other hand. “It wasn’t like that exactly.”

She breathed a laugh. “Are you still in touch with her?”

“No, not for the moment, anyway.”

“Mine was sweet. My first time.”

“It was more good because of how sweet the whole atmosphere was than the actual physicality?”

“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.”

“There’s a hole in the ozone layer, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, it was just poetic. I liked how it sounded.”

“The atmosphere is ravaged—that could’ve been a rock band. Or a song or a lyric or something.”

“I’ve always wanted there to be a rock band called The Zarathustras. And their music could be Zarathustra Thunder. Or a song or something.”

“That’s cool.”

I tried to catch her gaze but she was looking around at the campus lawns and statues.

It got quiet between us again. I couldn’t think of what to say for a while. I hoped she was enjoying walking with me. Then we started talking again and I thought we got along pretty well. We got to the crossroads dividing the paths to our dorms. I moved nearer to her. I reached out to hold her hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked me.

“Wondering if your roommate’s home.”

“No, I mean—”

“Feeling hopeful for my chances of gainful employment.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

She caught my eyes.

“I have to go, Franz. I’ll see you around.”

“Am I being ghosted?”

“No, maybe I’ll see you sometime down the line. … You walked yourself into it. Not every girl …” she shook her head, “you know.”

“I guess there’s more to learn.”

“Guess so.”

“Well. This is an educational institution.” I tried to shrug it off. Goddammit. “See ya.”

“Goodbye,” she said not unkindly. I guess there was something in her voice I didn’t hear before. Sometimes you miss things. We didn’t see each other again.

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