Saturday was an unexpected one.
It was my friend’s birthday and instead of avoiding most of the people I know, I decided to take up her offer to see her at her house for a while and then come back home and do some work for once. I ended up being persuaded to go to a club with her and her friends. I wasn’t really “ready” to go out and didn’t “plan” it so had no expectations.

I certainly didn’t expect that would be the one night I FINALLY could have got laid. It didn’t happen of course, because I’m Kenny; the guy who always has half stories to tell about how things go wrong. My penis needs a compass and map. Possibly one of those dogs for the blind, too.
After a long night of touchy-feely I went back home on Sunday and spent two days quivering because I was so bloody sexually frusturated. My friends convince me to go out again, promising me “I’ll get you laid.”
And boy, do I need it.

In my state I forgot promising me that is like promising me a chicken that lays Golden Eggs. But hey, it almost happened on Saturday, how hard could it be to get laid after all? Maybe things had changed.

Things hadn’t changed, it’s still impossible to get laid.
But unlike Saturday when I didn’t have to do anything and most of the time, when I’m trying to do ANYTHING to chat up the girl, I learnt the very obvious lesson that sometimes, the only thing you have to do is NOT SCREW UP. Last night was one of those times.

I’m in the smoking area, talking to a girl, drink in hand, sharing her cigarette. I look deep in her eyes, she stares back, a slightly mischevious grin escaping the corners of my mouth. She’s smiling, her pupils dilating. My gaze falls down to her lips and then, back to her eyes, the colour escaping me now. We take no steps, but for a split second of silence, somehow have been drawn closer to one another.
“How come you have such nice eyes…” she asks, still staring as if hypnotized. Is this the moment? There’s that tension within the silence between both of you, that is amplified to the point where the world around you seems to vanish into thin air, the sounds of talking and laughing there… somewhere, in a far off place…

“My Dad raped the right woman.”

Yes, take that in for a second. Let it sink in, deep.
Her face sort of drops, something having left those colourless eyes and something returning to takes its place. My eyes widen a bit as I realise what I’ve said. I remember thinking up that joke in the shower a while ago, and that it was hilarious, but is it appropriate? I decided that it probably would be around guys, but the word “rape” as I had just proven, strikes a disgusting amount of fear into females. I decided it was best never to say it to a girl, let alone one I didn’t know/was trying to sell myself to.

Now I had sold myself as the son of a rapist. Which isn’t true, but she was looking at me like it was fucking genetic or something? Damn, bitch, it’s my Dad, not me! Sins of our Fathers and all that. She’s saying something, but I’m not really listening because I’m having a conversation with myself about how stupid I am.
I contemplate whether I should play along and pretend I actually AM the spawn of a sick, deranged but apparently, very pretty eyed sexual offender. No, that won’t make me anymore attractive to her. She comments on how it’s a bad joke, I think she’s very wrong. But I agree with her anyway and I THINK I keep up my smooth streak by telling her I meant to say my Dad picked the right woman to get an arranged marraige to.

She doesn’t buy it. APPARENTLY arranged marraiges and rape are two completely different things.

I’m a smooth operator. Can’t touch this.
You won’t want to.