Here’s another uproarious episode from my journals. There’s lots to cover so I’ll skip the usual ‘lost memoirs’ back story.
August 4, 1992
On Saturday, Cindy and I saw Austin play out. He was supposed to play The Marquee Club but it was closed that afternoon for fire code violations. The band didn’t find out until they arrived to set up. It was an important gig because some A&R guys were supposed to be there.
There was a restaurant a half block away. Ed and Austin offered the owner $100 to let them run a power line outside. They were going to play in the street! But the restaurant was dead so the owner let them play inside. He charged a $5 cover—same as the Marquee. They hung a sign on the door of the Marquee directing Very Pleasant Neighbor fans to the restaurant down the block. It worked! The A&R people showed up and were impressed with the band’s resourcefulness.
Afterwards, Cindy and I went to Milano’s, that dingy bar next to the Knitting Factory. It’s long, narrow and not very clean. Just the way Cindy and I like our women. We pounded McSorley’s cream ales and I got uncharacteristically blitzed. I was hitting on the pretty barmaid (who was having none of my bullshit) and the guy sitting next to Cindy was hitting on her. Ha. If he only knew.
We left around 1:00 a.m. At the corner of Houston and Bowery I told Cindy, in my drunken slur, that I wanted to kiss her. She said, “Okay, but keep it light.” We were kissing and heard someone scream, “CINDY!” It was Laura! She had been following us again! She was standing several paces away. The two of them got into a terrific screaming match. I slowly backed away in case Laura had a gun. Laura called Cindy a homophobe, which I guess is the worst thing you can call a lesbian (or a bi-sexual, as the case may be). Cindy pulled her keys out of her pocket, snapped open the ring, took Laura’s apartment key off, threw it at her and said, “Get the hell out of my life!” The key whizzed in a straight line and bounced off Laura’s forehead and landed on the Bowery. I started laughing my ass off which, as you can imagine, didn’t help matters. It was pretty awesome.
Look how the two lines on the top and bottom converge. Love it.
On Sunday I went to Bonnie’s to watch the Olympics. It was raining so I hailed a cab. When the cab pulled up, the doorman came out with an umbrella and rode up in the elevator with me, which I find annoying. I can push a fucking button. Bonnie said they’re a nuisance but the old people in the building insist on them. What a bunch of babies.
We were making out on the sofa during the swimming and diving competition and Bonnie said she wanted to go for a walk. By then it had stopped raining so we went to Central Park for a bit, then to the Japanese restaurant down the street. Of course she knew everyone there and everyone knew her. She was talking kind of loud and I was embarrassed. People were staring. We sat at the sushi bar and ordered hot Saki. She introduced me to Fuji, the girl behind the bar, telling us that we’d be perfect together. She had bright eyes and was full of the devil. Get this: Bonnie made me show her my new tattoo. [Note: it’s a Japanese symbol.] Fuji looked at it, gasped, and said, “That’s a man’s name!” Well, it isn’t but I believed her for a moment and thought it was very, very funny. Later, I told Bonnie I wanted to mount Fuji—ha-ha, get it?—and she got really mad and jealous. The bill was $40 but Bonnie was dead broke so I (gladly) paid it.
[Disclaimer: I debated on whether or not to include this next bit. It’s vulgar and crass. I decided to post it with the caveat that it might offend. I’m warning you with peace and love, don’t judge me today for the boy I was then. Pat, if you’re reading, please stop here.]
We went back to her place and went to bed. It always takes me a while to relax but there are great rewards for the lucky woman with patience. Bonnie went down on me. It amazes me how some women have elevated blow jobs to an art form while others won’t have anything to do with them. You can tell when a girl is disgusted. Bonnie is a maestro.
Bonnie is afraid of catching AIDS and insisted I use a condom. I got one out of my backpack but it was from last Christmas when I was with Ann. They were so old that the lubricant dried up and the condoms had shrunk to the size of a dime. I couldn’t even get the damn thing out of the package. By then, Bonnie was drunk with desire + Saki. She pulled me on top of her and put me inside anyway. We would’ve had simultaneous orgasms except I had to pull out, so hers was interrupted. She said, “I need that space filled,” took a few of my fingers and put them inside her. I felt like a gynecologist but it did the trick. Satisfaction all around. Bonnie smells nice. Ann, not so much. I almost passed out from Ann. We were up until 3:30 a.m., woke up the next morning and started all over again. She had to leave for work at 10:00. We were both beat. Not enough sleep.
Exile on Pain Street 
Quit with the fucking disclaimers dammit, we’re all adults, it’s coming from the guts and heart of an earnest young man (who’s now a bit older) but still, that’s what you wrote, don’t change it or apologize for it, that’s what makes it good… you’ve been to the lounge, there’s all sorts of debauchery, sex and drugs and raunch and roll, don’t get soft on me now my Clevo friend cuz you got some new viewers, man the humping guns i do believe is the phrase i’m looking for, when you begin to censor it’s time to take up knitting… you dirty love machine… quality stuff from the journals as usual.
I think some of it is pretty rough stuff and I want to distance myself from it. Not so much that I won’t post it–and I’m sure not going to start editing or censoring it–but enough so that I acknowledge the impropriety. I’m not at all ashamed of it but I can see how some people could cringe.
Man the humping guns. I see what you did. That’s an obscure one. Well done.
“It’s long, narrow and not very clean. Just the way Cindy and I like our women.”
“It amazes me how some women have elevated blow jobs to an art form while others won’t have anything to do with them.
–Commenter’s Note: It amazes me too.
Aw hell! I need to visit NYC!
Hey! I love this post!
No disclaimer required for this Cowboy.
Hehehehe
Cheers!
Loved the Lincoln Center photo:
Yes. I could see some divergence…
Thanks, bud. I sure wasn’t thinking you’d be offended when I put that in there. In fact, I’m thinking that, if anything, it enticed you to keep reading!
If you do visit NYC, don’t expect it to be anything like what you read here. That’s ancient history.
True enough, but I have enjoyed my visits to Athens, Rome, Jerusalem, Baghdad–well, (Baghdad not-so-much), Waco….
😉
Bravo Bonnie! It’s good that a woman knows what’s she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it – or just takes it in her case! I thought the scene with Cindy and Laura was more embarrassing – who wants to see lesbians behaving like gay men?
In hindsight I see my entire affair with Bonnie as a wonderful, prolonged assault by an older, more experienced woman. I approve wholeheartedly.
I think Cindy and Laura were behaving more like a married couple about seven years in. That’s when the differences really start to come in to play. You either work through them or the next thing you know, keys are flying and people are screaming.
Grittilly real Mark. Well done.
Those were the days, my friend. I thought they’d never end. But they did.
those who know me often wonder why i’ve never had a female girlfriend. that chick fight you described? exactly that… can’t take the freakin’ drama! men are easy. women are a lot of work.
do you really miss that life? at least you had it… i look back at the crazy stuff from my youth and the thought of it gives me a damn headache. i’m old. oh, and get offa my lawn…
I keep trying to steer my daughters into a gay lifestyle thinking that would be better than dealing with creepy men but perhaps I need to rethink that strategy.
I sure do miss that lifestyle. My life comparatively is so dull now. My life was rock ‘n roll and now it’s potato salad.
Potato salad can always have some red pepper flakes and cumin thrown in. Add heat and exotic spice and it’s a whole new flavor.
Potato salad doesn’t claw your eyes out, either.
The good stuff might. Might be worth it in hindsight.
You are astonishingly evolved for someone so young. How’d that happen? Book learnin’? Good parenting? A combo, I suppose. I’m going out after work tonight with an old friend. We’re having drinks outside high above the city. She’ll tell me about the legal proceedings begun for her divorce and I’ll listen patently and feel lucky. You are correct. A little perspective is in order.
At 25, this comment would have made me grin with pride. At 30, it fits a bit oddly – am I still young? I’m not old, but I have to hope that most people understand something about perspective by the time they’ve likely gotten married and might have kids. But yes, I have been pretty damn lucky when it comes to my folks and my books and my travels and my lovers, which between them taught me almost everything I know. Also, reading poetry.
In any case, I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole every time you say something nice lately. Enjoy your dinner, give your friend the gift of your attention, and toast with her to perspective (should be easy, given the view)… perhaps also toast to paprika. 🙂
30 is such a great age. It’s the age of clarity and understanding. It might not feel that way to you today, but it will in hindsight. From my perch you are still quite young. Actually, I suppose that depends on your point of view doesn’t it? I suppose someone who’s 60 looks upon me with some envy.
Not going to lie, there’s something very voyeuristic about these journal postings, and not just because of the saucy bits. You tap into something dark in all of us. In other words, thanks! Another fascinating entry in this series.
The saucy bits are certainly the draw but beyond that I’m doing what comes naturally to anyone; looking back in fondness to what once was. I was younger, more desirable and had black hair. There’s so much material here. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it all.
This is why the phrase “semi-autobiographical fiction” was invented.
Do you want to hear something really stupid? I haven’t changed the names! Isn’t that rule #1?
I was going to say what a drag it was that you got c-blocked by that gal in the first story, but then in the next one you had the beej of a lifetime. Funny how things work out sometimes . . .
Just look at that display of rejection and conquest. So far, I’ve cherry-picked these entries. The preponderance of my experiences leaned heavily on rejection, although you wouldn’t think so by the picture I’ve painted. I’ll even it out in the coming months.
That’s true. Who wants to post up the stories where you were lamenting about not getting any? Wow. I would not want to read my stories like that. I was always desperate to take any old thing home to not be lonely.
Well if that isn’t an invitation!
Don’t worry – I just close my eyes and think of England.
I wasn’t kidding about the warning. I really do have a most profound respect for you and didn’t want you to think I was some kind of monster. Well, I hope you were able to resist temptation and stop where I advised. What would Old Filth think of me?
Blimey, this is like Sex in the City for blokes!
I have a question… in too minds about asking…BUT, what the hell did Ann smell of???
Sx
And I have no idea why my comment ended up here.
Sx
Sex in the City without the cash, cool apartments, connections and beautiful friends. More like a very bad episode of Seinfeld.
I don’t know why your comment is here. Since you’re both in the UK, I’m going to assume its a quirk of geography.
And I honestly don’t know what Ann’s… ummm… fragrance was. Hope it cleared up, though.
Hello mr Grey….
I like the mount Fuji part.
Agreed – the two lines converging in subway photo is cool.
I do so enjoy your cad / bounder stories.
I can’t tell you how pleased I am to be called a cad. Did I really earn that label or are you just being generous?
I thought that mount Fuji was an incredibly clever play on words but I clearly remember Bonnie being annoyed. I remember being surprised that she care enough to be jealous. I didn’t think I mattered to her one way or the other.
Um wordpress just asked me if I wanted to follow your blog. I’ve been following your blog (poorly for the last few months – my apologies) forever. I must have accidentally unfollowed? Annnnyway, I’m officially following again and this was a really interesting post. I didn’t think what you wrote was crass. It was honest. I respect it when bloggers write about sex openly. It’s a tough thing to write about because of exactly what you said – it might offend someone. Good for you for taking the chance anyway : )
First and foremost, no apologies are needed or necessary. WordPress recently un-followed someone for me without my realizing it. I thought she stopped blogging. I visited her place to yell at her for not posting and it turns out she’s been posting all along. They also disabled the comment alerts so I didn’t know she had responded the clever quips I left in her comment section. Technology. Feh. Who needs it?
As you can see if you scroll up in the comment section, I was taken to the woodshed for issuing a disclaimer. He’s right, of course. You should put it all out there and make no apologies. But I can’t stand the thought that I might have hurt or offended someone. I’m too sensitive a boy for this cruel world. Thanks for coming by. You’re blog is one of my favs. You should post more often. But…don’t force it.
In the movie version, I hope Katherine Hepburn plays the role of lower Manhattan.
No one else has the gravitas or sense of humor.
That is hysterical. Not to lather your ass or anything, but one else has the knife-edge sharp wit to come up with a comment like that.
Well, the city in your memoirs is very much a character, and later Katherine had that elegance-gone-to-seed, much like NYC in the 90s (even though the city’s revitalization (read as upswing in luxury condos) had begun by then).
I’ve got a major problem with the recent revitalization and was going to do a post about it but thought aside from you, nobody else would care or relate. Do you know what “poor doors” in new luxury/market rate condos are? Eat the rich.
I would like a revitalisation post! It happens all over, Mr Pain, it would be relevant to all.
Sx
[Kisses each bicep. Blows the dust off of each fist.]
Okay. Here it comes. Pucker up.
I bet you’re going to have some interesting search engine terms in your stats after this one 😉 I’m assuming your daughters don’t read your blog too! I love the way you described everything in such a matter of fact way in your journal, not just this entry (ooh, “entry” snigger), but the others too, and yet they’re still full of life, like I and someone else commented before, very Holden Caulfield.
My daughters do NOT read this space but only because they’re too young. What’s going to happen when they’re 15?! It’s a huge concern of mine. Thanks for bringing it up.
You said “entry.” Ha. Thanks for playing along.
1992? sweet mary sunshine, sugar! *sigh* i agree, no more disclaimers, (as my grandpa used to say) we’re all adults here! (btw, The Doc was a freshman at Columbia U. in ’92…gawd, i’m old.)
xoxoxoxo
Hi Sav. It’s nice to see you. Hope you’re feeling well.
It’s ancient history, innit? I had a rough birthday last month. There’s more behind me than there is in front of me. The scale has finally tipped and not for the better.
Was it the 50 birthday? Hmmm. I am in the lead up to it, and have that growing awareness that there’s more behind than in front. And what’s in front is getting a bit droopy.
Sx
I will not reveal. I’m sensitive about it. Don’t judge me. Some people smoke. Some watch reality TV. Some bite their nails. I’m hung up on my age. Let’s put it this way: it’s over for me.
I don’t bite my nails, but I am guilty of all the other things!
Age, let’s forget about it 🙂
Sx
i’m feeling so great, i’ve even blogged, sweet pea! the MITM reminded me that in ’92 we had THREE sons in college, 2 were at Columbia and 1 (capt chaos) at Pomona College! (super nana was in high school) the upside of that? i was only 42! but all of that ancient history aside, the days ahead of us are the important ones! but, i think you already know that, sugar! 😉 xoxoxo
Well that’s fucking awesome. Don’t hold back, dude, no one’s going to judge you for anything, we’ve all got pasts but few are brave enough to expose them. This makes awesome reading.
McSorley’s – is that that one really old bar with the flat small beers and the bones or something hanging from the ceiling? I got drunk there once. It was weird, but great, so crowded that you couldn’t help but have a good time.
I’m not terribly bothered about being thought of as a rouge or a crank. I was mostly afraid of offending delicate sensibilities. In hindsight, I wish I’d just ran the damn thing without the words of caution. People are grown up. They can take it.
Yup. McSorley’s is an infamous bar in the East Village. It was male-only until surprisingly late. I don’t think they allowed women in until, something like, 1972. I remember it being one of the first bars I drank in when I first got to NYC. I guess a lot of people can make the same claim.
I totally remember that place. Was on a bachelor party a couple years ago, we stayed near Madison Square Gardens and drank there for two nights. Beer went down so easily. Bartenders could carry like ten glasses at a time. Awesome place.
Keep tossing the memoir stuff out, it’s great reading.