Saturday, September 5, 2015

I wasn't too worried, because I held a knife to her throat, just like she asked.


I once dated a girl who claimed her grandmother was an original member of the Manson Family.

When she was little her grandmother would take her to the park to eat ice cream and point out the people Charlie would've wanted killed. Which was pretty much everybody.

As she became older her grandmother taught her about make-up and how to apply lipstick to her forehead to make an 'X'; you know, girl things.

I took her to Denny's once: when she ordered 'pigs in a blanket' she just laughed and laughed and laughed, then asked for an extra fork. It made some patrons nervous; she said Charlie would've wanted them killed, too.

She had a thing about forks: her grandmother had given her one as an heirloom that came from the Spahn Ranch, and when she sucked my cock she would lightly trace the tines on my balls. I wasn't too worried, because I held a knife to her throat, just like she asked.

Eventually, it just got too weird: lipstick 'X's on her forehead, The Beatles' 'White Album' played backwards incessantly, her constant nagging for me to get a tattoo of Charlie on my back. Also: the crime scene photos in little frames on the bedroom night-stand splattered with candle wax.

It finally fell apart one night when we were having anal sex and she started to yell out the name "Charlie!" over and over. Afterward she said I got it wrong, that I should just said "Shut Up, Bitch" because that is what Charlie would've done.

She was sad that I was leaving, but she made a point to say that Charlie wouldn't have wanted me killed, so I felt a bit better about that. Still, she scratched "Helter Skelter" on the side of my car with a key. The plus to that was that people wouldn't park near me, even in a crowded parking lot.

For sex you can put up with a lot of crazy, but there are limits.

I am Laslo.



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