Dave

All throughout eleventh and twelfth grade, I had a painful obsessive crush on some loser named Dave. But this isn't about him. This is about a different guy named Dave.

After college, I was shocked and appalled to discover that I was completely, entirely, and utterly unemployable. Even after holding down an office job all throughout college. This was my first wake-up call to the reality of the pyramid scam that is the college degree. I had another one, later, when I finished graduate school. At any rate, the only job I was able to get was as a receptionist for the second-largest sub-standard car insurance company in the nation. Not only was this job a couple notches beneath the job I held all throughout college (both in pay and dignity), but driving past a couple of schools on the way to work every day served as a constant reminder that I wasn't a teacher like I was supposed to be and had trained for. Also, I had to drive 1 1/2 hours to work every day in horrific solid-blocked sweltering hot Atlanta summer traffic. Because it's always summer in Atlanta. Summer or raining. Add on top of all of that: the only reason I even got an interview for the job was because my mom's friend worked there. So it was my first experience in networking and I definitely learned the lesson that I needed friends with better jobs than that.

So there was a training course. A whole bunch of us getting oriented to the company at the same time. I was fucking pissed. About everything. I'd go out in between sessions for smoke breaks. I noticed pretty quickly that only one other person smoked: it was the guy that looked like Caliban from Clash of the Titans. We struck up an instant rapport.

It was awesome, really. I was a lesbian, he was my age and the ugliest thing I'd ever seen in my life with his tight curly-haired mullet like a Brillo pad. His acne. His pointy features and beady little eyes. His total disregard for and lack of any discernible style. And, oddly enough, super tight jeans that revealed an astounding package. On top of that, I had never before in my life seen merit in the ass as a feature until I saw his jeans.

We flirted like crazy. It was an easy friendship.

He was hired there to do the phone systems. So that meant he was there every day, going to every building, in charge of fixing every glitch in this immensely complicated network of a phone system. I got to see him quite a lot. There were, you see, a lot of problems. Part of me wondered how much of his work involved sabotaging his own work so that he could ensure his employment. I mean, how many businesses need their very own personal phone man?

He'd come by my desk pretty often, and his pants were pretty much at eye level. So that played into a lot of our interactions. And in the meantime, since my desk was situated in the lobby there, it played into a lot of my interactions with a lot of my coworkers. I had a mega-crush on this straight girl, Shuki who I became friends with, but who was never going to fall prey to me. There was also Rich, a married man whose advances I sort of didn't pick up on for a while. When I finally did, I was delighted at the salacious dirtiness of screwing around with someone a year older than my mother. I gave him hand jobs in my car at the park near his house where his wife sometimes took the kids or walked the dog. I let him buy me expensive lunches. I let him feel me up underneath my tight sweaters.

Eventually one day, it came time that I was thank-god-fully no longer employed there and was able to work somewhere else. By this point, Dave and I had a habit of going to happy hour on a regular basis. These outings were usually spent, by this time, at a local strip club (of which there are many in Atlanta) because this other guy we went with, Randy, was dating one of the strippers who was the mother of his brother's child, and also would give us free drinks. One time Dave and Randy did GBH in the car and wanted me to try it too but I said no.

Another time, Dave and I smoked a bunch of pot, then went shopping for his fiance's engagement ring. I was utterly bored to death and paranoid, so I eventually went back to the car to wait for him. I think he took me along because he thought a woman's opinion would be valid. Either that, or he wanted to get me jealous. It was hard to tell, and I can't really remember.

What I do remember is that one night we got way too drunk and I had to spend the night at his house. This was just before I left town to move to Boston. I have to admit that all along, it thrilled me to death that he was so obviously into me. And it turned me on, how incredibly ugly he was and how repulsed I was by him physically. It was this weird push-pull of attraction. So when we got wasted and I crashed in his bed, I put up zero objection to making out with him. It was in the dark and he was an incredible kisser. I put up even less objection to him eating my pussy which he performed incredibly well.

The next morning I borrowed his pants and wore them to work. After that I returned them and went home. Just like a guy, I never called him again, or returned his calls. And I didn't tell him when I moved or where exactly I went. Until, of course, he called one day and my mother gave him my phone number and he reamed me out, several states away. I was sorry, of course, but not too much so. I couldn't handle being actually involved with someone who did a bunch of drugs and cheated like that on his girlfriend. Plus, there was that thing where he looked sort of like a trollish little creature.