Saturday, November 26, 2005

Nomi, the Tiger Part I

I’ve been asked, by parties higher on the blogging pecking pole than I, to submit a disclaimer, allowing you, the reader, a chance to go here -- or here, or, if the following is not risqué enough: here -- due to the questionable content and lacking moral fiber within this post.

In addition to the above, and after reading this post, anybody referring to me as a misogynistic pig might seem like they're taking an appropriate leap, but such a reference would prove to be false. I, whole-heartedly, have the utmost respect for women and (almost) everything they represent.

Now, keep in mind, I am only a “victim” of a (fucking wonderful) life-evolving experience, which entails a see-saw of various positive and negative ramifications, of course.

What’s that old chestnut? With the good comes the bad…? Seems appropriate, for this story.

Okay, you’ve been warned…

Every man has their particular type of woman. Sometimes, we lean more towards the ideal, unobtainable women, which -- thanks to various media outlets -- take ownership over our inane, maniacal, sex-obscured minds. Now, I’ve always been partial to blondes, with the occasional redhead dropped in, for good measure. But…

There’s always been something about Latin women that motivates me to commit endless acts of stupidity.

Yes, we have our J-Los and our Jessica Albas. While, in my eyes, these women embody the virtually endless characteristics of natural beauty, the reality is, we’ll never have them. Unless, of course, your last name is Affleck, Pitt, or (insert A-list male actor here).

But, we can always dream, and wait for a miracle to step into our lives.

Back in mid-2000, she walked into my apartment, like a movie-starlet straight off the set of a Russ Meyer opus.

Her name was Nomi…

Me and four buddies were hanging out at my apartment, doing what we did best: drowning out and chasing away reality with various legal and illegal substances. My best friend at the time, I’ll call this cat Lead Singer, came over with his Ex-Girl and Nomi.

Now, being average guys looking to lay upon any lady with a heartbeat and a functioning cerebellum, we sized up the situation: intuition snuck in quick that Lead Singer was looking to hook-up with Ex-Girl – okay, that rules out Ex-Girl – and that left Nomi…

My buddies and I had a gauge; a “you my mutha fucka” meter… If you gained “access” to a lady, you got a point… if you slacked off -- when the opportunity was there -- you lost a point...

Tonight, all of us were looking to gain that point with Nomi, whose beauty – lest to say – soared beyond the phrase “easy on the eyes.”

Now, the question here: which one of us was going to go for Nomi? Hmmmmm……

I’ll be the first one to tell you, me trying to pick up, much less talk to, a girl is as pointless as a quadriplegic attempting masturbation…(I apologize for that mental picture, and, if you’re offended, I apologize to all of those who’ve gone blind while attempting to "take care of" one’s self).

All-in-all, I had my eyes on Nomi, and any attempt to just speak with this girl would be a feat in, and of, itself.

But, I’m not exactly the best–looking guy in the room. One of my buddies, let’s call him Jeff, is a good-looking guy, who has no problems getting the ladies… And he has something I, and my other buddies, don’t: a silver tongue. Very silver, and beyond witty.

Now, me, the witless wonder, offered Nomi a drink. She accepted, and the guys and I continued our game of Three Man (a cool dice game; many drunken nights spent on this one)…

Nomi joined in, and – not sure why, but I can guess why – Lead Singer and Ex-Girl left the apartment, as Ex-Girl lived a few buildings down from mine…

And she left one hot, sexy Latina lady with five tigers on the prowl… Planned? Or just a bad fucking idea on Ex-Girl’s part?

Time marches on, and Nomi lets it be known that she gets horny when she’s drunk.

So, I offer her another beer…

And she, happily, obliges…

The competition for Nomi’s attention grew between us guys, as more Three Man games passed, and bottles of beer disappeared faster than blonde chicks in Aruba.

I turn and chat with a couple of my buddies, calling ‘dibs’ on Nomi.
“Nu-uh,” say the others. “We saw her first.”

Just then, I turn around, and…

(yes, you can stop reading right about here, if you feel threatened, or perturbed, by any form of nudity, that being said...)

… I was face-to-ass with a beautiful, heart-shaped backside. Yes, it belonged to Nomi… She claimed – and was correct in said claim – that she had the most beautiful ass in the world. And, at this point, to all of us guys, it was akin to a work of pure Divinci-borne perfection.

And she wanted us to test its strength, by smacking it….

Oh, dear God… did I just hear that? Was this a part of my imagination? Did some schizophrenic personality emerge from the depths of my perverted brain, and actually say “Smack this girl’s ass?”

Just then, I look at the back of her neck, and see the word BITCH tattooed below the hair line… And that song, from the band FIRESTARTER, began to play on repeat in my mind. Just that one line… You know that tune, right?

And, then, Jeff smacked her in the rear… Everybody else, quickly, took a number for the smacking session.

(Please, keep in mind, we were all young guys, and here was this beautiful girl offering us something only envisioned in daydreams).

And, I was the last… sloppy fifth’s… but I got my slap… and she took it like a champ, oh, yes, she did…

Moments later, I go to grab another beer (I take my time, taking in the magnificent event which had just occurred) and go back into the living room.

But, something’s wrong… I scanned the room, and noticed that two people were missing: Jeff and Nomi.

MY BUDDIES: They went into your room…

Now, I wouldn’t just let any dude bring a lady into my room, but Jeff was a damn good friend, and his hospitality would’ve been reciprocal.

Of course, though, they went into my room, and I had to take a piss… And the only way to the bathroom was through my room.

So, not really giving a shit what was going on in there, I opened my bedroom door.

Now, I expected to view a wild, crazy, porno-esuqe sex excursion being embarked upon within my room, yet all I found were Nomi and Jeff ------ talking ------- on my bed….

My “you my mutha fucka” meter, for Jeff, lost a few points.

But, I had to give Jeff credit. His honest to goodness reasoning behind his abstinence from crazy Latina love was relevant: he had a girlfriend, whom he, honestly, loved, and didn’t want to impair said relationship in any form or fashion.

Okay, I can respect that… Half a point goes to Jeff on the “you my mutha fucka” meter.

I go to the bathroom, come out, and catch Jeff asking Nomi who her “second choice” would be.

Second choice? What the hell? It took me a sobering second to paint the bigger picture of what the connotation behind “second choice” held.

Did this girl think she was in an all-male brothel, thinking she could choose any man she wished?

Yes, yes, this was her night, and tonight me and the boys were the street walkers… Except, of course, reception of payment, on our part, was a futile notion, compared to the gift which one of us was about to receive…

Her second choice -- whether it be a factor of vicinity, or that I’m such a good- looking guy (…hehe…right) -- was me.

Victory was mine. I was cresting the hill of "ain't gettin' laid tonight" and the valley of "she's all yours, boss" was in my sights. And, in the valley, at the finish line, I could see all my buddies holding paper versions of "you my mutha fucka
points" in the air.

This was it...

ME (to Jeff): Get the fuck out of the room.
NOMI: Wait a minute. I have only one request.

And here was the request, the caveat, the wrench in my drunken plan: she wanted Jeff to watch us, me and her… doing, well… Yeah.


Now, Jeff and I had cracked endless jokes about being with the same woman, at the same time, and giving each other the (now) cliché high-five, whilst the other was being… taken care of.

But, the reality of this situation was slowly seeping in… and them good times were all talk, as BS as they came...

Yet, drunk as we were, all inhibitions seemed to drop to the floor, and the real excursion began…

For better, or for worse.

To be continued…

Friday, November 25, 2005