Due to the grand combination of alcohol, drugs, confused morality, poor lighting in bars, and the overall vibe of Los Angeles that gnaws at one’s self-esteem like a rat chewing through a brick wall, I have been able to experience a lot of one-night stands with attractive women. However, when the chemicals wear off, the sun comes up, and the women discover what they have done, I am left to deal with some very humiliated, depressed individuals. After experiencing this a number of times, I have created a series of answers and statements to calm the individual down from what must be a very traumatizing arrival into reality.
When a woman first awakens next to me, the first words out of her mouth are a series of, “Oh my Gods.” The first “oh my god” is a comment on how they can’t believe how much they drank, the second is the realization they aren’t at home or have a stranger in their bed, and the third being and expression of dread that the stranger is me.
Before the woman has time to respond any further, I quickly grab my note cards and launch into my speech. I have found it best to start with a joke.
“I bet that sex was the longest thirty seconds of your life.”
I always take a second to let the joke hit home and then continue, “But seriously, I do want to apologize how quickly I climaxed, and I promise you I am seeing a therapist about that. If you do wish to see me after today, I assure you the problem should be solved in roughly eight years.”
Due to being very unorganized, the cards are usually out of order, and then I spend the next minute nervously shuffling through them to find the proper order. Women often respond to this in a variety of ways: some stare at me like a dazed individual being pulled from a catastrophic wreck, others pull the blankets over their heads and weep, and about eighty percent throw various large objects towards me until I run from the apartment. As painful as the last one can be, I am usually relieved because I am not fond of public speaking even if it is my own home.
If allowed I continue by saying, “For the record, this was totally a consensual experience. I promise you that I never deceived you, lied to you, or made any promises that I am not willing to follow through on. Granted your perception of me and perhaps mine of you was warped by the inordinate amounts of alcohol and various other chemicals we willingly placed into our bodies. I would like to apologize right now for a few things: One, my body. As you can see I don’t do too much with it. I just let what hangs hang, ya know? Also I’d like to apologize for the crow-like sounds I made while climaxing, as well as for my inability to find your vagina with my penis. I am sure the loudly repeated comment, “A little help?”, contributed to the overall unpleasantness of your experience.
If the woman has yet to be weeping like a mother after discovering the death of her only child or has not run to the bathroom for a Karen Silkwoodesque shower, I end by dropping to one knee as I snap my fingers, clap, and then make a flower magically appear. Dangling from one of the petals is a card with my phone number, and then I say with a smile, “I’d love to see again.”
No one has ever called. I don’t sweat it too much. L.A. is filled with many dark bars.