Chapter 5 - Austin

We’ll stay best friends 'til we die. Then we’ll be best ghost friends and haunt the shit out of people.”

~Walker Thomas

“Why is a wife like a tornado?”

I glanced up from the table I was pushing the electric sander over and gave my co-worker, Paulie, a droll stare.

“They both scream when they come and take the house when they go.”

I didn’t smile, instead kept my level gaze on Paulie who laughed hysterically. At fifty-two years of age with a thick, grey beard and weighing in at a little over three hundred and seventy pounds, Paulie looked akin to an unkempt mountain man. His humor was crass and his hygiene questionable, but he was loyal to a fault and had a heart of gold. I liked him, his jokes . . . not so much.

“What do you know about making your wife come?” my boss, Eddie Thomas, asked, leaning against the workshop bench to my right. “I’m surprised you can find your pork sword under all that girth.”

I cracked a smile.

“Awwww, Eddie, you ain’t seen girth until you seen what’s under these pants.” Paulie stood and moved his hands to his belt as if to undo them.

“Ah damn it! Is Paulie getting naked again? If he gets naked, I’m calling in health and safety!” Walker growled as he walked out of his father’s office.

Paulie laughed a full bellied roar that filled the large warehouse.

“Save it for your wife, Paulie,” Eddie said with a smile. “Come into my office, and I’ll show you the concept for Mrs. Rolland’s kitchen.”

Paulie’s body still shook with laughter as he made his way towards Eddie’s office. Walker leaned against the table I was working on, placing a bottled water right before me while raising his own in a ‘cheers’ gesture.

“Here’s to you and me, and the girls that kiss us where we pee.”

I shook my head and reached for the bottle.

“One day you’re going to surprise me and grow the fuck up,” I murmured as I took a long drink.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I finally asked as I ran my hand over the sanded wood, feeling for blemishes and imperfections. Walker took care of his father’s books, but it was something he did at the end of each month, which was over a week away.

Walker didn’t answer and eventually my curiosity got the better of me. I turned my back on my project and raised a curious brow at his silence. 

“Brother, I didn’t have to meet you in the emergency room last night, so I’m assuming Deena’s vaj-jay isn’t full of razor sharp teeth.”

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t see her vay-jay,” I said with a shrug.

“Ahhhhh, date didn’t go as well as you planned? Damn shame.”

Walker was way too smug for my liking. The fact he was right pissing me off even more. Mediocre date aside, for some absurd reason I had agreed to a second date. Deena had spent most of the night talking about herself, which in one respect was okay because I didn’t have to do the talking, but sitting for two hours in front of a woman who apparently had no off switch was borderline torture.  Obviously I had some unrecognized kink for pain because I was seeing her again soon.

“Date was fine. I’m seeing her again next week.”

Walker’s face flicked through so many emotions it was laughable. Surprise, confusion, amusement, surprise again followed quickly by disbelief.

“Then why didn’t you tap that last night? I know Deena. She's the type of girl to crawl under the table, blow your world and not leave a drop of evidence. You can’t tell me she didn’t want to put out.”

“I highly doubt she’s the kind of girl to give blow jobs in restaurants, but if you must know, she did want to put out. I didn’t.”

“Because you were scared of getting your cock eaten by her fanged crack of heaven?”

“Because it was a first date,” I said gruffly, reaching for the fine grain sandpaper to manually take the fine nicks out of the wood. No doubt Walker wouldn’t ignore my brush off. However, I did stun him to silence, which was nice, but unfortunately, it didn’t last long enough for me to truly appreciate the quiet moment.

“Do you have a mangina? Since when do you not put out on a first date?”

I shrugged. “It’s a rule.”

It really wasn’t. After all, I’d initially figured if the date didn’t go well, I’d at least get an itch scratched, but then I went and turned the scratch down. I’d kissed her outside the restaurant, hoping my dick would get with the program. Plan was to jump into a taxi, go back to her place, and fuck until the sun came up. Then I’d sneak out, drive home, and brush off any attempt for a second date. The plan crashed and burned when my bored dick ruined my much deserved prize for going through two and a half hours of misery. I’d put Deena in a taxi, went home alone, and watched LA Ink until three a.m. It was official. There was something wrong with me. I was broken.

“Who’s fucking rule?” Walker exclaimed with disbelief.

“I don’t know. It’s just a rule. Everyone knows the fucking dating rules, they just . . . exist.”

“Have you been to see a doctor lately? Maybe you’re sick.” He didn’t know the half of it. Walker shook his head. “Did Deena ask for proof of your balls?”

“Deena sulked like a two-year-old and went home in a taxi. She called me the next morning and asked if I wanted to catch up again next week. I said yes.” Because I was pathetic.

“I hope like fuck it’s because you put out on a second date.”

“Deena isn’t all that bad.” Even I didn’t believe the lie, so there was no way I could sell it to Walker.

Predictably, Walker laughed. “Deena isn’t all that bad . . .” he trailed off. “So I take it she didn’t mention the interview your father did for Forbes?”

And he was right . . . a-fucking-gain. On the few occasions Deena did try to allow me open dialogue, it was usually to answer a question about my father’s empire and wealth.

“She might have mentioned it in passing.”

“Did she bring up the increase in Chilled Lily stocks?” I ignored him, and my silence was telling. “I bet my favorite Deadpool socks that she brought up the grand opening of your father’s new store in Venice later this year.” I hated those socks, anyway. “Dude, she wants you for your inheritance, not your tiny dick.”

“My dick is well above average,” I murmured.

“Are we taking the average 3.5 inches flaccid? If so, then yes, I agree.”

“If you’re only here to talk cock size, you’re shit outta luck my friend. I’m more than comfortable with my well above average dick and don’t need to boost my ego by comparing size with you.”

“This one-woman-first date-non-sexual relations-Deena-loving-stiff you’ve become is boring. I want the old Austin back.” Walker practically sulked, his expression not unlike Deena’s when I had told her I wasn’t going home with her last night. I didn’t need my best friend on my case like this. I was confused enough by this premature mid-life crisis in which I was stuck.

“Fuck me, who said anything about loving Deena?” I growled, horrified at the thought. “Let me try and explain this to you in a way you’ll understand. I read an article recently and did you realize that when we hit fifty, our chances of getting laid drop by sixty percent? Fuck man, we need a contingency plan in place. I figure if I’ve already found a woman who’s willing to stick by my side through wrinkles, grey hair and all, I won’t have to worry about hitting bars like a dusty old perv and popping Viagra just to get my rocks off.”

“I’m glad you don’t love Deena. She's going to chew up your cock and spit it out like the nasty venereal disease she is and I can’t believe you have such little faith in mini Austin. I plan on getting a natural erection until the day I die. The secret is to use the muscle regularly, like, every day, a couple of times a day.”

I stood from the table I was sanding and stretched out my tired muscles. I wished I could stretch out my exhausted brain that was overthinking this entire situation. Throwing my sandpaper to one side I leaned alongside Walker and pierced him with an honest stare.

“Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Using my muscle?” Walker pointed to his dick. “Never.” He was dead serious.

“No, idiot, don’t you get sick of different girls, condoms, and awkward conversations?”

“Ummm, no, no, and what’s this ‘conversation’ word you speak of? You must be doing something wrong if you need to talk to them.”

Having a meaningful conversation with this jackass was impossible. Walker was your consummate man-whore, but I couldn’t really call him out on it. After all, less than twelve months ago, I was right there with him, betting that I was the fastest at getting a woman out of a club and bouncing on my cock. Disrespecting not only women, but myself, had finally grown old. I didn’t want to get epically laid anymore. I think I wanted to be epically loved, and while thinking of the ‘L’ word – loved, not laid, weirded me out, I didn’t completely dislike the idea.

“One day, Walker, you are going to fall and it’s going to be hard and it’s going to be messy, and I’m going to laugh my ass off and say ‘I told you so.’”

“Not in this lifetime. So, you’re off the menu, but I’m not. Wanna be my wingman tonight?”

I tried to rub the ache out of the back of my neck. I didn’t really feel like hitting bars, but I also didn’t like the idea of sitting home alone and pining over something that was currently unattainable like some lame asshole.

“Sure, why the fuck not? I get to be Maverick, though. I’m not playing Goose again. Goose is a dick.”

“Goose got Meg Ryan, and I’m talking young, hot Meg Ryan. He's a legend, my man, while Tom Cruise got to become a nutbag, spaceman, religious freak. You can have your Maverick. Goose is mine.”

“You do realize most the girls we meet haven’t even heard of Top Gun?”

“And they, my friend, are a disgrace to civilization. Top Gun should be part of the school curriculum. Hell, it should replace religious studies! We’re gonna have a good time.” Walker reached out his bottle of water and tapped his bottle against mine which hung limply in my hand.

“Always,” I said, a grin finally finding its way to my face as I echoed the words from our favorite movie. “She’s lost that lovin’ feelin’,” I continued, and Walker laughed.

“I hate it when she does that.”

Picking up a hammer, I turned it upside down and brought it to my lips and began singing “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,” the iconic song from Top Gun. Walker sang his part that was saved for Goose, and soon we were singing at the top of our lungs as I cleaned up my bench. I followed Walker out into the dying rays of light, ready for a night of excessive alcohol to help wash away my depressing thoughts on cutting back on pussy.