Male

34

At coffee today a girl that I sometimes talk to asked, "So what do you want in a girlfriend?"
And I replied, "I want us to both to be... adults about things."
I didn't even have the courage to say, anything more. That alone was almost too much. Even though we were looking in each others eyes and she might of needed me to say more. And I might have wanted to say more, but it didn't happen. In reality I should have said the following.
What I should have said, was, I want a girl who is pale, smart and in love with me. What I should have said, is that I want a girl who is as soft as a cloud and as hard as steel. What I should have said, was that, when I really think about it. This woman, this girl, this fucking human, would be my other half. She would always be beside me, looking over my shoulder. She would be the steel in my teeth. She would be next to me for all things.
This woman would be like my right arm, she would be my Molly Mirrors, and I would be her Case.
What I should have said, was, that this woman, this girl, in my mind, I will never have, because she doesn't exist. I should have cried out to her. I should have told her the truth. I should have bit her, or punched her.
Because that is what I would do to the girl in my mind. The one that I love. I would bite her, so hard that she would bleed from it. I would hold her down and fuck her so savagely that she would cry. I would pet her and touch her so gently she would cry.
This girl in my mind, I would look at, and say, "Froggy." And she would smile and she would know that I loved her with all my heart. And I would never do anything to hurt her. This girl, her in my mind, she would be the one who when I was thirsty would let me drink her blood.
She would be thin, and pale, and beautiful, so beautiful that if perhaps she was a sun she would make me go blind if I looked at her. And if we where fighting the damn rebs, she would be the one to reload my musket. Standing near enough to me, to make me feel strong.
And if, we where on a hill and below us was the enemy hordes, and I looked over. After pushing up the face plate of my helmet, I would look over to her and I would say, "Go it?" My horse would shift and so would hers. In full plate she would look around, then lift her own visor, and for the first time I would notice that she had bitten totally through her lower lip. And the blood was slowly running down her chin. With the smell of death, blood and shit in the air she would smile, her teeth white against the blood on her chin, looking over the rest of the troops and she would say, "Go it." And she would know which book I stole 'go it' from. And we would charge. Then we would die. And it would be good.
If I was The Twist, she would my Venus Death, if she was a Dead Girl, I would be Ignatz.
We would storm buildings, raze towns, pillage villages, kill innocent bystanders. March through captured nations with babies dangling beautifully from our bayonets. Command troops, throw bombs, fire RPKs as we rode that last truck out of hell. This girl, this woman in my mind would do all these things with me.
I should have told the girl at coffee, that, my dream girl would be my Demonus, my Succubus. When we finally died in each others arms, or perhaps just near each other, we would go to hell, there to work in management.
When we spoke, which would be all the time and never, I would call her perhaps, Froggy, or Baby Snakes, or Tasty. She would try to hold my hand when we walked in public and I wouldn't like it, but I also would so much, that I would be upset if she didn't try. And she would know this, my little Froggy. Yes, Froggy would know.
And little Froggy would the one who, after we had smoked countless cigarettes, little Froggy would be the one to hand me the strait razor to cut my wrists with.
Froggy, my Tasty, would be strong, so strong, and oh so soft. She would be every heroine of every novel. Everything that I had ever loved in ever movie would be this one woman in my mind.
I should have told that girl at coffee that. That how can I ask for anything when real life girls can't compare to a girl who, in my mind, would break a bottle over a cops head to protect me, then stab him while he was down.
And when I smiled at this girl, at coffee, and my perfect straight teeth flashed. It almost made me laugh, because I told her nothing. But I thought all of it.
What made me smile and almost laugh, was that, I am a hero in a book. I am tall, dark, pale and hansom. I could be the cute guy standing behind you at the store, looking you over with a glint, of, of something in his eyes. I move with grace and have long eye lashes.
The novel I am in though, is a novel about repetition, boredom and loneliness. The novel I am in has me drink too much, and smoke even more, while I work a job I hate. The novel I am in, is poorly written and has big coffee stains on the heavily dog eared pages. The novel I am in has never been published and the only copy is a manuscript that you might find laying in the dew covered grass outside your house.
I should have told the girl at coffee, the women that I meet at coffee. I should have told them all of this, in an excited voice, with my eyes dark. I should tell them about my Froggy.
Or at the very least I should have said, "I want a girl that drinks blood."