I was down in John's bar one day, to get away from my wife. She had a way of just causing my neck to pain. And I would think of what might have been.

I brought a book of short stories with me, by Bukowski, and nursed a pint, called a "pounder" in these parts, at the bar, where people tended to leave you alone. It was late afternoon, and a bright swath of light with dancing dust crossed the room. There were a couple of people at the tables. the few at the bar had a drink or two and left. John was a local sports hero, and fancied his bar a family bar. It wasn't really a place for serious drinking.

A few women came in and occupied a table behind me; I hadn't noticed them. Bukowski was telling a story about his playing a Nazi at the beginning of the late World War. He was talking about the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, which formed to travel to Spain to fight the fascists.

"....all the tall blonde boys had formed the Abraham Lincoln Brigade-- to hold off the hordes of fascism in Spain. And then had their asses shot off by trained troops. Some of them did it for adventure and a tip to Spain but they still got their asses shot off. I liked my ass. there wasn't much I liked about myself but I did like my ass and my pecker."

And i agreed. My wife liked my ass , and it was still in shape. I heard the girls giggling, women they were i suppose, past their forties like i was, but when i thought of my ass and my pecker, they were girls.

Sitting in the bar, happy with my ale, i read Bukowski. "I didn't want to do anything.I didn't even want to go to the gym. In fact, the last thing waned to do was to go to the gym and sweat and wear a jockstrap and compare pecker-lengths. I knew i had a medium length pecker. I didn't have to take gym to establish that.

A woman interrupted my reading. i recognized her from the table, just now passing into the shadow. She said one of the women wanted to invite me to come to the table. I nodded, and followed her over. I nodded to the waitress, and bought all the girls a drink.

It didn't take long for me to recognize who wanted me to come to the table. She couldn't take her eyes off of me. She was introduced to me as "Darla." She looked down as her name was intoned, and then raised her head just enough that she could look at me through her eyelashes. She was a plain woman, but pleasant to look at. When i spoke, she blushed. The stage was set for .... the worst.

Somewhat later, after talk of she and I, of another she and her boyfriend, of this and that and cakes and tea, they left to go to Darla's house. Darla's eyes didn't leave me as she went out the door. I went home and screwed my wife. She didn't have a choice.


Some days passed, and i was in John's bar again with my book. i started the story over again from the beginning. I drank my pint of Amber Ale at the bar.  Bukowski wrote, "I was informed that a new Vanguard Party was to be formed. I was given an address in Glendale [Calif.] and I went there that night. We sat in the basement of a large home with our wine bottles and our various-sized cocks." ... Bukowski describe a fat boy who stood to talk, "I never trusted those types. Sucks, Strictly sucks. He began, 'The Communist menace must be stopped. We are gathered here to take steps to do so. We will take lawful steps and, perhaps, unlawful steps to do this...' I don't remember much of the rest. i didn't care about the Communist menace or the Nazi menace. I wanted to get drunk,  I wanted to fuck, i wanted a good meal.i wanted to sing to sing over a glass of beer in a dirty bar...."

I nodded, I nodded just as the girls came into the bar again. I ordered a baked potato and some tomato slices.I heard the girls laughing behind me. The food was good.

When i finished, the woman who had come up to me a few days before came up again. She said Darla wanted me to come over. I ordered a new pint and went to their table. Darla's eyes were wide, and focused only on me. I knew that there was evil in the air.

Sometimes, when love is unbalanced, as Nietzsche says, "dirt swirls up from the bottom."

After talk and drinks, drinks and eyes, after it all...

Darla hit the restroom. Her friend took me aside to tell me that Darla thought i was "the one." We later left for Darla's house. it was a pleasant house with a nice patio. We sat there with some drinks as the other girls drifted away. Finally, Darla asked me to come into her bedroom. We tiptoed in because we couldn't wake her mom. We retired to her bed, where i got out my medium sized cock and went to work. I hit all the bases, and she was obviously enjoying it, but i was having trouble getting it up. So I asked her to blow me. She was reluctant. I grabbed her hair and held her head down, and then rammed my medium sized cock in her mouth. She knew what to do. Soon, we were consummating the act in the usual manner. She looked happy.

We lay in our arms until she said that I should probably leave before her mother wakes up. She begged me to come back. I said i would.

Then i went home to screw my wife.


I met Darla at the bar the next night. She was happy to see me, and melted into my arms. We took a table with some of her friends. We had a happy night, and again i went home with Darla. Again, I laid my medium sized cock in her. Again, her eyes rolled back, and she was happy.

And again, i went home to screw my wife and wondered how i was going to get out of this.


The next night, Darla came in the bar again, and I was there. So was her friend. When Darla went to the bathroom, the friend told me that the bartender had told her I was married. I confessed. When Darla came out, she told Darla I was married. Suddenly I wasn't "the one" anymore. Darla cried a lot. And i wondered how it had all gotten out of hand. I didn't go home with Darla that night. I just went home and screwed my wife.


I didn't go to the bar for a while. But  a few months later, I was back in the bar, and she was there alone. She told me that she had been seeing someone else. She told me his name, and i knew him as a nondescript bar habitue. I was beginning to feel sorry for her and offer my services when she said, "He has an enormous cock. Sometimes it hurts me. I've even wished for someone small, like you."

"Medium sized," I corrected in my mind.

Then she asked me to leave her at the table because some friends were coming to join her.

I went back to the bar and ordered a double Scotch with club soda on the side.

I finished the Bukowski story: it hit home...
""My friend asked that i take him to the bus to [where he was to be inducted for Vietnam], suggesting that it might turn out to be the last time i ever saw him. He was right."

Me and my medium sized dick never saw Darla again, either.

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