She insisted we go out for the night. I would've been happy with anal sex, incense and a Woody Allen movie. For her, it wasn't good enough. There was local talent performing at an open Mic down South Side. Another guy with an acoustic guitar. I was blatantly apathetic, but made the sacrifice to please my lover. We entered the coffee shop, hand in hand. I was trying to be romantic. She purchased enough shots of espresso for the two of us to fight over who gets first dibs on the toilet. We took our seats at a small square table. The singer songwriter my girlfriend was so enthusiastic to see walked up onto the stage, equipped with a six string acoustic guitar. He greeted the audience with a smile of sincerity, and thanked them for showing up to the event. For me, it was contempt at first sight. He started off his act of banality by playing a Bob Dylan song. As the cover song was being played I turned my head to my girlfriend and said, "If I wanted to hear Dylan I could play him on YouTube. Cover songs make my cock cringe." She put her index finger up diagonally to her lips. My opinions were dismissed, my feelings unwanted and my time completely wasted. I could be at home watching, 'Irrational Man' right now. The audience cheered like a bunch of assholes who never heard a cover song before. My girlfriend was smiling. What little patience I had left was wearing thin. Someone yelled, "Play a Beatles song, man!" And that's exactly what happened. I said to my girlfriend as the hook of Come Together approached, "We could be coming together right now, and listening to the real thing as we did it." She said, "Shhhh! I wanna listen to the music, not your negativity!" The cover artist stopped playing the song after my girlfriend made that comment, looked straight at me and said, "Have you no decency, man? I'm trying to do my thing." I stood up from my seat and said, "If you had any decency, you wouldn't be capitalizing off of other peoples songs, bro! I didn't come here to listen to a damn juke box." "I'm a man of the people," he said. "I give them what they want!" "A pandering, talentless, asshole is what you are, bro. What's next on the list of banality, Pearl Jam?" My girlfriend had her head down, but the crowds attention was rightfully mine. I felt like a star for the first time in my life. "Can you do better, big shot?" said the guy with not a single original song in cliche catalog. "As a matter of fact, I can. Leave the guitar up there. I'll show you how its done." "Oh, I can't wait to see this," he said. I walked up on stage, grabbed the guitar and held it up for all to see. I said, "Music is deceased!" Then I hit the stage with the guitar like it was a sledgehammer. The cheap piece of shit shattered into four pieces. Cover boy screamed, "No! Not my guitar!" "Shut the fuck up, cover boy! I did you a favor." The audience was entranced by my actions. It was silent for a minute until someone said, "Well that was original!" I replied, "It's a tribute to Kurt Cobain. Music died the night of a single shotgun blast back in 1994. You assholes need to except it, and move on. All that's left is emulation." The crowd along with my girlfriend began to cheer me on. Who knows? Maybe they've learned a lesson. We went home to have cliche penetration, unoriginal orgasms and frozen pizza that tasted like it was made at Domino's. I couldn't think of one single original thing to do for the rest of the night. So I did the most banal thing of all: I slept.
The Punk Rock Girl
It was a sight to behold. Her yellow five inch, erect, spiky Mohawk going up and down on my equally erect penis. The size similarities were ironic. Slurping sounds were included. This punk rock chic knew what she was doing. I felt victorious! She would often take it out of her mouth to say, "You're so punk." Then she would progress with the oral pleasure, teasing me once I was about to erupt, only to procrastinate my orgasm. I'm telling you, bro, it was outstanding. I studied her decorative body as she sucked me. Her tattoos were nostalgic. She had everyone from Black Flag to The Misfits, inked all over her slender body. Occasionally, I'd fondle a tit, but that was it. She told me she never fucks on the first date. "Take it or leave it." I took it. We were approaching the end. My sexual organ couldn't hold out much longer. I was contemplating screaming out something ridiculous like, "Oi! Oi! Oi!" as I released my pent up seed. She was my first official punk rock chic. My whole erection was engulfed in her mouth when she wrapped her tattooed fingers around my girth. Up and down in unison. The tip of dick was getting ready. I felt those endorphin's going off. I screamed out something banal like, "OH MY GOD!!!" The neighbors below had to have heard it. She tilted her head back after every last drop was drained to show me her achievement. A mouthful of cum. She was swirling it around in her mouth. I've never witnessed this before. I was enjoying the show. My mouth dropped, I went to say something, but it was too late. She spit my orgasm in my mouth, and twisted my balls with all ten fingers. I fell to the floor in agony. Crocodile tears falling from my face. She put her shirt back on and said, "Fuck you, Mario! You're a fucking poseur, and your band sucks. There's nothing punk about your music. Get a new genre. Come to think to of it, this is probably the most punk thing that ever happened to your sorry ass. Fuck off!" I haven't picked up my guitar since that night, or added any extra salt to my food either. It was life altering experience.
Bio: Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he's not writing, he's volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man's work, please check out his blog:www.thoughtsofapoeticmind.blogspot.com for his latest poetry and short stories.