Dark Alleyways (Part Two)

6 Mar
Alleyway

flickr image by sonictk


The following story may sound completely fabricated, but please be assured that the subsequent events are one hundred percent authentic.  For once, the author has refrained from exaggeration and embellishment in order to provide you with a purely factual recount of a recent experience. The dialogue has been reproduced as precisely as possible. Quite an honourable feat really, given the author was in fact rather intoxicated at the time of the incident. 

Haven’t read Part One? Well, please do so here. Now, where were we?

“Hi,” The Psycho Chick spoke in my direction, placing her hand on a jutted hip. “You’re obviously not the kind of girl who cares who she goes out with,” she accused, her face darkening. “Because right now you’re on a date with an arse-rapist.”

Her blue eyes sparkled not only with heavy-handed lashings of glittery eye make-up circa 1997, but also with a touch of something else – pure craziness. There was a shifty look about her that instantly informed me she was lacking a sound mind. I mean, please, what sane person above the age of twelve wears a diamante butterfly belt?

Never having been the kind of person to take kindly to being verbally attacked, especially by someone with an obviously lesser intelligent quotient, I piped up. “Well,” I replied calmly, picking up my glass of wine, “It’s hardly rape if you’re willing, is it now?”  I serenely took a small ladylike sip from my sauvignon blanc.

Her eyes blazed and she took a step closer. “So you don’t even care that you’re on a date with a rapist? Well, that’s just lovely. So you’re just a whore then?”

“Hey!” Perfectly Modest piped up, chivalrously leaping to my rescue. “Take it easy!”

Bravely, I fixed her crazy eyes with a calm stare. “Listen,” I implored in a soft tranquil voice, “You don’t know me and I don’t know you. I don’t see what can be achieved by insulting me. If you have an issue with him,” I indicated towards Perfectly Modest, who was sheepishly sitting beside me, “then so be it. But it really doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

I saw a flash of reason in her wild eyes, and it was apparent my wisdom had not been lost on the crazy bitch. She gave a small (apologetic?) nod in my direction, then turned her glare upon my date.

By now you may be wondering how I was so sure this girl was in fact insane. Could it be possible that she was speaking the truth and I was actually on a date with an arse-rapist?

Well, let’s examine the facts available to us so far.

1) She looked, and was indeed acting like a nut job; there was no doubt she had a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock.

2) Perfectly Modest wasn’t rushing to defend himself against her claim. Now, some of you may take this as an admission of guilt. However, the claim seemed so farfetched I assumed he didn’t feel the need to. Plus, he had the look of someone so mortified by her behaviour, that had a razor blade magically materialised in front of him, he may very well have used it to slash his own wrists in order to escape.

3) If The Psycho Chick really did have her sphincter pillaged against her will by Perfectly Modest, she would more likely scamper away in fear and disgust, rather than aggressively approach him, hell-bent on a confrontation.

As the saying goes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And this girl was quite angry indeed. I severely doubted her claim of arse rape, but it was obvious something a little more than an awkward first date had taken place between them, as Perfectly Modest had originally claimed.

“So what do you have to say for yourself?” she spat angrily in Perfectly Modest’s direction.

“Well, it was great seeing you. Thanks for stopping by. But it would probably be best if you got going now,” he quipped.

“Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you?” she screeched. “You think you can just try to rape my arse and that’ll be the end of it? Well it’s not going to be that easy. I punched you in the balls once and I’m not afraid to do it again!” she threateningly raised her fist.

Note her use of the word ‘try’?

“Steady on,” he replied calmly. “Best you be going now. Thanks for stopping by.”

“And best you shut-up!” she retorted, her huge breasts heaving. “I’ll be jumping over that table in a minute and throwing that wine in your face!”

“Ha,” he scoffed, “I’d like to see you try.”

By this stage she was so furious, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke billow from her flaring nostrils. Meanwhile, I was surreptitiously peering around the room trying to spy the hidden cameras. Surely this was an episode of Candid Camera? Situations like this don’t actually occur in real life.

“You’re a fucking arsehole,” she raged. “What’s your deal anyway? You try to rape my arse and then you never even bother to call me again! You can’t treat me like that, you fucking cockhead!” She turned towards me. “See what a nice guy he is?” she spat sarcastically.

I kept my eyes downturned and took another sip of my drink. Something told me the wine was exactly what I needed at that point.

“Right, best you be going then,” he quipped again.

It appeared she was running out of things to yell at him and it was obvious he wasn’t going to let on that she had ruffled him in anyway.

“You can’t just go around trying to rape arses and get away with it!” she seethed.

By this point, the only thing stopping me from laughing was having the rim of the wine glass wedged safely in my mouth.

He stared back at her. “Okay, you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. Off you go.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you!” she spat at him, then turned on her heel and sauntered away to wait for her date near the door.

She was barely out of earshot before the trapped laugh bubbled up from within me and erupted. “Well you don’t get to witness something like that every day!” I exclaimed.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he said, shakily wiping his brow. “I can’t believe she’s here in Surry Hills. She lives over in Rozelle. What are the chances?”

“Um, more to the point, what was the apparent arse-raping she was banging on about? Something tells me you went on a little more than one date with her.”

“Yeah, well I might have underplayed my involvement a little,” he admitted. “We did see each other for a few weeks. And obviously we slept together. But I absolutely did not rape her arse, or anything else belonging to her.”

I believed him. He looked incapable of raping a puppy, if he so desired.

“So what’s the story?” I asked.

He sheepishly averted eye contact.

“Hey, I think I have a right to know,” I reasoned, “after having to sit through that little show.”

He nodded in agreement. “Well, I was kind of hard up at the time. We met on the internet, as you know, and slept together a few times. But it was pretty obvious she was messed up. You saw the way she was acting.” He steadied himself with a large gulp of wine. “So she came over one night and said she was having a tough time of it and just wanted to have a bath with me and sleep over, but didn’t want to have sex.”

“How long had you been seeing each other by this point?” I asked; always wanting to know every minute detail of a juicy story.

“Probably only two or three weeks,” he replied. “So we had a bath together, dried each other off, and then hopped into bed naked. I know she’d said earlier that she didn’t want to have sex and just wanted to cuddle, but I thought maybe she could have changed her mind by that stage. So my hand kind of wandered down south to gauge her reaction…”

Fair call, really. Can’t say I blame the guy. What self respecting girl bathes with a guy, curls up naked in his bed for a ‘cuddle’ and honestly expects it won’t result in him trying to put his penis inside her?

“Turns out she wasn’t up for it after all, so she punched me in the balls. Hard. And that was the last time I saw her.”

I guffawed loudly. “Okay. But it still doesn’t explain the arse raping!”

Little did we know that The Psycho Chick had been within eavesdropping range. She reappeared in a blur of wobbling breasts and flashing diamantes.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?” she snarled in my direction. “You think it’s funny that I was nearly raped? What a nice girl you are!”

I sat with downturned eyes, not wishing to provoke the rabid beast any further.

“And you,” she wheeled towards Perfectly Honest. “You should be ashamed of yourself! You hold me down, nearly breaking my wrists and try to rape my arse-”

“Oh, look, steady on!” Perfectly Modest interjected. “I never even touched your wrists. I’ve had enough of this. Just fuck off, would you?”

His words only served to anger her further. “You’re a fucking arsehole!” she screamed.

By this stage I was beginning to wonder if this was now my life. If I was forever more destined to listen to the pair of them argue. At first it had been amusing, I’ll admit. But by this point it had gotten beyond a joke.

Suddenly The Psycho Chick’s face softened and she almost looked as though she could cry. “You never even tried to call me again,” she said in a softer voice. “You tried to rape my arse and then you never called me again. Sure, I punched you in the balls. But still, that’s no reason not to call a girl, is it?”

Well I would have thought it was reason enough, but that’s just me. Perhaps I’m old fashioned like that.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she whined.

And there it was. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

“Look, let’s just forget about it and move on, okay?” he asked.

Her face contorted in anger once again. “No, not until you apologise!” she screeched. “Apologise to me for what you did!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” he mumbled.

 “You owe me an apology!” she raged.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry you’re such an embarrassment,” he retorted.

Her face flamed. “Apologise to me, you arsehole!”

He took another deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry that you’ve clearly forgotten to take your meds today.”

“Fucking apologise to me!” she shrieked.

I decided to interject at this point. It seemed that if he apologised she’d be more likely to leave. If not, I doubted we’d ever be rid of her.

“Just apologise,” I urged him.

“Okay,” he began. “I’m sorry if I ever did anything or said anything to you,” he paused, clearly searching for the appropriate wording, “that you then misconstrued, and as a consequence your feelings were hurt.”

Oh God. I braced myself for her next angry barrage.

“Well, that wasn’t too hard was it?” she asked him. “It’s about time you apologised.”

I couldn’t believe she considered that a genuine apology. This girl clearly wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.

“And next time you decide you don’t want to see a girl anymore, instead of trying to rape her arse and then not calling her, at least have the decency to tell her to her face.”

She looked back and forth at our blank faces. We both remained mute.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy your butt-fucking adventures!” she nastily quipped, then turned on her heel once more and sashayed away.

“Wow,” was all I could think to say in her wake.

“I think a little part of me just died inside,” he joked. “Again, I’m so sorry you had to witness that. The girl clearly has a few issues. The truth is, she wasn’t happy that I stopped seeing her, and I guess this was my punishment.”

“It still doesn’t explain the arse-rape claim.” I peered towards the large window that looked out on the street. “Dear God!” There she was, her face nearly pressed up against the glass, sticking her middle finger up at us, her mouth unattractively gaping open in a scowl.

“Don’t look, just ignore her,” he instructed. “I’m honestly not one hundred percent sure what she meant by the endless arse-rape comments, but I have a fair idea. One time she rocked on up at my place, went straight to the bedroom, whipped off her clothes and lay down on her stomach with her arse in the air. She was carrying on, yelling, ‘Fuck me, fuck me!’ Because her arse was wriggling around in the air, I assumed that’s what she meant. So that’s what I went to do. But it turned out she didn’t mean her arse after all, so I stopped trying to enter the back door and entered via the front door instead. She’s never even mentioned it again before now, even though I saw her again a couple of times after that night. I’m not sure why all of a sudden she’s claiming that I tried to pillage her arse.” His face had gone a flaming shade of red. “Dawn, I actually am an honest guy. I absolutely did not try to rape that girl.”

And I must say, I believed him. Though I did have one more question. “Why did you ever get involved with a girl like that to begin with? You said yourself that even from the first date she acted like a freak.”

“Well,” he looked skywards as he pondered. “It’s a bit like walking down a dark alleyway. When you start walking you’re thinking, This is a little scary, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Then, bam! Some dodgy knife-wheeling guys jump out and mug you. Then when it’s all over and you look back and reflect, you wonder to yourself, How could I ever have thought it was a good idea to walk down that dark alleyway?

He drained the last of the wine from his glass. “She was that dark alleyway.”

God knows, I too have walked down some dark alleyways in my time.

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4 Responses to “Dark Alleyways (Part Two)”

  1. lela March 10, 2011 at 4:17 pm #

    Wow. I just stumbled upon this and have to say I love the way you write. Your adventures are hilarious and witty……I love it.

    Of course, I want all us single girls to find love. But I also hope to keep reading about your past & future jaunts =)

    all the best-
    lela

    • Dawn Dash March 10, 2011 at 5:34 pm #

      Thank you! Yes, God knows what I’d write about if I did actually find myself a boyfriend. Though luckily (or unluckily?) I can’t imagine that happening any time soon. I’m glad you’re loving the stories – welcome to the world of Dawn Dash! 🙂

  2. Special K April 25, 2011 at 8:14 pm #

    Couldn’t stop laughing out loud through Parts 1 and 2. Thank you DD.

    • Dawn Dash July 8, 2011 at 6:36 pm #

      I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s funny now that I can look back at that god-awful date without fear of that butterfly-belted skank scratching my eyes out!

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