Long Island Iced Tea
By Earvin Eugene
Copyright © 2020 by Earvin P Eugene
All rights reserved.
All men have love and lost
I was about to be thirty years old and most of my life has been about women. I had no women to call friends. I looked at them, thought about girls, and focused on them in public, but I looked at them without commitment and with a sense of loss hope. I masturbated once a day, and yet the thought of having a real relationship with a girl seemed impossible. There were droughts and when it was dry it was dry. There was a cascade of luckiness but due to the droughts, I felt the urge to strike when the iron was hot. Poor ideas of a young man. Now all my friends seemed to be in long lasting relationships. They would have children and marriage. I did not want to have kids out of wedlock, child support, all the things I hear from my elders so as twenty years old turned to twenty-five years old, and then to twenty-nine the relationships became less serious. Things were difficult as people followed the opposite trend and got more serious. Sex became secretive or in manners I am not so proud of. As the good girls were becoming out of reach. What is a good girl nowadays? Fun and interesting girls were messy. I did not want my wife to divorce me one day. I had been in love several times. One had died of pill addiction. She died at twenty-three when I was twenty-five. My girlfriend was two years younger than me. I was lost after college. I wrote another loved girlfriend a letter after our breakup. Til' this day I do not know if she appreciated it or not. I put all cards on the table. After an e-mail we met in person. Disclosed personal information but did not get back together. . . . I noticed a girl, Christina Czaja.
It was about a year ago and I had just quit a two year job as a pharmacy intern and was trying to be a writer. I was terrified and drank more than ever. I was attempting my first novel. I drank a miniature of whiskey and a beer each night while writing. I smoked American spirit cigarettes and typed and drank and listened to trap music on Spotify all day. I set a goal of twenty pages a night but it was all sporadic. It was a way to make myself a professional at something that had no clock-in or out. I did my best during my drunken haze. I'd get up in the morning, no hangover and had my coffee then walk to the front room and look on the desk in my bedroom to see how many pages were there. It was always around twenty pages give or take. None of the work seemed valuable. It took me a month to write my novella. There was a press-release, the pressure was on.
People thought I was crazy for sharing so much on social media. Each morning when I woke up to my mother's leftovers. In the refrigerator there would be ground turkey, vegetables, specifically corn and sweet potatoes. Some days, it would be lean cuisine and smart ones. Ready to make, quick meals so there was less burden on her to cook. On good days, I ordered food from UberEats. I drank beer with the food and stayed up to around midnight. My father was busy at work with the government and my mom relaxed. There were guests from the Airbnb at the house, but as I wrote I paid less attention to them. She was religious and looked pretty all the time. She was well-mannered and well-kept. Conservative and well-dressed. She was always driving to school, working out, and ran errands from her car. I met her at my time in Buffalo. We mostly communicated online. I think I met Christina Czaja at my social media postings, looking for girls. She liked books and liked my posts. At times, she distanced herself from me from advice from her friends it seemed. As always, I thought too much. Put too much effort in the matter. It was overwhelming. When I walked in there people stood around. I always found that at bookstores and bars, people just stood there. Perhaps, they were all awkward and misunderstood like me but were more reserved. Better at covering their dismay. Hope to continue socialization. Jeff, who went to the outing with me was self-righteous. He was upper-middle class and very into politics. He wore clothes from thrift stores and was very disciplined. He was always attempting to hide his entitlement. "Wow," he said to me, "I would like to take another trip to Washington D.C. I think Bernie Sanders really stands a chance this time!" I walked in and people were conversing. As far as book readings were concerned, I was about to lose my mind. I heard twenty minutes and wanted a drink. It was difficult to be sober. It felt like I used the booze and cigarettes as a coping mechanism for everything. A few people came up and talked to me. Then during intermission Christina Czaja walked up. I was sitting at a table drinking jack and coke. She put both hands on the edge of the table, bent over and looked at me. She had long blonde hair, a small nose, and eyes like a pussycat. She appeared timid but was confident when the moment was right. She had a type of smile that made you feel as if she liked you. You could tell she smiled that way to any decent guy that gave her attention. She enjoyed the attention as most pretty girls do. She was somewhat comfortable around me. Not so much online but in-person she was more vibrant. She looked at me and I looked back. Christina Czaja had nice dyed hair and a fancy jacket on and a sweater that covered around the neck. Her breasts were good. Full for such a small figure. I told her, "I'd like to spend time with you." Christina walked off. It didn't work. I never knew what to say to the ladies. But she had a tight small butt. I watched that beautiful ass as she walked away. Her leggings did not leave much to the imagination, but I fantasized regardless. I listened to the second half of the reading and forgot about Christina just as I forgot about the women I passed on the sidewalks. I wanted money. I had a cult following for my books. On my Facebook page, fans sent me messages. I was not the best at interacting with strangers. I looked at my phone and replied to some direct messages. Viewed social media profiles. I was bored and my friends drove me back home. I was still working each night on the first novel. It was pieced together at all different times. I had to stop working at the pharmacy to gather my thoughts.
Jeff and Christina Czaja. I opened the door. Jeff said, "Look, Eli, look what I brought you!" Christina laughed. Her leggings fit tighter than ever. She moved her long blonde hair. She was pretty; she was not so innocent. For the first time I considered the opportunity to fuck her. She began talking about her favorite seductive books. She began talking about her own book. It was called "Pleasure is happiness." She quoted, "What is one thing you hate about men?" It sounded terrible. Jeff was interested, "I like it!" Eli thought there is always some literary creation happening at my house. He was amused. She made herself comfortable. She relaxed on the couch. "What do you think, Eli?" "What?" "The story." "I would have to read the whole thing" Christina glanced at her smartphone. She kept her ideas in her notes and documents app. Jeff said, "it will be amazing." Eli did not like Jeff always being politically correct. Never sharing anything surmountable unless he was drunk and alone with Eli. Then, the true nature comes out. Dark comedy almost. He would state, how he wanted to hit a beer bottle on the head of disgruntled friend. Suicidal ideation, perhaps from medication or just joking nihilism. Eli knew he wouldn't do those things but it was twisted that was the same, always say everything right guy. It was an acquired taste. He should some insight into his personality at least a glimpse rather than switching on and off. It's a lack of good temperament. Eli would more outgoing and funny. He could be quiet and reserved. Not always from disagreement, but he was an observant person. Eli stated, "good input Jeff" Christina said, "I'm leaving! I'm bored." "Don't leave." said Eli. Jeff was comfortable enough to say "Why not?" speaking for Christina. It was an annoying task that ever since Eli was young, people would know when he liked a girl. He did not want girls to know he was interested. That is the art of it. "I can uber home", Christina said. Jeff would make commentary with every move Eli made. Even though Jeff had a girlfriend already he was always attempting to position himself as superior to Eli. Making indirect claims of how respectful he was towards girls. I drove my girlfriend to this place, I bought her this thing…go and be with your girlfriend if that is the case Eli thought. Christina stated, "What will we do?" They decided to watch a movie, continue to converse, and listen to music. Christina was still on the couch. She sat on the middle. Jeff on one side and Eli on the other. Jeff was not the type to cheat at least not sober and not without discussing it with Eli as it would ruin his "good reputation". So it seemed his main agenda was just to cockblock Eli. He looked at her. She looked terrific. The two made sly jokes towards one another. Christina was uncomfortable. At first she attempted to tag a long and make jokes about both of them. Jeff about his awkwardness and Eli about his weirdness. She jumped up. "I've got to go." She hugged both of them separately and left. She sent Eli an e-mail of her manuscript. "Jeff you're such a cuck." Jeff had a creepy smile and left soon after.
The door closed and now Eli was alone with his thoughts and the email. He began to read her story. It was amusing. The beginning was funny and provocative. It started with her flirting with a guy by mocking him. Eli saw a picture of her sister. She was attractive. Spotify played Childish Gambino and Travis Scott. Christina sent a follow-up message for my thoughts. She arrived the next week and gave me a miniature self-portrait of Spiderman. I did not put two and two together at first but it was from one of our text conversations when I told her my favorite superhero was Spiderman. I put the mini canvas on my desk. She noticed my routine of a drink and a cigarette in the morning. Christina looked good. She had her make-up on and was pretty enough. She brought pomegranate juice for me. She wanted feedback on her writing. To be honest, Eli did not formally critique it. She invited him to her place. I want to paint your face. Maybe use it for the cover of your book. "You'll have to come to my place. I have a system set up to draw. We'll have to do it at my place. I sat in Christina's place. Her place was calming. It was a room or area through her bedroom. There was an open space. Everything was protected from the paint. She began asking questions. "Are you close with your parents?" "Yeah" "You like Long Island?" "Grew up here." "Why do you write about girls like that?" "What do you mean?" "You write about girls I've never met before. It is as if, you don't understand them." "It's a creative process. I guess I write about girls as I wish them to be." She said, "It is good!" I replied, "It could be better." "Oh, fuck! I am going to try and start drawing. You stay there." She began. The art décor was organized. As much as art can be organized, so it seems.
"I'm ready!" I paid attention to her stroking the canvas. That's the thing with art all efforts appear meaningless but with intricate detail it led to a beautiful creation. I glanced at her, doing my best to not stare. Her eyes looked at me. They were the shape of almons, focused and some sort of blueish green. Her eyes were calming yet cold. Christina was focused. Time went by quick. Every moment with her felt as if I did not have enough time. I should use it to my best ability. It felt precious. My mind was somewhere else, as it usually thinks of many things. Then she said, "How about some wine?" "Sure." I held her waist and hugged her from behind. Girls always told me that I was good at hugs and kisses. She softly pushed back against me happy. We kissed for a minute. Ecstatic but with restrain, Christina removed herself from me. "Come on," she said, "Let's get back to painting." I drank the cup of wine quick and smoked a cigarette". I always drank quick, I wanted to feel it. Her sister Erica arrived. She was in a robe. Just showered. She would nag younger Christina. I found the relationship fun. I smiled and laughed. They began talking to each other. They were both standing up, waving their arms at each other. The voices pitched higher. They made ridiculing remarks on each ones appearance. They loved each other but there was playful competition. Not necessarily for me, but for the skills women wished to achieve. More admiration for guys, more success, better relationships, who received more acclaim. Erica smiled flirtatiously and said bye Eli. She left us to our own devices. We went to the living room. Her parents were not home. We watched television as her chocolate retriever placed her warm belly on my cold feet. After a few drinks we felt uplifted. We went to the office room and made love on the couch. It was great. She stayed focused on the window during the act to ensure nobody arrived home. The only one that watched was that simple chocolate retriever.
She picked up her paint brush. She stared into my eyes. She invited her friend, Jackie who lived a few blocks away. She looked magnificent that afternoon, much like the first time she had come over, with the juice. "Wow," she said, "are those gray sweatpants!" It was noticeable. I wore them to impress her. I realized that, and she was funny about it. Christina said, "Do you like it?" She was on point. The subtle scar by eye and cheek, the button nose, the full lips, the dark eyes, the mocha complexion and that naïve smile of a child. I felt stupid, feeling lucky. She was talented and pretty and I could not commit to a girl. Who cares? "Yes," I said, "That's me. It's good. You could of made me more handsome. What are we going to do now that you are finished? There have been some wonderful moments in the creative process." "Are you going to write about me?" "I will." Christina picked up her kit and looked at me. "Don't worry. You do not have to make it perfect." At her first break she got a pint of rum. "Nice," I said. " She made the drink and I drank it right down. "People talk about you," she said. "What do you mean?" "About how you do not get along with your friends anymore. That you disrespect your women." "Disrespect?" "Yes, somebody told me." I told her it was lies and kissed her. I held her and fingered her pussy as my other hand touched her face. She told me, "not now". She was wet. I could tell she wanted to continue but was using better judgement. I got the Malibu Rum and poured myself another drink. She became calm and fixed her hair. Looked at me then began looking at her phone. She was looking at her own story. "What will you write about me?" I continued to drink my rum. "Look," I said, "I know your problem." "What?" "I know you just want me for money." "What do you mean?" "Listen," I said, "just forget it." "I want to know." "I don't want to hurt your feelings." "I want to know what the hell you're talking about." "O.K., if you give me another drink I'll tell you." "All right." Christina took my empty glass and gave me rum. I drank it down again. "Well?" she asked. "Hell, you know." "Know what?" "You just want money and I just want sex." "What?" "It's not uncommon. You're that type of girl." Christina sat silently working on her own writing. Then she laid down her phone. She walked around the house. I watched her bend down and pull her shoes off. Then she pushed down her leggings and her panties. Her pussy was right there looking at me. " She said, "let's fuck and get it over with." I'm going to show you you're wrong." I took off my shoes and sweatpants. I got down and had sex with her on the carpeted floor. I began to kiss her. I hardened quickly and felt myself inside her.