Find a man with Nice breasts, Mary. We all know you are secretly a lesbian, but you're too scared to have to put your tongue in a vagina, or wear an attacheable cock, to admit it; and you do like penises in an odd way. You enjoy the texture and heat. The incredible engineering.
Really, all you like about women is their ample, budding breasts; nothing else. Milky white and big, but not too big. Firm, but not fake. Little pink nipples.
So find a nice man with breasts, Mary. One that will shave his chest for you; and keep your little secret a little secret.
One that can put you through medical school.
Get a blowjob from an old math teacher. You remember where she lives, right?
Remember to pick up stamps on the way home. You've got a lot of mailing to do before Friday.
*Before it's too late.
When you arrived in heaven you were pretty pissed there weren't any 14-year-old blonde cheerleaders there, naked, ready to greet and fuck you. That's why you had killed yourself to begin with; why you had drown yourself in the small, gross tub up in your loft on 11th Avenue where no one would find you for 7 whole days.
You felt duped.
There was a middle-aged man named Raul at the small wooden door that said "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted" and "No One Under This Tall Admittted". He didn't speak much English, but you could tell he wanted to see some ID. Luckily you had drown yourself with your wallet still on you. You had thought ahead.
He swiped your drivers license through the little machine, said something, and opened the door for you. Beyond the door was a small green room with a television and some magazines for reading. It seemed to be a waiting room of some sort. So you waited.
On TV there was something on E! about reality show stars and what they were doing with themselves now. Mostly they were just going on other shows about reality television stars and what they were doing with themselves now, you learned. All very compelling.
The magazines were People, Good Housekeeping, and Modern Bride; so you decided you would rather watch something about reality show stars and what they were doing with themselves now.
Soon, a man came in with a clipboard and called your name. You went to another room and waited some more. Like a doctors office, I suppose you could compare it to if you must.
Soon, another man came in. He was big and looked serious, wearing a white lab coat. He looked at your charts, and pulled down your pants to check your testicles (he made you cough), and then reached up your shirt to check your heart beat. Much like a doctor, I suppose...
"So I suppose you're disappointed about the 14-year-old cheerleaders, huh?" he asked.
"What's that?" you said, but had clearly heard him, acting as if naked underage flesh hadn't been the only thing on your mind since you arrived here in this strange place.
"You know... how they were supposed to suck and fuck you--I suppose you're a little upset that they're not around."
"Oh yes, yes. I suppose that is a little disappointing," you replied. You let a few moments of awkward silence pass. "So they're not in some other room or anything? Waiting for me or anything then?"
"No, afraid not. Sorry you had to go through all this trouble for nothing."
"It's all good," you said, laughing nervously, looking at your feet. The man looked over more charts and graphs. "So what exactly is there to do around here, anyway then... you know, if there aren't any whores, I mean?"
"Oh there's plenty," he said, not looking up. "There's The Price Is Right on television. And there's Law and Order. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you about NBC's Thursday night line up."
The man could tell you weren't impressed.
"There's HBO," he quickly added. "For free, all of them--east, family, all the HBO's, even HD."
"Well that's pretty good, I guess," you said, trying not to hurt the man's feelings. You let more awkward silence pass. You could tell there was built-up tension between the two of you now.
You had no idea why exactly.
"Look, I'm sorry there's no fucking hot barely legal sluts here to cater to your every deviant little sexual fantasy, okay? I just don't believe in it. Women aren't these little objects here for your pleasure, man. They're fucking people. This isn't the fucking 19th century, asshole. Fuck you, you goddamn rapist. Ever read fucking Valerie Solanas? That shit will change your life. Get the fuck out of my office, you goddamn piece of shit."
"Whoa, hold on a second..." you tried to interject.
"No. Fuck that, I'm not going to sit here and listen to you backpeddle and say, 'oh I didn't really want to' blah blah, 'i respect women', 'i had a poster of Gloria Steinem on my wall in college' bullshit. I don't want to hear it, you fucking racist."
"Racist? Where does that come from? Give me a break."
"Don't change the subject, asshole. You know I'm right. Get the fuck out of here and don't come back."
You decided not to argue with him, not worth it, you thought. Who was he to judge you, fucking prick, you thought. But you weren't quite sure if you'd just got kicked out of heaven, or just out of this crazy man's office. And did you just get lectured on feminism by God? Or was he just some old office assistant with a chip on his shoulder?
You couldn't be sure.
The only thing you did know was that it sure would be nice to have a tiny little blonde girl with her pretty little mouth wrapped tightly around your medium-sized cock right about now. That you were sure of.
For now, though, it was the afternoon and you would have to settle for either Montel Williams or CNBC.
The market was up today, they said... on strong economic news from the manufacturing sector. General Motors had exceeded third quarter earnings estimates. Up 46 cents a share.
So it goes.