GIRL 54
KENDALL JACKSON GIRL
How much do you believe in the unseen?
I don't even remember who hit on whom. Probably she hit on me, because her pictures weren't that great, but in person she was cute as hell. Her profile said nothing at all about her, perhaps one of the most boring writeups on Match. All she said that I could get a grip on was that she liked Kendall Jackson chardonnay.
I chatted her up on the phone. I'm an effective player when I'm in that gear. The secret, gentlemen, is keeping diplomatic relations going with at least a dozen females at once. Check in with them daily. Tease them, kid them, and get slutty and flirt with them shamelessly to see how they like it, then suddenly back off and get cool and distant. You need to press them to show them you are sexual and excited by them, but then the withdrawal gives them room to breathe and makes them feel like you're not a psycho stalker. I kid you not, men, if you do that without your sexual needs showing except for those very brief slutty flashes, you will get a woman into bed every time. The multiple girl in the pipeline trick allows you to avoid focusing too much on one woman, which will give her entirely too much power in the relationship. Plus, a woman needs to feel that she is competing with other females, because there is something primal about the female jealousy streak. Let it slip that you have a date with Sex Toy Girl on Saturday, but you're not that into her. She'll accelerate the schedule for meeting you. I don't recommend diverging from the truth, because on the off chance that the new girl turns into someone significant, she will remember every single syllable you ever said to her long after you forgot what month you met her. Which is why honesty is beautiful, you can't accused of manipulation AND dishonesty in the same tantrum - if you're honest in revealing the existence of other females, it's true that you are firing for effect, to get the jealous juices flowing in your sexual target, but she will never pout that you lied to her.
So my first date with Kendall Jackson Girl was a bit startling. Instead of the bland, homely chick I expected, she's gorgeous and tall and slender, smells great, lovely breasts, intoxicating blue eyes, and blonde hair that will just make a man weak in the knees. The voice was not good, but if you have to take on a girlfriend, let thedefect be her voice. You can tease her by imitating it. In Kendall Jackson's case, she had this Brooklyn accent that sounded just like a 70s TV star, and I used to imitate her like crazy. She would laugh so hard she'd wet her pants, and never forget lesson 23 - get a woman laughing and you will get a woman sucking your cock.
So date one, at the Brew Pub, she was lovely, but she apologized that she had to leave early, at 9, to go meet Phone Boy. It sounded like my jealousy trick in reverse. Now guys, remember, we suffer infidelity by a female for all of, say, one tenth of a second. Doesn't matter if it is a wife, girlfriend, or casual acquaintance. If she cheats, you never even knew her, which is the face you show the world as you carefully load all her stuff into the dumpster. It is perfectly acceptable to cry, as long as you are behind at least two locked doors. Never, ever, let any other human being detect tears in your eyes. Women can get away with that all the time, but not us. Like Atlas, we bear the world on our shoulders, and it frightens those we take care of if they see us cry. Does that mean we're heartless? No way. I'd wager that during my Hundred Girls project I cried more in 20 months than I did the previous 20 years. It was mostly Girl 6 who got to me. Even today I get misty eyed, not about Girl 6, but out of profound grief as I remember how goddamned lonely and broken I was when we ended. But never, never did I show that to anyone. When my friends asked how it was, I would laugh sarcastically and make a funny crack. 
The exception to the female infidelity/jealousy rule is when it is the guy's idea. As with Girl 51, Corvette Girl, she was mytimeshare girlfriend whom I was fucking while dating other girls, and fucking other girls. I'd tall Corvette Girl about them, and together we would critique them. And meanwhile, she would fuck the shit out of Land Rover Boy and tell me how it was. That wasn't really infidelity. Kendall Jackson's date with Phone Boy was another exception. I laughed when she described the guy, and made him out to be a complete ass. As I walked her to her car, I regaled her with an imaginary scene of him clumsily trying to kiss her, imitating him as if he were a retard and could barely speak. Then I pulled a Sharpie out of my pocket, grabbed her hand, and using the permanent black ink, wrote "Book Boy + Kendall Jackson Girl, Love Forever," then drew a huge heart around it, a heart pierced by a well-drawn penis. Veins and all. She dropped her jaw and looked at me, then doubled over in laughter.
"How the hell am I going to show up on my date with THIS on my palm?"
I grinned as I shrugged. Hell if I know, I said. I think that's your problem.
Humor, gentlemen, is the pussy's next door neighbor.
I don't even remember date two, and I'm surprised I didn't nail her then, but date three kicked off at a candlelit Italian restaurant. She guided my hand to her thigh under her black, tight miniskirt. I ran my hands higher on her stocking-clad leg, which was beautiful, by the way, until the stocking ended.
Thigh-highs. The international signal that the boy is getting fucked that night.
This entry would have ended here but for something strange. In bed, the best I can say about her is that she allowed me to penetrate her almost immediately. She didn't demand foreplay and she didn't show any sign of going for the belt line to suck on me. At first I figured she was just really excited and wanted to get fucked right away, which is important. Never give cunnilingus on fuck number one, because the girl wants to be fucked and fucked hard. Save pussy eating for the ramp up to fuck two, which must be delivered that very night. Leave a woman fucked only once, you're leaving yourself open to charges of being lousy in bed. So I gave her what she wanted, and she had this pretty little orgasm. Afterward, I tried to get down there and lick her, but she prohibited it. When you WANT to suck the pussy and the girl says no, that amounts to sexual stinginess. So the woman failed the sexual audition, but it didn't really matter. I don't think either of us really cared that much.
So we're just kind of talking, holding each other, when suddenly the sound of a bucket of water pouring, spilling onto the carpeting, is loud in the room. At first I thought one of the candles leaked its wax. That sound is unmistakable, like someone peeing right on the carpeting. It makes you vault out of bed to find out what it was. So I do, all naked and silly looking. Turn on the lights. Nothing out of place. No leaking candles. No water. It was, apparently, an audible apparition. A sound hallucination. I look at Kendall Jackson Girl. She's stunned -- she heard it too. What the hell was that?
And then the room grew freakishly cold. We put aside all thoughts of playing any more that night. In the morning Kendall Jackson Girl left for a ski trip, and I never heard from her again.
So the next day I'm on the phone with Literary Agent Girl, Girl 48. Sort of an ex-girlfriend. We were great friends, loved each other, but couldn't get sex to work. Tab A just didn't fit into Slot B. Never could explain it. We fell apart about the time she was talking to me on the phone late one night and her lamp started flashing. Her ex-boyfriend, a guy she was deeply in love with, was on his way to her house two years ago. There's a circle, a rotary, off the Parkway near her town. She gets a call from the State Police. "Do you know James Whateverhisnameis?" She says yes. She goes to the hospital but he's dead on arrival. Killed from an accident in the circle. Be careful, she'd say to me, in the circle when you're on your way here. So her lamp used to flash in her bedroom. "James, is that you?" she'd ask. The lamp would flash off, then back on. But this had never happened to her in her office, just the bedroom, but there she is talking to me and the lamp goes off, then on again. "Hold on, honey," she says to me. "James, is that you?" Lamp goes off, then on. "Is this something about Michael?" No answer.
I took it as a warning. Why would he speak to her with me on the phone if it were encouragement? No reason. But warning? That, he'd do.
So that night, I'm on the phone with her. She hears pouring water, then splashing onto her carpet. She turns on all the lights, gets everyone up there. What spilled? What leaked? What happened? Nothing. Just ghost water. I told her about my incident, and she said, "the fact that this happened to you and then to me - when you're on the phone with me - makes me believe this is coming from you. Why are you creating this?"
I don't know. I don't think I have that kind of power.
But the ghost water seemed connected to another incident that happened a few months before, when I was supposed to rise at 4 am to work on a book project. At exactly 4, I was awakened by water leaking above my head. It sounded like an HVAC unit on the roof had a pipe rupture, and the water was flowing downthe wall over my head. I sprang up and looked, but there was nothing. I went to the (pink) spare bedroom to the adjacent wall, but again, all was quiet. I can't remember being more freaked out.
Except that sometimes when I would take a bubble bath to relax, I would get the oddest feeling of a presence in the Snake Ranch, coming from the bedroom. Or sometimes, the presence would come from the hallway as if walking toward me from the front TV room, and I always got the impression this spirit was not well-meaning, sort of werewolf-like. I never really saw or heard anything, but that vulnerable feeling set in perhaps once a month.
Finally, I had my 4 year old daughter post about thirty hand-drawn kid pictures on the walls, concentrating on the corners. Her mission was to be a little ghost buster. She relished the task, since one of her main concerns has been how to scare ghosts away from her house (I used to tell her that her mom's dogs scare ghosts, and when she was afraid because I didn't have pets, I told her that Daddy's whiskers scare away ghosts just as well).
After the kid pictures were posted, there were no more troubles in the master bedroom.
A postscript to the story - In May I moved out of the Snake Ranch condo and into Ranchero de la Serpiente, a townhouse with 3 bedrooms and 3 floors. Before I locked the door of the Snake Ranch the last time, I took survey photos after my stuff was moved out, to show the landlord the condition of the condo and to serve for his insurance purposes. In two photos of the bedroom, all is normal. But then, in subsequent photos, the room was filled with what seemed like spheres, white orbs. At first I figured the room was dusty and the light was refracting around the dust, or that dust had gotten onto the lens. But then, pictures taken minutes later of the front TV room in the same light were clear, with no "dust orbs" despite the lens not having been cleaned, and despite the light being exactly the same.
Then, very strangely, something odd shows up in a photo of the dining room, something I can't explain: a floating, disembodiedpearl necklace.
I can't really say what was going on. Perhaps it was energy coming from Kendall Jackson Girl. Or from me. Or the place was just haunted and rotten with ghosts. Either way, I couldn't think about Kendall Jackson Girl without thinking about the haunting, so it was natural that I didn't call her again.
Fortunately, there were only two other supernatural women in the remainder of the Hundred.
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