Fred Sasaki

CHARACTERS

SLIM MAN-CHILD, a wine-drunk young literary type with an elegant figure.

SEXA-NERVOSA, a barely legal Midwestern woman.

All of the action takes place in a collegiate living room.

SCENE

The apartment is colored bohemian ramshackle. The backdrop is a Technicolor kitchen teeming with uselessness. Kitsch and pseudo-cool is stapled to the walls. There is a bathroom offstage, upstage left and a bedroom off-stage downstage right. Center, Slim Man-child sofa-sits slumped in youthful promiscuity, drunk and flushed with eyes blazing mischief. Sexa-nervosa takes back a glass of wine, tosses it away, and straddles Man-child. She whips her hair to one side with a shrug and descends between his legs, prying open his pants then taking him full in her mouth, slowly swallowing his entirety. She comes up for air smiling.

SEXA-NERVOSA: See? No gag reflex. I'm bulimic. (She continues swallowing.)

SLIM MAN-CHILD: OK, stop (throwing his head back, moaning). Listen. You have to stop. Jesus. (He kicks off his huge shoes and curls his toes.) Come on.

SEXA-NERVOSA: See, that's the good thing about dicks. Zero calories. I can have as much as I want. (She continues bingeing, then stops.) Just so you know, I don't swallow.

SLIM MAN-CHILD: (Says something indistinguishable.)

SEXA-NERVOSA: (Humming) Mmm, Hmm.

SLIM MAN-CHILD: (With effort, he raises his head to look at her.) This isn't, you gotta stop. We can't. Come on. (Her eyes are locked on his as she nods her way down his pistil, popping in one testicle, then the next. She wretches and he leaps back.) Jesus!

SEXA-NERVOSA: It's OK. Get up. Come on. I want you to fuck me (wiping saliva from the sides of her mouth).

SLIM MAN-CHILD: What? No. Come on. No. Stop. Listen. (He tries to stand and slumps back down.)

SEXA-NERVOSA: Come on. Get up. I want you so bad. Come on. (She bobs at him with her teeth bared. He quickly lifts his pants.)

SLIM MAN-CHILD: No. Listen. Listen to me. Look at me. Look at me. (He grabs her head.) OK? Look. Listen to me. Listen to me. Look at me. You need to go to bed. You need to go to bed.

SEXA-NERVOSA: Yes, come on. Let's go to bed. (Still smiling slyly, she runs her hand up his leg, settling on his mound. She pinches it and frowns.) Fine. Don't get up. I'll just go kill myself.

She puts her hands on his thighs and shoves off, teetering in the dim room. She makes a pistol with her hand and points it toward Man-child. She makes a catcall click for the cocked trigger, and turns it toward herself. She rolls her eyes and shouts, "Pop!" She lingers then slowly walks to the bathroom. Man-child sighs and grabs his thighs. He hauls himself up and begins cleaning away the empty wine bottles. Sexa-nervosa hisses from the bathroom. He stops, listens toward the bathroom door, hurriedly drops everything into the sink and races in after her. Man-child opens the door, exits then screams, "Jesus!" offstage. He emerges from the bathroom trailing her trailing a thin stream of blood from her upper arm.

SEXA-NERVOSA: So what? What do you care? You don't want to fuck me anyways. Why don't you want to fuck me? (He tries to lead her to the bedroom but she falls with the momentum onto the sofa, feigning that he threw her.) That's it, fucker. Now you going to fuck me? Come on. Fuck me with that gun. Come on. Shoot it in my mouth. Come on. Cock and shoot cowboy.

SLIM MAN-CHILD: You're drunk. No. Stop. OK? Just stop. Look. Look at this (grabbing her cut arm). Listen. You just can't cut yourself like that. Listen, you need to stop. This is crazy. Just stop. I'm putting you in your bed and you're going to go to sleep and that's it. OK? You're going to go to sleep. (He pulls her limp body up. She struggles feebly.)

SEXA-NERVOSA: But you are a cowboy, aren't you? What, are you just playing, partner? I thought you were a cowboy. Why don't you saddle up? What, are you just some pony-boy? Some pretty pony-boy? What are you, a pretty pony-boy? All boots and blanks? What are you some lacey gay-boy? I should have figured you for a tassel-lassie. A little Lassie collie dog-boy gay-boy.

SLIM MAN-CHILD: Look. This is crazy. You're crazy. What's wrong with you? (Nymphet breaks free, flails, and inadvertently smacks his eye. He clutches his face.) Look what you did!

SEXA-NERVOSA: You look. We're the same. Don't you see that? Now what? (She sizes him up.) Oh I see. We are the same. No wonder you never went with me. You're like a girl.

SLIM MAN-CHILD: You. You're crazy.

(He grabs her mercilessly, and she buckles at the knees. He sweeps her up in both arms and carries her toward the bedroom.)

SEXA-NERVOSA: Ha. What are you going to do, blow my head off? (She laughs nervously, drowsily.)

SLIM MAN-CHILD: Something like that.

Blackout as her head smacks the doorjamb of the bedroom.

(2005-10-04)

Also by Fred Sasaki

The Agony and the Ecstasy
If you don't say that it's the best hand job you ever got, I'll give you your money back
(2005-09-27)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
As I see it, the only way you can get even is to give her equally bad and unsatisfying head
(2005-08-23)

976-POET
It's no surprise that a poet could become addicted to or at least have flings with phone sex
(2005-07-26)

Animals of the Wild
Summer in the Gold Coast glistens with silicone and inches. It's irresistible. It's expensive. It's excess at its best
(2005-05-24)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-04-26)

Conversation Hearts
(2005-03-15)

Mother, May I?
(2005-02-08)

Fiction Review
(2005-01-04)

Nonfiction Review
(2004-12-14)

Okay life
(2004-07-20)

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