Page 48 of Kayden: The Past
“Tomorrow. I have to go stock my truck and pick up the keys. Maybe they’ll have me on the road in the afternoon.”
“Go put your shit away and come have a drink. A few guys from work are stopping over to meet you.”
It was inevitable. Liquor was part of the diet in that life. Just like water when it was hot, alcohol filled the evenings for everyone. The bottles were already lined up on the counter, waiting to be consumed. I’d have to learn how to control myself. The women in my life were what led me to overindulge, and without them, would I be able to keep shit in check?
The bedroom had very little furniture, but that didn’t matter. I’d be able to fill it up soon enough after I started working. We’d be paid weekly, and I didn’t have any other bills or obligations—well, besides the restitution payments to Lisa, but I wasn’t in a hurry to pay that off before I was required. I hung up my few pieces of clothing and sat on the bed, taking stock of what I had and what I’d lost.
I never had the chance to go back to get my things at Lisa’s. The no-contact order meant I couldn’t enter the property even with permission from her to get anything. I only had the clothes given to me at the shelter and a few small items. I had nothing for the first time in my life. Everything I owned fit into a duffel bag. I felt a happiness and inner peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt like I had a home again.
Did I get drunk that night? No, I didn’t. Did I drink? Yes. I didn’t need to get drunk. I didn’t need to show up for my first day of work with a hangover. I wanted to sit with the guys, find out about New Orleans and work, the hot topic of conversation. I listened to all their complaints and issues, but I knew I could work through anything. One thing I did well was work my ass off. I also fucked like a champ and could party like a rock star in my youth, but now was the time to put my head down and make cash.
I signedup for every type of online “dating” website I could find during my first week in New Orleans. Facebook wasn’t the only game in town. I made profiles on Match, Plenty of Fish, and even a site called Fuckbook. I didn’t want a date. I was told those sites were strictly to hook up with chicks and get laid. I wanted to find someone looking for a little fun and a lot of cock. Each inbox filled up within days, and it was like a buffet of pussy sitting there waiting to be eaten.
I wrote and chatted with a few women, but they wanted relationships. My line to them always: I’m not looking for a relationship. I just want to fuck. Crude, I know, but I laid it out for them. I only wanted one thing from a woman at this point. I didn’t want the problems and complications that seemed to follow me around like a black rain cloud over my head. I found the promised land on Fuckbook and Facebook. Friends of friends on Facebook heard about me and wanted to chat, and Fuckbook, I don’t really need to explain.
I opened my Fuckbook messages, and Carrie had sent me a hello. She looked beautiful, but I knew pictures were usually bullshit. I used my picture, but most people tried to scam with some random photo they found online. How did I know this? Because I kept seeing the same girl’s photo popping up with different names all over the country. Carrie’s photo didn’t send up any red flags, and her message was short and to the point: Hiya, you’re hot as fuck.
I loved a girl with a dirty mouth. I hit the chat button next to her name and took a shot.
Me: Hey. Like what you see? I know I do.
God, what do you say to someone you just want to bang and don’t really give a fuck who they are or what they’re doing. I wasn’t going to be a dick about it. I wasn’t entirely coldhearted at this point in my life, but I just didn’t want to waste time or make false promises of a happily ever after.
Carrie: I’d rather see you without a shirt. Got something you can send me?
Her message gave me pause. Was I being played? I always thought I was the player, but I wasn’t sure about Carrie. Too quick on wanting the skin photos, maybe.
Me: What are you going to show me?
Carrie: I have plenty to show. You live in New Orleans?
A photo filled the chat window. She wore a very low-cut shirt and showed lots of cleavage. Her face was visible in the picture, and it matched her profile. All the little things you had to watch for when trolling online. So many ways to get duped.
Me: Yes, and you?
Carrie: Just outside of NOLA but close enough to meet up.
Me: Nice rack. You looking for a relationship?
Carrie: LMFAO. Fuck no, why the hell do you think I’m on this site.
So far, she passed my test with flying colors. No relationship, check. Hot as hell, check. Dirty mouth, check. Doesn’t live too close so clinginess wouldn’t be a factor, check.
Me: I just want to be clear about it. I don’t want a relationship. I’m done with the bullshit.
Carrie: Good. Listen, I want someone to scratch my itch, but I’d like to meet for a drink first—in public. I want to know you aren’t some kind of weirdo or pervert…well, at least, not the bad kind.
So she wasn’t a dummy. Things were looking up.
Me: Let’s meet for a drink down in the Quarter. I’m new to the area and would like to enjoy some of the city. You game?
Carrie: Yes, can I bring some friends?
All the guys here were single except one, and it sounded like a perfect idea.
Me: Sure, and I’ll bring some of the guys. We’ll make it a group thing.
Carrie: Great! Saturday night good? Let’s say around nine at the Hustler Club.
