“My Name is Jack” by David Rutigliano
A girl once greeted me outside of a bar by grabbing me between the legs. Luckily I respond quickly in these situations and said, that’s very kind of you, but I have no idea who you are. We should talk first before being so nice to me.
I then turned her so she was facing me with her back to the bar window. I wanted to watch out for my wife if she decided to come outside.
The girl then said her name, which I have now forgotten, and kept her eyes trained on me the entire time. I was trying to look down her shirt.
Then she pulled out one of her breasts before me where I was confronted by a very pink, and very proportioned, nipple. I have great nipples and she put mine to shame. I wanted to study her aerola and cavernous wrinkles around the tip, but we were outside in the street.
I told her my name was Dave, she said that wasn’t good enough. Everyone’s name was Dave.
Not everyone, I said.
Yes everyone, she said.
If I ever have a boy I wanted to name him Jack, I said.
She then told me that she was going to call me Jack from now on, which I was fine with, because I rather liked how strong and blue collar it sounded. Jack was someone who could always tell a good joke with reliability and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
She said she had to run but before she left she pulled me in close and said, “look Jack, I’m not gonna lie, I like you, I like you alot – and I don’t think it’s fair to either of us that we keep doing this to ourselves. I mean, you live all the way up here, and I’m all the way back down there, and it would never work”.
She was completely insane and I could see it now. It was as if two separate people were occupying her mind and fighting for control to speak vehemently about life.
She then put her hand between my legs in a graceful manner squeezing with just the right amount of pressure and walked away in the direction of the sun setting down 14th street. She was a red head and I tried to count the freckles on her face when she was up close, but that proved impossible. I gazed around and tried to take it all in like when you’re on vacation but forget to take photographs.
Watching her behind for a while switch back and forth, sharp and poignant, I wished my vision weren’t so poor. I turned to go in the bar mumbling to myself, “come on Jack, get it together”.
