I’m going to tell you a story. You will laugh. You will say, “No way! That’s crazy!! Why would you…” and now I shush you before you give anything away. The story I’m going to tell you is a simple one, and involves only three things: drugs, an inbred house-cat, and a love that was never meant to be.

This wasn’t last week. I was eighteen at the time. Crystal Methamphetamine was my morning, afternoon, and night – if you are unfamiliar with the effects of consistently heavy meth abuse, let me tell you, you go flipping crazy, which is totally understandable after staying up for days on end and sleeping only in short spurts, all the while eating nothing, chewing on the side of your cheek till it’s shredded meat, yeah, that was me. It becomes kind of a mental handicap where you are incapable of handling anything more than a glass dick and a Bic lighter.

But enough of that…

I was sort of living with a using-buddy of mine, more like overstaying my welcome. We’ll call this guy Chris. Chris lived in a shitty house with a shitty father and a shitty girlfriend. The dad was the main meth-man in town, and his front door never rested.

It was one of those times the door swung open, that’s when I first saw Autumn.

That first encounter… she walked through that door and just stood there, poised, waiting to be noticed. Her brother pounced past her as only a young male could destroy such placidity. As if she sensed my eyes, she turned to meet my glazed-over gaze. Her eyes were deep green in color, bordered by a combination of white and earl-grey. We held eye-contact for what seemed like half a minute, an impossibly long time for me, a tweeker, to keep still. Then she started to slowly walk over. The air was tense, anxious. She kept her eye-contact, never looking away. I was transfixed. Her movement was so seductive, so slow, and so painfully prudent. Is it the drugs? I wondered. The pipe was still in my hand, a room full of tweekers staring at it, their voices attempting to hijack my awareness.

Something felt wrong. I distracted myself with the television. Old reruns of I Love Lucy were showing, still – there must have been a marathon on that day, and yet nobody ever bothered to change the channel. I was arguing with myself if the picture was in color or black and white when suddenly I felt a rubbing by my feet.

I looked down at Autumn weaving in and out of my legs as if she were tracing the infinity symbol. She mewed, glancing at me with every graceful turn. She then jumped up on my lap, and sat. Just sitting and staring. Staring for what felt like forever – probably around a minute – with black-slivered eyes that didn’t blink.

She spoke to me…

“Who are you? I haven’t seen you before.”

Me? I thought to myself. I’m always around. You just haven’t noticed me.

Her slivered pupils dilated, “Well, I’m noticing you now, stranger. I like you.”

I was feeling a little uneasy. First order of business, I wanted the telepathic cat the fuck away from me. I needed a hit. Around the room, different forms of tweeker paraphernalia were being crafted with bony fingers. I tried to speak and lost my voice. My eyes shifted side to side, looking for a way out, an escape. I cracked my knuckles and scrunched my toes in my shoes. I had to get out of there.

“Relax, just take it easy,” Autumn said, as she slowly put her body to rest upon my lap.

My eyes shifted back to hers, You’re asking me to relax! You’re a fucking cat, don’t you get it?

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. Just relax.” She started to purr.

Her purring was light and lazy at first, but grew heavier and faster with each passing second, a living vibrator. Her eyes squinted beneath tufts of fur and I felt a heat begin to emit from her body. Like her purring, the heat only intensified. Her stare demanded my attention. I could not deny her. She quietly moaned a kitten’s meow, and I was hypnotized.

Before I could do anything about it, with all the heat and vibration on the groin of my pants, I had sprung a very prominent erection, stiff and growing beneath the weight of Autumn’s body. Again, she caught my attention. As if she knew what I was experiencing in my boxer shorts, she repositioned herself with her rear end over the tip of my you-know-what. The heat continued.

It was like this, except with a cat.

After about ten minutes, Autumn jumped off my lap to the sound of food hitting her dinner bowl. I was left unnerved and somewhat disgusted with myself. I thought, Did I just have mock-sex with a fucking house-cat? As she turned the corner to the kitchen, Autumn stopped and looked back at me. Again, she spoke…

“You gonna be here when I get back?”

I laughed out loud, my head crashing down onto the back of my neck. Looking back at Autumn, I could tell she was waiting for something, a projectile, a stern Shoo! Instead, I thought, Yes, I’ll be here.

The other six or seven people in the room at the time seemed to have noticed the entire exchange. At least, this is what my paranoia was telling me. Chris looked at me and said, “What’s up, bro. You alright?” My reply came in the form of, “What do you mean? Of course I’m alright. I would only not be alright if there was something to not be right about. Right?” He just shrugged and went back to dissecting a digital alarm clock.

It was like that day after day, Autumn on my lap, and all that purring/vibrating. I would leave for spells and Chris would say that Autumn laid in the spot I usually sat in, just crying, love sick, like she missed me that much. I was simply amused, and to be honest, even a little happy, too. I’d come back and she’d meet me in front of the thorn bushes, walking in with me like I was there for her, not the crank. I’d smoke shitty in front of her, my fingers gently circling her ears, neck and chin, her head leaning into my ever touch. We had something special. I guess you can say that I grew attached to her.

Then one day I get to Chris’s and there she is sitting on some other dude’s lap. I can’t believe how jealous I felt, over a fucking cat! From that day forward, it was like she and I were playing mind games with each other. She’d walk in and look at me, and I would purposely ignore her. Other times I would walk up and pet her and she would immediately run to someone else. Back and forth, cat and mouse. I was left thinking, What went wrong?

Now I ask, What didn’t go wrong? Crystal Meth is a hard drug, and drugs make you do crazy things. Afterwards it’s like, Nah, wait, uh, did I just, nah, forget about it. But it happened. I fell in love with an inbred house-cat. “No way!” you shout. “Couldn’t happen.” Well, I don’t know what to tell you, except that to this day I think about that cat. After Chris and I had our falling out, I used to drive by that house with the thorn bushes, looking for Autumn. My mind thought of catnapping. I missed her. The moral of the story is, uppers blow, stick to the H.

I was flipping through profiles like porno playing cards when I came across one for an astonishingly attractive girl named BaBiMoNa.  Naturally, like any sentient being sporting a Y-chromosome, I started to hit on her via email.  We exchanged a few words back and forth, but then BaBiMoNa became as cold as the Soviet Union during the 1950’s.  Below is my last correspondence to her.

Original Message:

You know what, that still doesn’t answer any of my questions.  WHY ARE YOU PLAYING THIS GUESSING GAME WITH ME?  Is a little more about you too much to ask for?  I have told you of my nagging need-to-know mentality.  So, I have taken the liberty of analyzing your profile more in-depth, to at least answer my biggest question:  Is she who she says she is?  Now, you may think I’m being a bit crazy… and in hindsight, maybe I am.  Here’s what I have come up with…

#1 – On the “general interests” section of your profile you wrote “guy on guy action.”  Though this is a very common “interest” for a model, as the industry is mostly gay or bisexual, it makes me believe you could be a man who prefers sodomy (with no reach-around) over oral. You just never know.

#2 – EVERYTHING written on your profile is overly trendy.  Laguna Beach?  Paris Hilton!?!?!  C’mon.  It says to me you are the typical model-type – shallow, self-centered, stupid – a stereotype that might fit all too flawlessly in your case.  Either you made yourself sound like this because it’s a social networking site and hey, who really gives a flying fuck, you ARE this person (which I highly doubt), or you are someone else (probably a dude that confuses anal beat-downs with pleasure).

#3 – You only have two pictures posted.  Again, not too terribly uncommon, but still, something that caught my attention and exists in my mind for a reason.  What’s wrong?  Can’t Photoshop these things fast enough?

#4 – I’ve read through your “friends” comments.  It doesn’t seem like anyone really knows you.  And it doesn’t say anywhere, or make reference to, anyone actually seeing you in person.  Are you real?  Are your friend’s convinced you are who you say you are?  I had to find out… so I checked out their profiles as well.  First was 17-year-old Sarah, also from or living in Rochester, MI.  There was no indication through the comments I read that you two had ever seen each other.  The fact that you both are from Rochester holds a little bit of weight… maybe, maybe not.  High school friends?  16-year-old Kendra from Rochester, MI also seemed very amiable in her comments to you.  Still, nothing provided any evidence that she ever met you in person.  19-year-old Scott from MI seemed particularly interested in you – you and two other girls – as mentioned on his profile.  One of the other girls just so happens to be 16-year-old Kendra.  Is this your former clique?  Are these the people you used to “run with” back in the day?  Scott has few friends.  His writing is similar to yours.  And by similar I mean retarded.  I wonder… are you Scott?  That would be my best guess.  Gabe claims to be 21, but contradicts himself when saying he’s 14 or 15, what the fuck is that all about?  Fucking faking little fuck!  Gabe is also from Rochester… just another guy you compliment for being “hot”… most likely NOT a real friend.  22-year-old Mr. Belding resides in Beverly Hills.  I was hoping this guy has met you in the flesh as you now live in the same city… HA!  But again, there was nothing to suggest that.  I don’t have much to say about 21-year-old Aaron except for that he’s probably an illegal immigrant and wanted for several charges of bestiality back in his hometown in Mexico.  He must have fled his country in the hopes of finding happiness and freedom from persecution (for his heinous sex crimes).  So, he jumped the border and started moving around the U.S.  I expect he’s employed part-time as a day laborer.  He’s most likely standing in front of some Home Depot somewhere right now in a predominantly Mexican populated area (and if I didn’t take that bigoted point of view far enough, please feel free to add to it in you own mind).

So there you have it.  The result of my analysis:  I still wouldn’t mind hooking up with you this weekend.  If you feel so inclined to return a response, I hope you include some answers.  I don’t even care if you are NOT this BaBiMoNa girl.  If you told me, even after all of this, that you ARE that pimply-faced faggot hovering over a keyboard, I would most likely laugh my ass off at how you’ve mind-fucked my brains out… “You fuckin’ got me… shit!”  Except if I ever see you walking the street somewhere, I’ll kill you.  But if by some chance I have misinterpreted EVERYTHING, please let me know, accept my sincerest apology, and perhaps we can reserve an 8pm table at Chart House on Saturday, my dime.

Unsurprisingly, she never responded back.

I must have sucker written all over my face. He only had to mention meatspin and I was right there fingering Firefox’s search engine. Heed this warning, meatspin is not a step by step analysis of the physics of pizza spinning. It is far more homosexual than that…

The song comes on, “You spin me right round baby, right round…” and then the images. It takes me only a moment to realize I’m looking at the fleshy helicopter of a dude, spinning round and round to the thrusting of a second dude. I honestly could not close the window fast enough.

So, Firefox does this thing where it gives you the option to save your open tabs when you close the browser. In my haste to rid my monitor of the spinning appendage, I save the tab and quit. When I open back up the browser, there it is again: “You spin me right round baby, right round…”

By now, everyone in the office has heard me cuss out the computer. To close, I offer this advice: next time, when your slightly effeminate co-worker describes his up and coming weekend plans to have a Wii party, be sure you calibrate your gaydar.