I rarely attend book signings but something about Trent Malone intrigued me. Besides his important sounding name, he was sort of a local legend. He was the white bohemian dude that liked to run with gangbangers. His graffiti consisting of haikus and politicians engaging in offensive sexual acts could be found all over the city. He had recently revealed in his book “Bruised Musings that Bleed out like Ebola.” that he surrounded himself with criminals because they could find any drug at any time. That and being with them made him feel like an individual. “I’m a real novelty with those boys in the ghetto. At the local coffee bar, guys like me are a dime a dozen.” He had written. I had always dreamed of running in to him and having a splendid conversation where I could be self-important and show off my own creativity and unique perspectives and then, you know, get him to fuck me. Perhaps this would be my day.Trent was sitting behind a table wearing thick black framed spectacles and smoking a cheap smelling cigar. Next to him was a bottle of wine and some kind of stinky cheese. His assistant was slicing up an apple for him. I immediately felt superior. Look at this guy. He’s trying way too hard. I thought to myself.
“You look out of place.” Trent said when I finally made my way up to his table.
“Thanks!” I gushed. Gee, why the hell am I gushing?
“Good answer. What’s your name?” He asked while uncorking a bottle of Cab.
“My name is… CanIpleasehaveaglassofwine…?” I said all cutesy and cheap.
“Gina, get this girl a glass of wine.” Trent ordered.
Gina rolled her eyes and sighed. Gina was one of those girls who was in to slam poetry and acoustic guitars. She had on an Ani Defranco t-shirt and looked pissed off about something. You know the type.
“Would you like some cheese?” Gina said giving me a sour look.
“Is it good?” I asked her sweetly.
“Trent thinks it’s the best cheese in the whole world. You should have some.” She smirked.
She was trying to challenge me. That bitch. I was going to have to tell Trent that I thought his cheese was revolting. She knew. No matter what kind of a cheaped out desperate-for-sex mood I was in, I wasn’t going to pretend that I liked this glorified rotten cheese.
“It’s just that I can’t eat during Ramadan.” I explained while pouting my lips.
I wasn’t Muslim or even middle eastern but people often thought I was. I was actually half French and half Korean. In the United States I mostly came off as Mexican though. So bizarre.
“But, you’re about to drink some wine and you’re hair is all down…” Trent said.
“Okay, so my parents are from Iraq, I was born in the U.S and I get to be Muslim a la cart. But I totally do the fasting. All religions recognize fasting as holy.”
“You’re a cool chick, what’s your name…your real name this time?” Trent asked removing his glasses.
“My name is Desdemona.” I answered. I love pulling the name out. It takes everyone aback. Thanks Mom.
I knew the Iraqi thing would appeal to Trent. He was in to anything taboo or scandalous. He seemed to be running away from his all-American looks. Beneath his image, he looked like nothing more than an unremarkable frat boy. His hair was dyed black but the blonde roots were impossible to hide. He was pale and somber but the freckles added a certain hue that was not exactly becoming. He was orange really. His eyes were blue but a very dead blue; there wasn’t much life to him at all. He was basically a letdown in person. Oh well, he’s still famous, right?
“What are you out doing today, Desdemona?” Trent asked.
“Hanging out with you?” I asked innocently. You know, with fake innocence.
“Trent has other plans.” Gina interrupted.
“Pipe down, Gina.” Trent looked in to my eyes for a moment then finally finished his sentence. “I can meet with Rod tomorrow.” He said.
Wow, he was actually going to cancel his plans for me? Awesome.
“Well…FINE…then I’ll be back to help you TOMORROW.” Gina said and picked up her bag. She clutched it dramatically and gave me the onceover. I just stared back with a puzzled look. She sighed and then stormed out.
I ended up sitting with Trent for the rest of the day while he signed books and charmed people with his wit. We had gone through three bottles of wine by the end of the day. I was laughing non-stop at that point. Trent told me that it was the most he fun he had had in a years. I was going through my dirty joke list when he asked me out to dinner.
“Ramadan ends at sunset right? Do you like Thai food, Desi?” Trent asked while handing me a dozen roses that someone had given him.
I held the roses up to my face and asked, “What’s better than roses on a piano?”
Trent looked at me and smiled. “What?”
“Two lips on an organ.” I purred.
The Thai restaurant was far too spicy. I mean, I like a good amount of heat but I don’t like to lose my sense of taste to it. It hurt. Trent seemed to enjoy the food but I think he was crying on the inside. He was really sweaty by the time we made it back to his Hotel room. He stank.
We stripped down and started making out against the wall. His boxers were completely soaked through when I pulled them off. We got in to the bed and I went down on him. His crotch smelled like a toxic waste dump. Just breathe through the mouth. I told myself over and over again. It wasn’t working. This was the most disgusting thing I had ever encountered. I ended the blowjob and climbed up on top of him.
“Where’s the condom?” I asked.
“Right here, just a sec…” He said and rolled over to the end table.
My stomach was hurting from the awful stench. I gagged as I thought of it. The pain in my stomach was getting worse. I was starting to get worried.
Trent was a talkative lay. He liked to shout obscenities. Sometimes I like that sort of thing but only certain guys can pull it off. He was not one of them. My stomach was still bothering me so I was ready to get this over with. Retreat! I thought to myself.
“Yeah, bitch, you like that? Fuck yeah. Bitch. Take that. I’m going to fuck you hard. I’m going to fuck your brains out.” He barked while taking me from behind.
“Oh God.” I said while biting my lip. Not from the pounding. It was the Thai food rather. It was churning in my gut and being taunted by the thought of Trent’s scrotum. I was literally about to vomit. I was fighting hard to keep it in. I was also fighting hard to keep in the gas.
“You little Muslim slut. You like that? You fucking terrorist. You gonna blow me up you little camel jockey? You gonna blow me?” Trent pulled his cock out and turned me on to my back. “Here, you little sand nigger, blow me!” Trent shoved his cock in my face. The smell of the rubber coupled with the ghastly smell of sewage, rotten cheese and Thai spices was finally enough to do it. I began gagging. “That’s right, bitch! GAG!” Trent cried and shoved his cock in my mouth.
I threw up on Trent Malone’s dick at that moment. It was yellow and projectile. The asshole took it as a compliment. “Wow, I knew my cock was big but I never made a girl vomit before.” He exclaimed. He grabbed me by the hand and led me to the shower. He became very sweet all of a sudden. “C’mon darling.” He said. “I’ll take care of you. Let’s bathe each other.”
Hmmm, maybe the evening is salvageable. I thought to myself. If I can scrub down his crotch maybe things will get better.
After the shower and a couple of lines of cocaine we were at it again. Trent’s cock smelled like hotel shampoo this time. I was finally able to show off my skills. My mouth was working double duty. I was trying to make up for earlier. Trent started off by saying things like “Oh, Desdemona, you’re so good.” But once the deep-throating began he was back to his degrading insults.
“C’mon, you towel head. C’mon you bitch. Suck that big dick. Gag bitch. Gag.”
“Why don’t you have a turn?” I finally demanded. Why don’t you eat out my pussy? Let’s see what you got.”
Trent got up and waited for me to lie down on my back. He spread my legs open and began to go to work. The idea of shouting degrading insults at him entered me head. I imagined screaming out “Lick that pussy you lousy, stinky, ugly, small-dicked, orange hued, white bred poseur!” I almost laughed out loud it was so funny. In fact it was pretty hard to hold in the laughter. As I fought to stifle back giggles, the most horrific thing happened. I farted. Not only did I fart but it felt something warm and liquid running down my ass cheek. I was mortified. Absolutely mortified. But the most disgusting thing happened. Trent just kept licking. In fact, I think he whispered, “That’s right, whore, you know what I like.”
I tried to jump out of the bed but my pussy met with Trent’s two front teeth.
“Ouch!” I yelled while writhing in pain.
“Where’re you trying to go my sweet Desdemona?” Trent asked me.
“I think I just shit myself, okay? I fucking shit myself because of that fucking Thai food you made me eat! I’m so fucking embarrassed!”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I figured you read that interview I did with that Swedish zine. I’m totally game, my little Muslim. I’m down with scat.”
“Scat?” I repeated with a shocked and disgusted look on my face.
“Yeah, I think your shit tastes divine.” He said
I lay there mesmerized for a moment. Was this really happening to me? Did Trent Malone just tell me that my shit tastes divine? This is horrendous. How the hell had I ended up in this situation? I figured Trent was going to be a little odd but I would have never imagined that he would be “Down with scat.” Yikes!
“I love you, Desdemona.” Trent announced.
“What? Are you crazy?” I asked him while getting out of bed. I scurried back to the shower and turned on the water.
“What are you doing, Desi?”
“I’m rinsing the shit off myself, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“Aw, that’s too bad. I thought we were gonna have ourselves some fun.”
“Fun with scat?” I asked him.
“Yeah.” He replied while stroking his cock.
I jumped out of the shower and raced to find all of my belongings. I got dressed in record time. Trent was doing some more cocaine and watching porn.
“Well, I’m gonna go, Trent.” I told him.
“That’s really too bad. I never got to blow my load. But, you know, at least I can say I banged a Muslim bitch and ate her shit during Ramadan.” He said proudly.
“You’re a schmuck. I lied. I’m really just a Mexican. My name is Carla Fernandez.” I announced, bursting his twisted bubble.
“What? You’re not Iraqi? Your name isn’t Desdemona? Why would you lie to me? Trent looked devastated.
“Because I was bored.” I said and walked out the door.
About a year later, Trent released another book of short stories. I was eager to see if I had made the cut. Sure enough, I was there. The story was titled, “The Muslim Who Gagged and Shit on Me.” It was fucking priceless.