Blowing My Wad — Part 8: Hollywood Munch Party!

PART 8 OF ANDY SWEAT’S EPIC ADVENTURE OF PLOWING THROUGH CASH AND ASS. GET THE BACK STORY HERE.

This is what happened: I got hit by a truck about a year ago, and I got 500K to compensate me for my bones shattering and for the spinal fluid leaking from my ears. Since then, I’ve burned bridges. I’ve lied about my identity. I’ve isolated myself in a world of booze, whores and holidays. And it all seems like a giant blackout, now. This isn’t an ‘I found God’ kind of story. Though Lord knows if I get my hands on 500K again… This is just the story of how, for one year, I became Dennis Wilson, Bukowski and Hank Moody all rolled into one hot mess.

IN A HIDDEN CASTLE IN HOLLYWOOD, a row of men lay on their backs as a line of women press their various-shaped asses on men’s faces. My best friend, Colin, and I are among  these men. This lovely event was called an “Ass Munch Party” where various people obsessed with ass gather socially to engage in their fetish. Hors d’oeuvres and beverages are provided. It’s the perfect party for any woman who enjoys their ass being worshipped. It was heaven for ass worshiper men like myself.

I had been to a few of these before and always had a nice time. I never got pinkeye and I usually made a friend or had sex outside of the party with one of the female guests. But this Hollywood ass munch even was a little different for me.

I had done a bit of stalking on Facebook and found out my ex-girlfriend had a new boyfriend, so my mind couldn’t really focus on the pleasure of getting face-sat on. My ex-girlfriend was fucking with one of the only joys in my life and I had to tell someone. So I brought Colin along to the party. Colin’s probably the only male who has enjoyed the fruits of my settlement money. The escorts, the gambling, the exotic trips and the 24/7 party people lifestyle. He was never really into kinky fetishes, so this was definitely a new thing for Colin. I gave him a hundred bucks to come along and listen to me spit my troubles.

“It’s been three months since we broke up and she’s got a new boyfriend already,” I said muffled through ass cheeks.

“How long did you guys date?” Colin replied, his voice muffled through ass cheeks.

“Three years!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Colin doing math on this Hispanic girl’s booty.

“That’s a month of grieving per year. Seems logical.”

GONG SOUND.

A hot older female ring leader struck the gong to signal the women to shift one man over to the right.

“She should be as miserable as I am.”

“Not possible.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s very considera–”

“And… SIT!” The ringleader exclaimed as a white bubble butt plopped on my lips, literally stopping my train of thought.

I looked over at Colin but all I could see was a headless man grabbing for oxygen with his hands. A BBW black woman has completely engulfed his head. I waited for a few seconds before asking him, “Do you want to get out of here?” The thumbs up meant yes.

GONG SOUND.

Blocks away from my loft, Colin and I sat at a private booth in the dark Broadway Bar in downtown Los Angeles.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I’m gonna win her back.”

I sat confidently with about 3/4 a fifth of Jack gone between us both.

“When?”

“Now.”

I took a big swig, grabbed my coat and headed for the door.

“You have a few butt pubes on your forehead!” Colin yelled.

“How long were they on there?”

“Two hours give or take.”

My ex-girlfriend lived pretty close in LA’s hipster paradise, Echo Park, so I felt I could drive. I know, I know. I usually would take a taxi or a limo but time was of the essence. I was really drunk and I had courage. I finally made it to her street not before stopping at Del Taco.

I parked a good distance away from the two-story house she shared with three other young “professional independently strong” women. I always felt like a jackoff around them and probably rightly so.  Her room had a big window facing the street in perfect view from my piece of shit Saturn. I sat staring at the window waiting for some action as I ate a taco and washed it down with a flask of Vodka. I was about to move onto my Del Taco burrito when she appeared. Looking healthy, skinny, and fiery red-headed fox as ever. I reached for the door handle. I figured I’d do one of those rock tosses at the window sorta things, but…

He appeared and I saw them kissing, unintentionally mocking me. I almost hated how cliche of a moment this was more than her kissing someone else. I tried to make myself feel better in the moment by thinking about how funny it would be if I saw her drop to her knees to blow him. But that didn’t happen. They just kissed. Fucking romantically. That hurts more than seeing her blow a dude. They closed the blinds.

I chugged the rest of the flask. With my head swirling with toxins and emotions…I passed out in my car on her street in fucking Echo Park. I dreamt about two unicorns working a hot dog stand in Brooklyn and then having sex on the street. I distinctively remember this because I was buying a hot dog at the stand and the two unicorns had my ex and her boyfriend’s faces. I asked for sauerkraut but the two unicorns were clearly occupied in some sort of scissoring/69 unicorn thing.

A knock on my window awoke my atom bombed head. It was morning and there she was, dressed in her teacher uniform as she was heading out to go to work. I brushed off some taco cheese from my chest and rolled down the window.

“What are you doing?” she asked me.

“My car ran out of gas.”

“On my street?”

“Crazy, right?”

“Very coincidental.”

I couldn’t get a lie past her during the three years we were dating, how the hell did I expect to get this one by her.  The jig was up. ”You don’t love me, eh?” I asked.

“Andy. I don’t even know your face anymore. You have all these other versions of you.”

The title of a song she later wrote.

“I can’t be with you because I’ve seen these shades of you. All I see when I think of you are these weird wax figurines… melting.”

A line she used in that song.

“I fucked up things with you,” I admitted.

“Yeah. You did. And I’m sorry you’ll have to live with that.”

She rubbed my face. I handed her the last item I had of hers: A forest green Amoeba Music Store T-shirt. She smiled. Kissed my cheek.

“By the way… you have pinkeye.”

It was that balance of wisdom and crass in which I loved in that girl. She waved as she drove away which would be the last time I have seen her. “Pinkeye” was the last word she said to me. I started up my car (full tank of gas) and headed back to downtown. I don’t know if I’ve ever fully got over my ex-girlfriend, but I’ve learned to move on.

In a way, it’s comforting to know that someone, no matter where you are at in your life, will always have a lasting effect on you. Makes you believe that the three years spent together was not a waste of time. It was something of substance. And that is something I can live with.

A week later, I went back to the Hollywood Munch Party. This time with a “scar,” my head clear and completely saturated in beautiful asses.

“Swingin’ Party” The Replacements:

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
Blowing My Wad Part 1: How I Got Hit By a Dodge Minivan and Pissed 500K on Booze,
Whores, and Designer Furniture 

Blowing My Wad Part 2: Chicago Whores 
Blowing My Wad Part 3: 2 Weeks with Pornstar Maggie May 
Blowing My Wad Part 4: Muerto in Bocas Del Toro 
Blowing My Wad Part 5: The Wonder Years 
Blowing My Wad Part 6: Shemales 
Blowing My Wad Part 7: Baby Mama Concierge in Cathedral City

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