By two.one.five Staff  |  Send to Friend

Player Profile: Wherein we present a portrait of a former paramour, done all NFL draft style.

Fake Name: Zane
Height: 5' 5"
Weight: 115

Short Bio: In many ways, Zane was a would-be writer's dream: beautiful, erudite, unpredictable and passionate. The type of muse who could inspire you for 400 pages of neo-romantic drivel through a half-dozen failed novels whose titles inevitably made reference to ill-fitting, strident words like "chanteuse" and "blood."

Career Highlights:

-In the mid-'80s, Zane was the first woman at my college to sport a nose ring. She had spent the previous semester in France, studying Sartre and drinking Chambord. Upon her return to the States, her nose ring sparked outrage and horror on campus.

-Not only could she be a literary muse, she was also eminently photographic. Somewhere I have a strip of film which depicts, in various stages, the night of our first tryst. In one shot, her slender dancer's feet -- long, elegantly thin arches topped with stunted, beaten down, dark-painted toes -- stretch up from a bathtub, propping themselves luxuriously over the faucet fixture.

-She truly loved country music, but not the twangy bubble gum variety: She much preferred the mournful, disconsolate stuff. Once we were in a dingy diner somewhere in upstate New York, and she played every George Jones track on their table juke box, over and over, until the waitress finally came over and told her the kitchen wouldn't serve her grilled cheese until she stopped.

-In New York, she took me to her favorite place, a true honky tonk dive in Alphabet City that had nothing but Bud and Jack Daniels and was narrow as a subway car.

-Some years later -- for Zane was someone you always saw some years later, in different circumstances and states of despair, like in the chapters of the aforementioned awful novels -- she took me to another down and out bar on Staten Island, where we got plastered on the special of the day -- something involving gin and lemons, I think. At the end of the day, on the subway off the ferry, she put my hand up her dress and had me feel how wet she was. I didn't figure out the unfortunate Risky Business parallel until much later.

-She was, however, at other times oddly formal and exacting. She had excellent posture and table manners and liked things to be well-presented. She wrote letters in elegant script with a vintage fountain pen. Once, I called her past 11 EST. She answered the phone very crossly, said "Don't ever call this late again," and hung up. We would often go for years at a time without communicating.

-Zane loved nothing more than being in love -- the first glimmers of feeling, while everything is new and hopeful and filled with incredible, untapped promise. The problem was, of course, after that initial glow had faded. A classic artist, in that respect.
Source Photo: Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald


Sexuations: Wherein we identify hot new sexual possibilities.

1. The Hydrofoil
Lying prone on a bed covered over with a plastic sheet, the woman lies on her back, spread-eagled, as high up on the bed as she can. The man then pees all over her and the sheet, creating a slick, slippery surface. From a distance of about 8 feet, the man then runs and launches himself on the bed, attempting to slide right into intercourse.

I need to drink another Bud Light 40 if I'm going to hydrofoil you tonight.

2. The Mickey Mouse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A man lifts and separates his balls, then ties them off with rubber bands to form the ears. He then paints the head of his penis black with a non-toxic marker and flips up so he's standing on his hands. From that position, he receives a blow job from a standing partner while inverted. As he builds to climax, the partner cranks up "Night on Bald Mountain" on the stereo.

Where'd you put the Sharpie? I was hoping for a Mickey Mouse.