One Time Use Only

The idea for this came from a book I have on writing. The idea is you take some instructions off a commonly used item and you make that the title for your story. And then you write.


One Time Use Only

"One time use only," I read to myself off the back of a disposable camera. We live in a disposable society. Everything gets thrown away. Nothing is kept. This camera sits on top of a table donning a paper table cloth. I eat hors d'oeuvres off of a paper plate using a plastic fork. I dab my mouth with a paper napkin. I drink punch from a plastic cup. I can't help but wonder if the newly exchanged wedding vows are disposable too. Of course, the flowers are real but they too will become refuse once this day is done. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not supporting the use of fake flowers, rather I'm just pointing out that our lives are one disposable item after another. And don't think I am advocating change, God knows I adhere to a disposable diet as much as anyone.

I spot a tall brunette across the room. Her face is familiar, perhaps a second cousin, but why should that matter. She wore a spaghetti-strap green dress that hugged her tight around the curves. She had warm eyes and an inviting smile. I take my time because art requires patience. I try to position myself nearby, pretending to listen to some old hag go on and on about arthroscopic surgery, so I am able to overhear her order a drink.

"Cosmopolitan." she said delicately.

I mingled around, talking to this uncle or that. One wants some stock advice; I tell him I'm a doctor not a banker. Another has a question about a tight joint, "Sorry my friend. I'm a banker, not a doctor."

Timing is everything. She sips the last of her beverage. Her glance towards the bar tells me that another drink would make her current conversation more bearable. Then I show up like a knight in shining armor.

"Cosmopolitan?" I take her empty cup and replace it with the metaphorical equivalent of love potion.

"Yes, thank you." She gives me an inquisitive 'how-did-you-know' smile. "And what's that you're drinking?"

"A dirty martini." My wink causes her to giggle and blush. She’s completely flattered and caught off guard. It's a matter of minutes before we are outside in the back seat of my car.

She asks if I am coming back inside, but I'm not. She asks for my number and I pull a napkin out of my pocket. I jot down a string of numbers and I wonder whose phone it actually belongs to. A few years ago I would have felt bad about this sort of thing, but a person can become desensitized to anything if they try hard enough. I'm sure she'll feel sorry for herself in a few days. She'll probably feel like a piece of trash tossed aside, or a cigarette butt thrown out the car window. But she'll get over it. She may be more guarded around men as a result, but that doesn't concern me. She's just another 'one-time-use' girlfriend for me.

Since I'm already dressed up, and the night is still young, I decide to head to McFadden's Pub. I always have a billiard table there on reserve and it’s a nice place to unwind. The waitress flirted as she brought me a drink, but I'm not interested. My focus now is on the table. Billiards is, one of many talents that I pride myself on. My concentration is intruded upon by a tall, curvy blond. Waves of blond hair flowed over her shoulders and framed her face, which was highlighted by bright red lips. She wore a black halter-top dress with a built-in push-up bra. The bra had a big job to do. The dress stopped mid thigh, and her legs seemed to run on indefinitely. Our eyes meet, and in a moment I was seduced.

If I had tried to play my usual games I would have failed. I was too taken aback and keeping my focus would have proved impossible. But to my surprise she pursued me. Before I could offer to buy her a drink, she was there at my table, two martinis in hand. She had no intention of obscuring her motives. And within an hour she had me back at her place.

Once in her apartment, she offered to fix us both a drink. I was already pretty intoxicated, but I'm not one to turn down a beautiful woman. We sat on the couch for a few minutes, she asked what kind of work I was in. "Real estate," I told her. She seemed uninterested. She quickly finished her drink and motioned with her eyes that I should do the same. She took my hand and led me to the bedroom. My vision blurred a little as I got up. I stumbled behind her slightly. "What was in that last drink?" I said with a smile.

Handcuffs closed tightly around my wrist. "This girl is kinky, I like that." I said to myself. Then I was flipped over onto my stomach and my other wrist cuffed. I noticed it was morning already but it wasn't until I was thrown on the floor that I realized what was happening. Two gorilla-sized cops were wrestling me around. They had me handcuffed and pressed hard against the floor. I thought they were about to search me, then I realized I wasn't wearing any clothes. They picked me up and began to drag me out.

"Fucking pervert." Said gorilla-cop number one.

"Wait, let me at least put some clothes on first."

"What clothes? You don't have any, you fucking crack head." Said gorilla-cop number two as they dragged me past a sobbing elderly woman and out of the apartment.

It's possible I may have been drunk enough, that I wouldn't have noticed when she picked the lock to the apartment. And it's possible that I may have been horny enough not to notice that she slipped something into my drink. And so it's definitely possible I could have passed out while she took off with my clothes, my car, and my wallet full of cash. And it's also possible that I may have said "This girl is kinky," out loud when the gorilla-police brigade was cuffing me. But there’s no way I ever used a girl the way I got used by her.