Your Princess is in Another Castle Read online

  Your Princess is in Another Castle

  By Richard Fore

  Your Princess is in Another Castle

  By Richard Fore

  Text Copyright © 2013 Richard Fore

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Beginning of a Fantastic Story

  Chapter 2: Of Wolverines, Nightcrawlers, and Dazzlers

  Chapter 3: The Riddle of Pong

  Chapter 4: Jackpot (or not)

  Chapter 5: Dateless Assemble!

  Chapter 6: The Reason for Photo Booths

  Chapter 7: An Incident Regarding the Improper Wearing of a Bat-shirt

  Chapter 8: Failure to Launch

  Chapter 9: In the Pale Moonlite

  Chapter 10: An Opportunity for a Langella Monologue?

  Chapter 11: Mirror Universe Makeover

  Chapter 12: Winners Don’t Use Drugs

  Chapter 13: The World’s Finest

  Epilogue: Jacob’s Ladder

  Chapter 1: The Beginning of a Fantastic Story

  Take her picture or say goodbye, and Jessica will always flash the peace sign. It is her trademark move, not unlike a robot master striking a pose before a battle with Mega Man. Bomb Man (of the original six masters before the standardized eight) casually tosses a bomb into the air, leaving no doubt as to the means of your imminent destruction. Quick Man, the first of the egoists, wearing a cocky smirk in his portrait as opposed to his scowling comrades stands on bent knee ready to give you chase, his message clear: there is no escape.

  Jessica forms a V-shape with her fingers and smiles. But do not be fooled by her innocuous appearance. She is no starter boss like Magnet Man or Toad Man. Her psyche scarred from her involvement with a troglodytic clod who is far beneath her, a fact Jessica realizes only during one of their recurring breakups and forgets immediately after their inevitable getting back together firmly establishes Jessica as a challenge akin to Shadow Man.

  Another egoist, Shadow Man grins at the thought that you would dare face him. And the Blue Bomber likely will fall to Shadow Man unless you’ve already won the top spin attack from Top Man. Only a truly advanced player has a chance armed with only the mega buster and its puny damage. Skill or experience is needed to handle Shadow Man, the same prerequisite required to make Jessica yours.

  A dating veteran could manage Jessica’s many unfounded insecurities and emanate so strong an aura of animal magnetism that she’d actually be attracted to you as opposed to viewing you somewhere in between a gay best friend and an older brother. But lacking any innate charm or seductive prowess of the caliber needed for mega buster only battle and but a single disastrous quasi-relationship under my belt, an experience that certainly does not equal the might of the top spin, I’m doomed forever to gaze at Jessica longingly from across Just Friends Chasm.

  But recently I’ve attempted to accept my fate by focusing on other theoretically more attainable women. I even have a date tonight. Although Sonya, the girl I am meeting, is way out of my league. And I don’t mean that in the lacking self-confidence, just need to think positive way. I mean she’s way out of my league. Gorgeous enough to make a homecoming king take a deep breath followed by a shot of the hard liquor of his choice before approaching her, I can only feel a sense of disbelief at her apparent interest in me. With our rendezvous scheduled for tonight at 8:00pm, I now have a little over three hours in which to avoid spontaneously combusting.

  Jessica sits across from me, having been summoned to help calm my nerves. She sips from her straw without putting her hands on her glass, a trait I find adorable.

  “Right on!” Jessica exclaims, extending her palm for a high-five after hearing of the impending date.

  “I just hope she actually shows up,” I say after we slap our hands together. Jessica’s hands are small, as is her entire body. I could easily carry her in my arms. She could jump onto my back so I could give her a piggyback ride in public, laughing as everyone else rolls their eyes at us. Jessica would be that kind of girlfriend.

  “She’ll show up,” says Jessica.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been stood up before. I think maybe Godot has a better chance of showing up than one of my dates.”

  “Who’s Godot?”

  “It depends on who you ask.”

  Jessica glares at me without blinking. “So what’s her name?”

  “Sonya.”

  “If her name is Sonya she must be pretty hot,” says Jessica only half-jokingly.

  “She is. She sent me a photo. But that’s one thing that worries me. She’s much too hot to be interested in someone like me.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re a good looking guy. No Brad Pitt, but attractive.”

  “Thanks. But I still feel like I’m going to drive by and see her waiting for me and just panic and head straight to Barnes and Noble and start compulsively reading the Dungeons and Dragons Player’s Handbook.”

  Jessica laughs. “Well, just make sure you get there before she does then. Be waiting for her. When and where are you meeting?”

  “Applebee’s at eight.”

  “Okay, good. Get there at seven-forty or so. Go inside and sit down in the waiting area. That way you’re sure to get there before she does, so you won’t run away from her when you spot her. Find a cute little hostess to stare at while you wait so you won’t be so anxious. But make sure you get a male server if you can, because you don’t want to be eyeing your hot waitress all night right in front of Sonya. Got it?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” It doesn’t seem so complicated the way she describes it.

  “So what’s Sonya look like? Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess. She’s a thirty-six double D-cup and they’re impossibly perky, and real of course. She carries them on a tall frame; say five-seven or five-eight, tall enough for shorties like me to be envious but not so tall that the boys ever teased her. Sonya’s a dark haired girl with long and flowing locks that are not quite straight but not curly either. Her eyes are green like the Emerald City.

  “She’s so hot she transcends any individual look and she can rock it in a cowboy hat and cutoffs in a country western bar or in a corporate boardroom with a pricey blouse and skirt. She has two piercings in addition to her ears, most likely her nose and navel, perhaps tongue. She has a great tan, but it’s all natural, since she jogs in the park daily to stay fit. And she wears glasses, black rimmed ones, but they only make her hotter than she already is. When I see this bitch I’m going to want to strangle her on sight. Now, does that just about sum up your new girlfriend?” Jessica asks, having rattled off a bevy of qualities as if she were a prospective mother in Gattaca.

  “She has dark hair, and you’re right about the nose ring. I only saw one photo and it was really only her face, so I don’t know about the rest. No glasses in the picture, but yeah, she’s hot.”

  “I’m sure I’m right. Jasmine, Lacey, Sonya, those are like absolutely guaranteed to be a hottie names right there.”

  “Don’t forget Jessica.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ve seen teenaged Asian girls that have a bigger bounce when they walk than I do. Thanks, though.”

  Jessica brushes off the compliment as she always does. I’ve learned not to take it personally, though. She really doesn’t realize how beautiful she is. Her baby face and small chest that she needlessly obsesses over along with her height of just five feet gives her the appearance of being several years younger than she really is. She has hazel eyes she alternately wishes were blue or green, and brown hair she alternately wishes was blonde or black. But she’s always smiling anyway, which is more than enough to win any guy over. Had I known her during my days of reading comic books
in clubhouses with signs on the outside warning No Girls Allowed! I’d have gladly broken the taboo to play with her, crushing on her when boys insisted they never had nor ever would have a crush on a girl.

  “So how’d you meet her?” Jessica suddenly asks, reminding me of the existence of Sonya.

  “On AOL.”

  “Your profile still just vague enough that it gives your name, location, and college you attend and nothing else?”

  “Well, if I were completely honest, it’d probably put most women off. Being vague gives me an air of mysteriousness. She sent me an IM and we started talking. We go to the same school and she just started this fall and doesn’t know too many people. I’m a boy, and she’s a girl, one who’s not completely averse to meeting me, and at this point that’s all I really look for.”

  “You gotta start somewhere. What’s her major?”

  “Hospitality.”

  “So you’re looking to receive some of her hospitality, huh? Do you have a condom in your wallet in case things go better than expected?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say laughing. Me carrying a condom would be like Patrick Stewart carrying a comb. He just isn’t going to need it.

  “Well, you should. No glove, no love.”

  “I’ve hated gloves ever since the Power Glove.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something that was a good idea in principle, but that just wasn’t ready to do what it was supposed to do, kind of like me and sex. It might be a good thing but I just don’t think I’ve reached the point where I’m ready for it yet. Sonya would be lying on the bed, and I’d just shrug with only the vaguest sense of how to proceed. Like the hero from Final Fantasy Mystic Quest. He never understood what was going on around him, so all he could do was just shrug in bewilderment. That’s me. I’m a sexual shrugger.”

  “Mystic Quest? Is that like a Dungeons and Dragons thing?”

  “Close enough.”

  Jessica gives me another look of bafflement as I imagine encountering a redheaded environmentalist or blonde archer and hitting it off, a sadly unlikely event on both counts.

  “Well, all you need is a teacher. Let Sonya be your sex professor. And you can’t show up to class without the right school supplies. Dude, you don’t want her to be tearing off your pants only to find out you aren’t packing protection! So get one, okay?”

  “All right, I’ll pick one up.”

  “Awesome. Also, I want to hear all the details, so call me as soon as the date’s over. Or just give me a quick text to let me know you’re lying in bed with her.”

  “I’ll text you right after I toss away the used condom.”

  “Right on!” Jessica exclaims, her declaration followed by another high-five.

  “So how’s it going between you and Scott?” I ask, enunciating Scott’s name with reflexive malevolence.

  “Good,” Jessica beams. “We’re taking it slow for now.”

  Slow she says. She claimed she was going to take it slow with him the first time they got back together, after he had walked out on her on her birthday. Six days after reuniting she called me to say they were engaged. When they broke up the second time, she returned the ring. She’s not wearing it now, which is good, but her claim of taking it slow is dubious at best. Jessica is likely as hungry to have her engagement ring back on her finger as Gollum was with the One Ring.

  “We don’t want to rush into anything this time, so right now it’s mostly about the sex,” Jessica says laughing. “We had sex like five times yesterday. And I’m having orgasms, again.” That I’m able to control my gag reflex should be commended. Not at the thought of Jessica’s orgasmic glee, but rather the thought of her thuggish deliverer sharing in the moment.

  “You asked,” she says, sensing my disgust.

  “I suppose I did.” Make no mistake. My contempt for Scott is not simply because he is Jessica’s boyfriend. A rival suitor who won her hand, if he be worthy, could be a respected foe. In a different reality, I could call such a man friend. But not Scott, who squanders his relationship with Jessica by treating her less than he should, continually breaking her heart. I hate him for that, and if hatred can ever be justified, this instance is it.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  “Did that repulse you that much?”

  “Just gotta hit the restroom and splash some water in my face. I think I’m having a panic attack about tonight.”

  I emerge in as soothed a state as I’ll reach. Jessica waits for me facing my direction, but doesn’t see me. She tilts her head slowly to the left and right in tune with the music on the café speakers. It is a subtle movement, calling no attention to itself, noticeable only if she had otherwise already drawn your attention. I observe Jessica in this moment, awakening my inner struggle over whether or not what we have now is enough. I then silently sit down and smile at her, which she is all too happy to return with one of her own. She probably thinks I’m thinking about Sonya. But I’m not.

  We embrace in a goodbye hug in the parking lot. Etiquette likely suggests that I should remain with Jessica until her ride arrives. But etiquette can be damned, because her ride is Scott. And if it would be seen as a sweet gesture to any other girl, given Jessica’s adherence to the Bizzarro world’s laws of attraction, then she is almost certainly turned on by the fact that I am not waiting around to see her off.

  “Remember, you gotta text me tonight! I’ll be waiting!” says Jessica, more confident than I am. She disengages the hug and strikes her pose. I want to kiss her in this moment, but to get to her I must cross a mile of disappearing/reappearing blocks and I’m all out of Rush jet.

  “I will, I promise. See you next time.”

  “Hey, wait a second,” she says. “How long has it been since you’ve had any action?”

  To respond with anything less than a full calendar year would instantly be detected as a lie. To be completely honest would elicit only the most pathetic of sympathies. I try to think of an acceptable middle ground and begin to formulate an escapade about making out with a reporter from the university paper when Jessica grows tired of waiting. “All right, obviously it’s been awhile,” she says. “So, go ahead and grab my ass real quick. And I’ll critique your technique.”

  “What?”

  “Give my butt a squeeze and I’ll give you some pointers for when you’re grabbing Sonya tonight.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dude, I’m so serious. I want you to wow this chick tonight! And you need a little practice.”

  “I can’t do that. Scott’s going to be here any minute. I don’t think he’d like pulling in and seeing this.” I don’t care about Scott, but the thought of him issuing a jealous decree to Jessica that she can’t hang out with me anymore, and her obeying, is a frightening notion.

  “Oh, he’s always late for everything. Besides, this is for educational purposes only. It doesn’t mean anything.” It doesn’t mean anything. Vile words, and yet so casually uttered.

  Impatient, Jessica turns away from me and bends over. “I’m waiting,” she says, as if she were a mother not about to start the car until her kids buckled up.

  I run my hand across my chin and hesitantly stare at Jessica’s ass like Indiana Jones gazing at the golden idol. A meaningless action to her, serving only to improve my skill set for the sake of someone else. But she does want it. She wants me to touch her. “Turn back around. I’ll be able to get a better grip.”

  “Now we’re talking!” Jessica does as asked.

  I place my hands on her behind and squeeze once, then again. But it is a hollow action. It is not a gateway grope to more, and I release her quickly.

  “Wow, you didn’t need a practice run after all. You do it better than anyone else. Sonya’s going to be having some fun tonight.”

  “Maybe you just have a really great butt.”

  “No. It’s huge, huge, huge.”

  “You’re crazy, do you know that?” I ask, giving her another hug.


  I half expect Scott to pull up, having clairvoyantly sensed the event that just took place. Clad in a white suit and fedora with a black rim, he’ll slap Jessica’s ass and wrap his arms around her, amused instead of jealous. “It would seem there is nothing you can possess which I cannot take away,” he’d say.

  Taking Jessica’s advice, I head into my dorm lobby’s bathroom. It’s approaching 6:00pm. The machine I’m standing before has surely long been a trusted friend to many a college student. No doubt this purveyor of prophylactic penis protectors has abetted lost virginities, one-night stands, and a host of other sexual scenarios since it first accepted two quarters in exchange for a lab-tested latex condom.

  Truthfully, I don’t want to reach such a point tonight. I’m carrying around too much anxiety regarding the date itself to even think of actually being called upon for a sexual command performance. Coming up with an acceptable explanation as to why it has taken this long for me to make it to my first time is a formidable task in and of itself. But to Jessica, to Sonya, to the rest of the world, sex is a normal thing, a part of life. If carrying a condom will help assimilate me into such a state of sexual normalcy, fifty cents is an adequate price to pay.

  After double-checking to make sure I am alone, I place my two quarters into the machine and turn the handle. No sounds to indicate gears are in motion readying for dispersion follow. No condom appears. It’s as if the condom machine had attained self-awareness and using the cold, emotionless computations only possessed by a computerized mind had simply calculated that the possibility of me having sex was so remote, if not altogether non-existent, that it was simply illogical for me to be given a condom.

  That its reserve supply had best be saved for those truly in need, say an experienced, mightily endowed male who runs down to the lobby in a desperate bid to save the threesome he’s facilitated since to his horror he’s discovered that his own personal supply of magnums has run out. He would turn to the machine solely as a last resort, having previously been burned when the machine’s condom had been torn asunder by his mammoth girth, breaking it as if a young child had used it as a makeshift water balloon and hurled it at full force at a school chum. All that is missing to confirm the machine’s sentience is for a circular red light to glow and a monotone yet sinister voice to deny my request with a declaration of I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that. But sentient or not, I’m taking this as a bad sign.