So… I went on a date a few weeks ago with a girl from Japan. Her English was limited, And I– I am a word man; my ability to talk has always been my golden ticket to making any progress with the opposite backgammon… I mean sex. (that’ll be funny in a minute) Women don’t fall for the way I look, no they get lured by the sweet sugary saccharine supplication of my mouth. I’m like that late night infomercial promising a better life for only three easy installments of $29.95, you don’t need me, heck you don’t even want me, but when you hear how I can saw through a block of cement as well as tomatoes for the hundredth time, eventually someone reaches for the phone.
Without my words, I am a turtle without its shell, I am Iron Man without his really fancy high tech… goatee, and things get boring really quickly. So instead of talking I was uncharacteristically animated and charismatic, overly so to make up for my lack of words. Physical comedy, dancing, lots of close body contact. And somehow, I managed to stumble from just a really good date into the guest bedroom of our friend’s place for some… well let’s call it “playing backgammon”
So we’re, “playing backgammon”. And things are getting hot and heavy as “playing backgammon” is wont to do. Now, I think “playing backgammon” is such a raw and primal thing, that we as human beings just resort back to our most basic and natural tenancies. For me, this means grinning stupidly from ear to ear like a nine year old the first time I found playboys at the park during soccer practice… for her this meant speaking Japanese.
So as we’re “playing backgammon” she whispers, “Iku…”
I don’t say anything.
She whispers it again, “Iku…”
Oh crap, is she asking me a question? I’m not sure. I’ve heard this before somewhere.
“Iku…” she purrs, her hot backgammon breath panting on my chest.
“Yes?” I respond meekly.
God I hope that was a question. She kisses me. Okay, maybe it was a question? Think man. Think… Oh! know. I’ll just say exactly what she’s saying. I’ll be like a sexy parrot.
“Iku” I whisper sensually. She squares her hips away from me and pushes her body upright on the pillows.
Oh shit. Okay not that. Don’t say that. She can say it, but I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s a gender thing? What if I just told her, “I have really good lady backgammon parts?”
We resume our game of backgammon at a rhythmic pace.
I nod. But it’s dark, so I don’t think she can see my nodding. I kiss her. Yeah that’ll stall her. If I could get to my phone, I could look this up. Is that… squid? Like the dried squid in the clear package? Really dude? Why would she be talking about food during a time like this? I dunno… tentacles. Something about tentacles.
She runs her hands through my hair, catching fistfuls on either side of my head before moaning, “Kimochi…”
Kimchi? Wait more food? Oh wait, she’s Japanese not Korean. And why do I think she’s talking about food while we’re “playing backgammon”
“Kimochi…” her nails dig into my shoulders. I really hope she can’t see me in the darkness, because I know I have that scrunched befuddled look on my face, like I might be having stroke.
My mind flashes through a thousand images of Japanese pictures and videos archived somewhere in the wasted caverns of my memory, where math, the periodic table of elements, and basic geography, once resided. Dragonball? No that doesn’t help. Attack on Titan? No. But we’re getting closer. Something about school girls and tentacle monsters? I need to change my Internet viewing habits. Why didn’t I pay more attention in school? Who knew the Japanese I squandered away in college could result in a bad “backgammon ” performance years later?
Pixels. Something to do with blurry pixels.
Aha! I know where I’ve heard this before. Watching professional “backgammon” on the Internet.
I am gross. But hey, knowledge is power.
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