Kevin Munley

Running late and running, Mark hustled through the oncoming traffic and was welcomed with an abundance of horns. Alicia stood above by the door wearing the red coat she described in her email. The stairs added extra displeasure to his journey and sweat gathered in circles that descended down to his netherworlds. Finally there, an avalanche of words poured out of Mark.
“Alicia, Sorry I’m late. The schedule for the bus was all wrong this morning and then when they finally came…Alicia, It’s Mark. I can’t believe we are finally meeting!”
The sweat had cooled but settled into pockets of Mark’s flesh as they sat down together. The coffee shop was old and romantic. It resembled a Moroccan café and was assembled like a restaurant that years ago could have been filled with femme fatales and hardened private eyes. Mark had been here before, but never with a companion. Although he wasn’t aware, this place had seen an abundance of awkward and awful internet dates. The waitresses had become proficient in silently and sometimes not so silently judging others.
“So you’re from Connecticut, right Alicia?” Mark deliberately said her name feeling that his knowledge of it had put him significantly ahead of the curve.
“Yeah, from just outside Hartford.”
“I love Mystic. It is like a postcard from New England.” Mark responded.
“Really? My grandmother has lived in that area for years.”
Mark felt comfortable now. He explained the menu to Alicia and listed some of the better options, while making sure he was extra polite to their wait staff. He cracked a few jokes and made her smile. She seemed to becoming more comfortable with him, which pleased Mark. She was more affable and pleasant than he had expected.
One of the waitresses approached the table. “Are you Mark? There is a call for you.”
“For me? That’s weird. Excuse me Alicia, I didn’t even know anyone knew I was here.”
As Mark made his way to the phone, he felt important. This phantom phone call couldn’t have come at a better moment.
“Hello?” Mark said.

“Mark Fisher?”
“This is?”
“The International Porn Conspiracy. I’m Sasha Green.”
“The what? I’m sorry, the what conspiracy?”
“This is the IPC. International Porn Conspiracy. There is a bus line behind the coffee shop. I need you to get on the 57 bus and take it to Longwood. My associates will be waiting to take you into hiding. Mark, they’re coming for you.”
“Is this a joke? Because I’m not laughing!”

“Listen pervert, I’m not fucking around. When you see the man with the trimmed mustache and the anchor tattoo, no one will be laughing. You better run. Tell Alicia I said hi!” Click.
Mark’s heart was pounding. Who were these people? The man with the anchor tattoo? Obviously, one of his friends was winding him up for laughs. He made his way back upstairs to Alicia.
When Mark returned to the table, Alicia was texting on her phone. Maybe she had asked her friends to make the phone call as a joke? It wouldn’t surprise him. Online dating was a bad idea. He always had bad luck with women. Putting away the phone, Alicia looked up as Mark sat down again and smiled at him. Her teeth glistened white between her lips and her eyes peered into his insides. No, most likely she was just texting the details of their date to one of her friends. On the other end of the café, a customer working on his laptop rolled up his sleeves revealing the edge of a tattoo.
“Alicia, what kind of tattoo do you think that is over there?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“No reason. The guy just looks a little bit like a seaman. Strange for him to be in here. We’re so far from the ocean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Are you done with your coffee?”
“Almost.”
“Let’s go for a walk. I mean, would you like to go for a walk?”
“Sure, just let me finish.”
Mark almost knocked over a grandmother walking past him as he hurried up. “I’ll go get the bill. My treat!”
Mark journeyed with Alicia through a maze of crosswalks and changing streets; he had grown quieter and was rattled by the phone call. He would have to discuss this in his therapy. He had to stop thinking he didn’t deserve a normal life with normal relationships. Warm winds gusted around them as they progressed, blowing them back and forth with each step. If he just kept talking, he could manage the whirlwinds and hellfires that were raging within him.
Talking just about you on a date was a big turnoff. Women love to be shown that you are interested. Don’t look at the breasts, he told himself. Don’t look at the breasts. Alicia’s breasts were freckled and filled the front part of her dress. Don’t! He didn’t look at the breasts and launched an onslaught of questions.
“Do you like the people you work with?”
“Do you want to go back to school?”
“How did your parents meet?”
“Do you want kids?”
“Would you ever want to settle down?”
He was content that he had outrun, whoever was trying to make a fool of him. The International Porn Conspiracy indeed? He had to admit it was a pretty clever joke though. There was a park bench just past Broadway that Mark would often eat his lunch on. Typically alone, he would read his paper here and eat his lunch in silence. He often sat here and watched the young urban mothers walking by with their children. Occassionally, he would wonder what kind of men were there husbands. Mark motioned towards the bench and Alicia joined him.
“Have you met anyone else from this site?” Mark asked.
“A few people. I’m just scared ill meet a real weido. I don’t date people off the internet much. How about you?”
“Me either. I’m not really much of a dater. ”
A homeless woman dressed in layers of rags and carrying a garbage bag smiled at Mark from the other bench. “This poor woman,” Alicia said. “I wonder if she is a drug addict.”
Using his own personal knowledge, Mark guessed “she probably has mental health issues.” The poor woman was talking and laughing to herself
Crap, he made eye contact. Great, she is coming over here. Alicia and Mark looked up at the disoriented woman now looming over them with a crooked face smile.
“Hi.” Mark said unsure if he had any change. He looked anyway for her.
“I’m really sorry I don’t have any cash. Maybe we can buy you some food?” Alicia responded.
“I want it. Give it to me.” the haunted woman shrieked.
“I’m trying to find some. Just a second.” Mark was rummaging through both of his pockets desperately to find change admist the candy wrappers and debit card transactions. Turning to Alicia for assistance Mark asked her if she definetly didn’t have any change.
“Not that. I want your balls, if you have any.” The withered succubus of a human being leaned in and breath death on Mark’s pants. “Want to party?”
“Jesus, no. Go away Mark” yelled.
Ignoring Mark’s “no,” the homeless woman’s hands girated around the center of Mark’s legs and were shaking from the excitement of lust and the withdrawals from medication.
“Get the fuck away form me,” Mark yelled. “Come on Alicia.”
The lusty vagabond wasn’t done though and as Mark and Alicia tried to relocate, she began to beat Mark with her trash bag. Coffee cups, newspaper, and fast food waste splattered all over Mark and his date’s clothes, as she shrieked in pain at both of them.
“He’s gotta tattoo and he’s going to fuck you. Balls, balls, balls. Your girlfriends got more balls than you.”
Was she talking about the man with the anchor tattoo? Who would involve this crackpot in on their joke. Mark was flustered. Was there something wrong with him?
“Come on Mark. She’s crazy.” Alicia said as they fled through the park back on to the thoroughfair. They approached Raven Books, a used bookseller that Mark had frequented. During his intense questioning earlier, Alicia had stated her third-favorite author ever was Flaubert because of his “complex human relationships.”
“Listen Alicia, I know this date has been a nightmare, but let’s just hang out a little longer. I mean how could it get worst? Look this is one of my favorite bookstores. Want to check it out?”
As Alicia wandered aimlessly through the aisles of books, Mark had an idea. There had to be a copy of Sentimental Education somewhere in the store. Mark tried to traverse the “H” in the author’s alphabet, but his path was blocked by a man in a tan trench coat. The obstruction wore oversized pants that were adorned in unnecessary pockets – each pants pocket from foot to thigh was crammed and bulging out. The man in the trench coat appeared to notice that he was spotted. Pretending to read a hardbound copy of The Inferno, his eyes followed Mark from the discount section to the classics and over to the generalized fiction bookshelves. Mark noticed Alicia was elevated on a bookcase ladder and was leaning in for a distant book.
“She’s got a great ass, doesn’t she?” The strange man said without moving his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Mark snapped.
The strange man smiled and continued reading Dante, ignoring Mark. “No, not like that. We need to talk telepathically. The walls have ears and possibly surveillance equipment. Plus there are agents everywhere: VDI, CIA, UTI, and the IPC. Are you going to try it with her?”
Confused, lost, worried, and very curious, Mark tried to play along. He sat down and focused himself and thought, “Try what?”
“Your new technique of course! The one Interpol leaked to the Vatican which started this whole mess with the Porn Conspiracy- the brave new position that will change human sexuality and pornography consumption forever and set us free from bland penetrative intercourse! I really do admire you, sir!”
Mark was confused. He didn’t know anything about a new technique. Does masturbation even have techniques? There must be some mistake. Why was the universe so intent on ruining his date with Alicia?
As his mind raced frantically, it was invaded again by the man in the trench coat. “Don’t worry I’m a material plane virgin. I wouldn’t ever steal your technique. But there are others that seek to exploit your genius. Fuck, they’ve found us!” The man with the trench coat threw his copy of Inferno frantically at Mark and scuttled like a crab around a stack of paperbacks dropping dildos from his bulging pockets. In a strange melodious voice, he tried to explain himself to a confused hipster working at the counter. “Those sex toys aren’t mine.”
Mark couldn’t take it anymore. The telepathy, the phone call, the mind reading, and now this large man in the trench coat collapsing in front of him. Mark snapped. He had longed for death for a long time now, but he wouldn’t allow the conspiracy to hurt Alicia. She had a life ahead of her. She would meet someone else and fall in love. She would soon forget she had ever gone on a horrible blind date with MaFish85. He found Alicia, grabbed her hard by the hand, and led her toward the exit. He looked at Alicia terrified beside him. “Trust me, we have to leave. This is for you. I know you love Flaubert.”
They fled together to the Longwood area. Perhaps it wasn’t too late, perhaps Sasha would be there. He would just explain to her, he had no technique and was actually pretty bad in bed. He had seen all of Sasha’s movies and would recognize her immediately. As he dragged Alicia, through the crowds and city streets, people would stop and stare, convincing Mark that the conspiracy was moving in for their final strike. Mark scanned the horizon waiting for reality to crack open at any moment. Agents of porn, SWAT soldiers, and disembodied sex organs loomed behind every corner, but when would they strike? At times Alicia would try to pry her hands free from Mark, but at others she looked resigned to her fate as his prisoner. Should he leave her behind? He just didn’t want to be alone when they came for him. What would they do? “Fuck. He’s here!” Mark yelled. The man with the mustache and tattoo anchor was in front of them blocking their way.
“Why don’t you let her go man? You’re hurting her.”
A crowd had descended around them, probably all agents of the conspiracy. Mark was trapped.
“She’s scared. Just let her go.”
Panic and terror were in Alicia’s eyes. Recognizing that there would probably not be a goodnight kiss or even a second date, Mark dropped Alicia and fled into the streets through flashing blue lights and a dark angel choir of horns. A car skidded and knocked Mark to the ground. Darkness. Death. It was over. Would anyone mourn him? Maybe Paul and Matthews from his support group.
When Mark awoke he was in a padded room. The melodious voice of the trenchcoat man rung in his head, “Wake up. Wake up. You’re home.”
From the halls, he could hear teeth gnashing and souls suffering throughout the unit. Looking around him, Mark saw what looked like a boiler room converted into a psychiatric ward. The heat was immense. He must be near the furnace.
“Can I come in?”
Where am I? Mark wondered.
The door opened and a doctor in a white lab coat stepped in. Beside her was a woman about the same build and look of Alicia, but slightly younger. Her face looked blank and her eyes glistened emptiness.
“Sasha Green?” Mark stammered.
“It was a good thing we got there when we did. We were able to extract you before the agents moved in. How are you feeling?”
“My head- it’s so foggy.”
“We had to enter the cortex to disseminate the technique to the populace. Sorry about the headache, but you hid it deep in your subconscious. You should have seen the sensation it created on the web! You’ve got production credits of course. You are quite the celebrity know. There is fan mail, which the nurse will bring you later. We just need more. More tits! More cocks! More of your brilliant sexual fantasies!
“I’m sorry more what?” Mark said hands holding his aching head.
“More positions. We start production this week. Any ideas?”
“Is Alicia okay?” Mark said looking at the tall slim girl beside Sasha. She could be Alicia’s younger sister, Mark thought. The girl returned his stare with silence. Droplets of saliva formed around her mouth and rolled down her chin. “Who is that?”
“She’s for you. It’s our gift. See what you can come up to on her. Alicia had to go home. But we figured she would be a better and younger substitute anyway. Don’t worry we took care of her brain.” Sasha turned to the girl beside her. “Stay. Stay. God, she is dumb, but see what you can do with her. We expect great things from you.”

kevinmunley@yahoo.com