Dreaded Hand Puppet

I looked at the clock on my car radio. 8:47 pm.


I had been sitting parked near a curb for over an hour waiting to meet my acne scarred boyfriend Guardian who thought he was a rock star. Pretty much like all the men I dated back then, he was a flake.

*If by flake I mean a total psychopath.

We had been seeing each other for a few months and everything always had to be on his terms. I was roughly a decade younger than he was at 21, though who knows, it could have been more. He was always lying.

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For instance, I still didn’t know his real name, or last name for that matter. I knew he worked at a tech company but he wouldn’t tell me where. He hinted that it had to do with the porn industry.

Still, I didn’t care! I had low self-esteem and would put up with just about anything to get a little male attention.

After all, Guardian and I did just have one of the most memorable dates of all time. I told you about that, remember? If not you can go read about it here.

Guardian lived in Hollywood and was probably the only person in the world without a phone.

I drove in from the suburbs an hour earlier expectant of hot a date. Shamefully, this wasn’t the first time he had stood me up.

I stared out the car window for a little while, wondering if I should give up. It was Halloween and my veins were flowing with both disappointment and jealousy as I watched cute costumed couples cross the street in front of me. I should have made plans to go out with my friends that night, but instead here I was.

I’m a sucker.

I let out a sigh, then started searching my car for a pen and paper. I found an old receipt and a green crayon. Good enough for me!

“Thanks for nothing, Asshole!” I wrote.

I got out of my car and walked to the front of Guardians apartment one more time. I tried a final knock then left the note shoved into the crack of his door.

Back in my car, I drove to the 101 freeway entrance and made the long journey home.

When I arrived to my house I was relieved to find the lights off and the door locked. At least no one was there to question me about why I was back so early.

So embarrassing.

Giving up on Halloween night, I slipped into my pajamas and turned on my computer. Almost instantly an email appeared. It was from Guardian.

“I’m sorry I missed you. Work ran late, they are sending us to San Diego for the night to do some filming. I was hoping you would go with me. Pack a bag and come over. I’ll wait for you.”

Pack a bag and come over? Who did this douche think he was anyway? Trent Reznor? Pffft! I was done for the night. Besides, Hollywood was the opposite direction of San Diego from my place. I was not going back up there.

I wasn’t his bitch.

“Fuck you Guardian. I just got home. No way in hell am I driving out that way again,” I emailed back.

Guardian responded seconds later, “Please, Babe? I was really looking forward to seeing you. Don’t be angry, I couldn’t help what happened tonight. Just come up. I’ll be here.”


Well you know what happened next.

That’s right, I was Guardians bitch after all.

An hour later I pulled up in front of his tiny studio apartment only this time he had kept his word. He was on the curb holding a duffel bag.

He stood there with a smug look on his cratered face in place of a smile. His half balding head was covered in long synthetic dreadlocks and individual braids in an attempt to conceal it. I wondered how only 3 strands of his fine little hairs could hold such a weight. Guardian was a natural red-head but tried to hide it by dying his hair and skinny goatee black. The eyebrows totally gave it away though.

“Can you pop the trunk?” he asked.

“I thought you were driving?” I was taken aback. I had been on the road for hours and was hoping for a “roadie” of liquor to get me through the next few hours.

“Nah, my tags are expired. I mean I would have taken my car if I had to but why risk it, you know?”

I was beginning to feel used.

Guardian climbed into my passenger seat and pulled out a doobie. “Mind if I spark this?” he asked.

Already annoyed, I obliged. “Go ahead.”

He took a hit and then tried to pass it to me.

“No thanks.”

He shrugged.

“How are you on gas?”

“I’m OK. Just filled up before I left. But I’m broke until work tomorrow. ”

“Good, I’ll fill your tank on the way back. What time do you have to be to work?” he asked.

“3:00 pm.”

“We will leave fairly early in the morning, you will have plenty of time,” he assured me.

We merged onto the freeway and I popped a tape cassette into the player.

Go, on. Laugh all you want. Please get it out of your system. It was 2002! Sheesh people.

Now, back to my story.

“Oh I love this album so much! It’s one of my all time favorites!” Guardian informed me, just before launching into his own rendition.

He sounded like monkey with acute laryngitis.

“Hey, Guardian…” I interrupted him.


“Who sings this?”

Stabbing Westward.”

“Why don’t you keep it that way?” I asked.

Well that was probably the wrong thing to say because faster than the burn from a fart gone awry, Guardian’s mood changed.

He flipped off the radio, threw the rest of his joint out the window and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Awww, what’s the matter, I was just joking.”

“Your ‘joking’ isn’t funny Asterisk. Singing is more than my passion, the band is my dream! By saying something as horrible as that to me, you might as well be stomping on my soul with steel toe boots!”

Well, well, well…

Guardian was quite the little bitch.

Here I was trying to be funny with a third grader’s joke and he has a melt down. I figured if I was going to be in the car with him a while I better try to appease the situation.

Even if it was stupid.

“Honestly Guardian, I was wrong. I respect your music, I think you are an excellent singer and I’m sorry,” I apologized.


Jesus Christ.

This guy was the biggest pussy I’d ever seen, and I’ve gone down on women!

I shut my trap in hopes he would get over it.

About 40 miles later he did. At least I think he was over it because out of the blue he pummeled himself into my backseat like a hound dog in heat!

Before I had any clue what was going on, he had both arms wrapped around my waist from behind and his hands were up my skirt.

He pushed my panties to the side and slipped two fingers inside me. The other was rubbing on my clit.

When I said I had wanted a “roadie” earlier, this is not what I had in mind.

Startled, I swerved to the left and almost hit the car next to us.

“Guardian! No! Stop! You are going to get us killed!”

“Shhhh! Just relax and enjoy it!”

He slid his hand further inside me.

“Seriously Guardian… I can’t get off like this, I need to watch the road!”

Guardian didn’t give a shit what I wanted and refused to stop until I came. So I waited a few minutes and faked it. Whatever.

When he finally returned to his seat, he used his tongue to clean his fingers.


We arrived at the motel sometime after 1:00 am. Guardian checked us in, dropped his bag inside the room and then left for work. I climbed into the old musty bed and easily fell asleep.

Around 5:00 am Guardian returned to the room. He stripped off everything but his infamous zebra striped man panties before crawling into bed. Once under the covers, he spooned my back and gave me a tight hug. That was enough to get my fluids flowing.

Why I was feeling frisky!

I tried to turn around and face him but he had to secure of a hold on me. So instead I reached down and tickled his toes.

Bad idea.

One would have thought that I snuck something into his angry anus by the way he reacted!


He grabbed the sheet and rolled himself into the entirety of it, resting to one side of the bed. I was starting to think something large must have been trapped up his asshole the entire trip.

Defeated, I fell back to sleep on the opposite side of the bed.

We had both forgotten to set an alarm and the curtousy call from the front desk woke us with a startle. We only had 30 minutes to check out and I only had 4 hours until my work shift started. I pulled off my night-gown and was about to jump into the shower when it happened.

Guardian snuck up from behind me, pushed the front of my body into the counter adjacent the sink and rammed his manhood hard inside me. He pounded me with the force of hurricane Katrina. The windows rattled, the walls shook and then he pulled out and released his massive flood all over my back.

When it was all over I looked to the clock in horror!

“We have to go!” I pleaded. Guardian was not very empathetic to my situation and took his sweet ass time getting ready.

Once in the car we stopped to get gas. Guardian went inside to pay as promised while I pumped. When the meter stopped at $9 I thought there was a mistake. “Don’t worry, that will get us back to Hollywood, Asterisk. It’s all I had.” Guardian tried to assure me.


There was no way that would get me all the way to work! Still we continued on. Traffic was bumper to bumper the entire way to Hollywood. Guardian never spoke a word and I was too pissed off to give a shit. Every ten minutes I peeked down at my gas gauge in fear. We eventually made it back to Guardian’s. He grabbed his duffel bag, climbed out of my car and shut the door. He didn’t so much as wave goodbye.

I peered down at my gas light again, this time to see the warning light blinking. “Please let me make it to work,” I mumbled. “Please! Please! Please!” I prayed to the oil gods. Thankfully, they didn’t let me down.

I never did see Guardian again. A few years later I heard a story about him on the news. He was involved in the rape and murder of an under age girl.


BTW Here’s that link again to the last Guardian post! You know you want to read it!

*Like what you just read? Good! Hit the like button on the bottom of the page and then share this story with all your friends, especially if they are literary agents.

Don’t forget to buy the books! They are cheap like me!


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