NS: RPF - Friends With Benefits
So this picture got me thinking . . .
So I wrote a little something . . .
Which I haven't done in months and months . . .
Friends with Benefits
Kaye
R rated
PMG/DS
PMG: Hello?
DS: Hanging with my ex again?
PMG: Davey?
DS: Should I be jealous?
PMG: Didn’t we do this the last time?
DS: We did something the last time, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t involve my ex.
PMG: Okay, you got me. I was “hanging” with one of your many and varied exes. So?
DS: So, what are you doing?
PMG: Writing.
DS: Ohhhh, and you heard the phone ring? All the way up in that rarified ether you smoke when you’re writing?
PMG: What’s wrong?
DS: I don’t understand the question.
PMG: You’re pissy. And it can’t be from this benefit thing with Karen.
DS: Oh, that’s what we’re calling it now, a benefit? Where you hawk your book and pretend to enjoy yourself?
PMG: I did enjoy myself.
DS: I saw the pictures, Paulie - in a good two thirds you were wearing that look.
PMG: What look?
DS: The “get me the fuck out of here or I’m going to say something everyone will regret” look.
PMG: Did not. Karen and I had a good conversation and it didn’t last too long and there was Prosecco.
DS: Yeah, the picture I saw, she was looking at you like you were Prosecco. Did you talk about me?
PMG: Is that why you called?
DS: No, I called because I saw the pictures and it’s been a while since I talked to her - and you were all snuggled next to her-
PMG: Really? Snuggled?
DS: If I remember correctly, you always did like to snuggle with her.
PMG: We’re friends.
DS: Snuggle friends.
PMG: I’m a little uncomfortable with your overuse of the word snuggle.
DS: How about nuzzle. As I remember, her neck is exquisite . . .
PMG: As I remember she dumped you a hundred years ago. And this is professional and you really need to get a life and stop googling my name.
DS: I’d like to google some-
PMG: Too easy, Davey. I mean it. If you want to know what I’m doing, call and ask me.
DS: What are you doing?
PMG: I don’t mean right now, I mean . . . oh hell. What are you doing?
DS: Thinking up new ways to google . . .
PMG: Nice. So, I think I’ll be out your way in September.
DS: Do you remember? The 21st day of September?
PMG: More like the 7th.
DS: Ba de ya, dancing in September.
PMG: Oh, you’re singing.
DS: I’m wounded. You don’t remember?
PMG: This is going to be a show thing isn’t it?
DS: Our hearts were ringing, in the key that our souls were singing . . .
PMG: Lionel Ritchie?
DS: I should hang up on you now. I really should.
PMG: Oh you won’t. Earth Wind and Fire. Baaa dee dooo, say you do remember . . .
DS: Ba de ya, Paulie, it’s a pop song, not a sea chanty.
PMG: Yes, oh Pop Master -
DS: My thoughts are with you, holding hands with your heart to see you . . .
PMG: Did we dance to this song? In that disco debacle?
DS: We danced to it all right. Not at a disco.
PMG: In the dancing parlor one?
DS: Oh honey, I don’t even remember the dancing parlor one - except that we tangoed so hard the night before, I never had to pretend to be exhausted . . .
PMG: Oh . . .
DS: Yes, ohs, and ohs, and ohs.
PMG: Fuck. You know I can’t write like this.
DS: Like what, Paulie? Sails billowed? Full mast? Locked and loaded?
PMG: So the song, Davey. Give me a hint.
DS: Okay, okay, just because I’m feeling generous. You remember when Karen came back to do that episode
PMG: Not the dead hooker girlfriend one?
DS: No, not the dead hooker girlfriend one - the bitch reporter one - and we had to ride all smashed together in the front seat of the Tomato for days and days - all three of us?
PMG: Fucking car.
DS: It’s like a Pavlovian response with you isn’t it? Do you act that way around actual tomatoes I wonder?
PMG: I remember you fucking with me.
DS: Yes, and Karen got pissed and asked me if I wanted to trade seats?
PMG: And you didn’t know your mic was on and you said something really rude and she punched you in the balls?
DS: Yes, after all that. You do remember the oddest things.
PMG: If she hadn’t, I would’ve. I just wanted to get done with the day - you wanted to prove to her you were the stud of the set.
DS: Let’s not get into that right now. You’re killing my buzz.
PMG: Buzz?
DS: So yes, you were peeved and so I took you out to Malibu . . .
PMG: Peeved? I was peeved?
DS: You were rock hard and fucking pissed. Is that better?
PMG: Better than peeved.
DS: And we ended up in that bar in Topanga and you kept playing that song over and over and we got hammered and . . .
PMG: Ohhhh, that night.
DS: Yes, that night. Do you remember?
PMG: Remember how the stars stole the night away . . .
DS: If you were here right now . . .
PMG: I am here right now.
DS: Oh fuck.
PMG: And you’re here right now.
DS: You’re trying to kill me aren’t you?
PMG: And you were all blond and glowing and high and you still had on those fucking pants from the show and you were grinding on some woman who called you Hutch . . .
DS: And you were sprawled in that chair in front of me - your fucking shirt unbuttoned down to your dick.
PMG: And you just kept grinding and looking at me with those fucking eyes . . .
DS: And we ended up in the back room . . .
PMG: I dragged your ass in the back room.
DS: And you pushed me against something . . .
PMG: And you were all cocky and wouldn’t let me kiss you . . .
DS: I would’ve exploded if you’d kissed me.
PMG: So you just shoved me to the floor . . .
DS: Fuck, Paulie, we were hot when we were young.
PMG: We’re pretty hot now.
DS: You know this isn’t going to end well.
PMG: Hasn’t ended yet.
DS: Well, all I know that when you get on your knees, it’s usually over for me.
PMG: Really, you want to talk now?
DS: I’m just saying . . .
PMG: Stop. Fucking get your dick out so I can suck you dry.
DS: Fuck . . .
PMG: So then your head fell back and you shoved your hands in my hair and I grabbed your ass and you just kept gasping and breathing and then you started shouting oh fuck oh fuck oh
DS: Fuck . . .
PMG: And then you slid down onto the floor in front of me and you ran your hand up my chest and . . .
DS: and . . .
DS: and . . .
PMG: and someone’s at my door.
DS: at the bar?
PMG: At my house. They can see me in the window.
DS: What?
PMG: Oh fuck, oh fuck. It’s, I don’t know. I gotta go - fuck. Sorry, Davey.
DS: Oh I’m good Paulie, I’m good.
PMG: Really? Already?
DS: You had me at glowing and grinding.
PMG: I’ll call you right back.
DS: I’ll be the one at the bar . . .
PMG: Rock hard and pissed?
DS: Well, rock is not really an adjective I throw around a lot these days - let’s just say the sails are tilted into the wind . . .
PMG: Just don’t drop anchor till I call you back.
DS: Work on your metaphors while you’re gone, will ya? I can’t take it.
So I wrote a little something . . .
Which I haven't done in months and months . . .
Friends with Benefits
Kaye
R rated
PMG/DS
PMG: Hello?
DS: Hanging with my ex again?
PMG: Davey?
DS: Should I be jealous?
PMG: Didn’t we do this the last time?
DS: We did something the last time, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t involve my ex.
PMG: Okay, you got me. I was “hanging” with one of your many and varied exes. So?
DS: So, what are you doing?
PMG: Writing.
DS: Ohhhh, and you heard the phone ring? All the way up in that rarified ether you smoke when you’re writing?
PMG: What’s wrong?
DS: I don’t understand the question.
PMG: You’re pissy. And it can’t be from this benefit thing with Karen.
DS: Oh, that’s what we’re calling it now, a benefit? Where you hawk your book and pretend to enjoy yourself?
PMG: I did enjoy myself.
DS: I saw the pictures, Paulie - in a good two thirds you were wearing that look.
PMG: What look?
DS: The “get me the fuck out of here or I’m going to say something everyone will regret” look.
PMG: Did not. Karen and I had a good conversation and it didn’t last too long and there was Prosecco.
DS: Yeah, the picture I saw, she was looking at you like you were Prosecco. Did you talk about me?
PMG: Is that why you called?
DS: No, I called because I saw the pictures and it’s been a while since I talked to her - and you were all snuggled next to her-
PMG: Really? Snuggled?
DS: If I remember correctly, you always did like to snuggle with her.
PMG: We’re friends.
DS: Snuggle friends.
PMG: I’m a little uncomfortable with your overuse of the word snuggle.
DS: How about nuzzle. As I remember, her neck is exquisite . . .
PMG: As I remember she dumped you a hundred years ago. And this is professional and you really need to get a life and stop googling my name.
DS: I’d like to google some-
PMG: Too easy, Davey. I mean it. If you want to know what I’m doing, call and ask me.
DS: What are you doing?
PMG: I don’t mean right now, I mean . . . oh hell. What are you doing?
DS: Thinking up new ways to google . . .
PMG: Nice. So, I think I’ll be out your way in September.
DS: Do you remember? The 21st day of September?
PMG: More like the 7th.
DS: Ba de ya, dancing in September.
PMG: Oh, you’re singing.
DS: I’m wounded. You don’t remember?
PMG: This is going to be a show thing isn’t it?
DS: Our hearts were ringing, in the key that our souls were singing . . .
PMG: Lionel Ritchie?
DS: I should hang up on you now. I really should.
PMG: Oh you won’t. Earth Wind and Fire. Baaa dee dooo, say you do remember . . .
DS: Ba de ya, Paulie, it’s a pop song, not a sea chanty.
PMG: Yes, oh Pop Master -
DS: My thoughts are with you, holding hands with your heart to see you . . .
PMG: Did we dance to this song? In that disco debacle?
DS: We danced to it all right. Not at a disco.
PMG: In the dancing parlor one?
DS: Oh honey, I don’t even remember the dancing parlor one - except that we tangoed so hard the night before, I never had to pretend to be exhausted . . .
PMG: Oh . . .
DS: Yes, ohs, and ohs, and ohs.
PMG: Fuck. You know I can’t write like this.
DS: Like what, Paulie? Sails billowed? Full mast? Locked and loaded?
PMG: So the song, Davey. Give me a hint.
DS: Okay, okay, just because I’m feeling generous. You remember when Karen came back to do that episode
PMG: Not the dead hooker girlfriend one?
DS: No, not the dead hooker girlfriend one - the bitch reporter one - and we had to ride all smashed together in the front seat of the Tomato for days and days - all three of us?
PMG: Fucking car.
DS: It’s like a Pavlovian response with you isn’t it? Do you act that way around actual tomatoes I wonder?
PMG: I remember you fucking with me.
DS: Yes, and Karen got pissed and asked me if I wanted to trade seats?
PMG: And you didn’t know your mic was on and you said something really rude and she punched you in the balls?
DS: Yes, after all that. You do remember the oddest things.
PMG: If she hadn’t, I would’ve. I just wanted to get done with the day - you wanted to prove to her you were the stud of the set.
DS: Let’s not get into that right now. You’re killing my buzz.
PMG: Buzz?
DS: So yes, you were peeved and so I took you out to Malibu . . .
PMG: Peeved? I was peeved?
DS: You were rock hard and fucking pissed. Is that better?
PMG: Better than peeved.
DS: And we ended up in that bar in Topanga and you kept playing that song over and over and we got hammered and . . .
PMG: Ohhhh, that night.
DS: Yes, that night. Do you remember?
PMG: Remember how the stars stole the night away . . .
DS: If you were here right now . . .
PMG: I am here right now.
DS: Oh fuck.
PMG: And you’re here right now.
DS: You’re trying to kill me aren’t you?
PMG: And you were all blond and glowing and high and you still had on those fucking pants from the show and you were grinding on some woman who called you Hutch . . .
DS: And you were sprawled in that chair in front of me - your fucking shirt unbuttoned down to your dick.
PMG: And you just kept grinding and looking at me with those fucking eyes . . .
DS: And we ended up in the back room . . .
PMG: I dragged your ass in the back room.
DS: And you pushed me against something . . .
PMG: And you were all cocky and wouldn’t let me kiss you . . .
DS: I would’ve exploded if you’d kissed me.
PMG: So you just shoved me to the floor . . .
DS: Fuck, Paulie, we were hot when we were young.
PMG: We’re pretty hot now.
DS: You know this isn’t going to end well.
PMG: Hasn’t ended yet.
DS: Well, all I know that when you get on your knees, it’s usually over for me.
PMG: Really, you want to talk now?
DS: I’m just saying . . .
PMG: Stop. Fucking get your dick out so I can suck you dry.
DS: Fuck . . .
PMG: So then your head fell back and you shoved your hands in my hair and I grabbed your ass and you just kept gasping and breathing and then you started shouting oh fuck oh fuck oh
DS: Fuck . . .
PMG: And then you slid down onto the floor in front of me and you ran your hand up my chest and . . .
DS: and . . .
DS: and . . .
PMG: and someone’s at my door.
DS: at the bar?
PMG: At my house. They can see me in the window.
DS: What?
PMG: Oh fuck, oh fuck. It’s, I don’t know. I gotta go - fuck. Sorry, Davey.
DS: Oh I’m good Paulie, I’m good.
PMG: Really? Already?
DS: You had me at glowing and grinding.
PMG: I’ll call you right back.
DS: I’ll be the one at the bar . . .
PMG: Rock hard and pissed?
DS: Well, rock is not really an adjective I throw around a lot these days - let’s just say the sails are tilted into the wind . . .
PMG: Just don’t drop anchor till I call you back.
DS: Work on your metaphors while you’re gone, will ya? I can’t take it.