The Chronicles of Heavy73
Part 3 of an Ongoing Series: In the Dark; Illuminated
March 20, 2014: Heavy73 was already drunk. The remainder of his Thursday night was not going as terribly as he might have anticipated, given that it had begun with Dave and Company setting him up with a pillow in the shape of a woman’s lower half. Despite the presence of the lap pillow in the booth with them, however, the guys eventually more or less dropped the subject and got back to the usual bullshitting. But whether or not anyone was acknowledging it, irreparable damage had been done to Heavy’s pride, and he knew he would never fully recover his dignity in the eyes of his friends. Heavy73 tried his best to act unfazed throughout the rest of the evening, but his defeated eyes and distracted affect revealed he was lost to the group, trapped inside the total humiliation he had just suffered, perhaps permanently.
And here was this thing. This fleshy lap-pillow thing in a cheap little skirt, which it turned out Dave had found through a Japanese company that had previously been responsible for making a pillow in the shape of a male torso, complete with a heat pad and simulated heartbeat, which they called the “Boyfriend Pillow.”
“Those gooks are fucking weird, man,” Brian volunteered.
“Don’t call ‘em gooks, moron.” Dave corrected. “They’re Japs or Nips, Gooks are the Chinese or something.”
“No wait,” Tom chimed from the peanut gallery, “I thought Gooks were supposed to be the Vietnamese.”
“Doesn’t fucking matter idiot, either way they’re not the Japs is what I’m saying. But yeah, the Japs are real fuckin’ weird, man.”
Still, the pillow. Miss L, Dave had named it. It was a cuddling device of sorts, but not the sort of cuddling Heavy73 had been thinking of when he wrote and rewrote his AshleyMadison profile. The disembodied lap was aimed at filling some kind of maternal role, 73 surmised; a little boy’s need to be close to a womb. His mind wandered to his own childhood, to Saturdays when his parents left him with a revolving cast of girls from his neighborhood. What the hell were their names? Nights when his parents were staying out late, Lisa or Katie or whoever the fuck would let him stay up and watch scary movies, his head cradled in their collective lap. He took another drink.
Heavy leered at the pillow through the bottom of his glass, and found himself wondering what exactly was under the skirt. He allowed his hand to rest idly on its thigh. “No,” he thought, “Not its thigh, Miss L's thigh.”
Two hours and six drinks later, Heavy73 stumbled out to the parking lot, and it wasn’t until he reached the door of his Chevy Suburban that he realized he had actually brought the lap pillow with him, slung over his shoulder like a drunk girl sawed in half. He thought he should be ashamed, assumed he would be later when the liquor wore off, but just now he was happy to have her. He walked around to the passenger side of the truck, placed her gently in the seat, wondered whether to fasten the seatbelt.
Heavy slumped into the driver’s seat and promptly dropped his keys in between his plump legs and onto the car floor. He did his best to recover them, feeling slightly more limber than usual thanks to the liquor, but was having no luck reaching his keys all the same. He tilted his head to his right, sounding the horn with his meaty cheek as he bent farther forward than he’d managed to in at least a decade, when he started to lose his focus on the task at hand. With his head angled toward the passenger seat, he had become distracted by the hemline of Miss L’s skirt.
The halogen lights of the parking lot cast chiaroscuro shadows over her half-body, the shadows deepening where her thighs met the red satin, and there was an accompanying stirring in his groin; but more than anything, Heavy73 felt like he needed somewhere soft to rest his head.
About the Series
Until the recent appearance of AshleyMadison in headlines and the news of its apparent hacking, I had all but forgotten about this particular dark corner of the internet. When I heard of the hack and that two men’s profiles had been made public by The Impact Team, I became intrigued by the idea of what might have been going through their heads when they decided to sign up, and what that experience might have entailed. But instead of seeking out the real details of Brockton, Massachusetts’ own Heavy73, I decided to let the hazy sketch I had gleaned from articles develop into their own portrait of a man who is deeply flawed, to say the least. Please enjoy. - NS