Eugene felt like a hotdog in a microwave. He worked his fingers through his thinning light brown hair and looked over at the express lane, for car pools only, and bit his lower lip. "If only I were a car pool," he mumbled to himself, and pushed back his glasses, preventing them from sliding off his sweaty face. It was mid-July in Phoenix and his Ford Festiva lacked air conditioning, so he had to repeat the motion every few minutes. Eventually, his hand grew tired and he allowed the glasses to slide off his face into his lap. He squinted at his plastic wristwatch and knew that he would again be late for work.
Eugene's job as a stock clerk at K-B Shoe Outlet paid only $6.50 per hour, but after his last "nervous episode" he was lucky to be employed. Mrs. Plunkett, his pretty blonde psychiatric nurse at Phoenix General, had gone out of her way to get him the job, and he didn't want to let her down, the way he had so many women in his life, including his ex-wife who called him a wimp, and his mother who often introduced him to people as "my son the screw up."
Eugene's throat tightened and his eyes stung. On the verge of crying, he looked at the shimmering express lane and recalled his thwarted attempts to car pool. Each of his coworkers claimed not to live in his vicinity, yet he had learned otherwise when he saw the employee contact sheet. Eugene thought about the conspiracy against him and his face and ears burned with an impotent rage. He was about to pound his small pale fist on the car horn when the traffic congestion unclogged and flushed him along the expressway.*
Mr. Plunkett narrowed his eyes when Eugene clocked in fifteen minutes late. "This is the third time this week," said Plunkett, "and it's only Wednesday." He folded his arms over his protruding belly. "If this keeps up, I'm going to can your ass." He rubbed his oily-looking bald head. "If it wasn't for my wife, I would've cut you loose a long time ago." He rolled his eyes. "She says it would be detrimental to your self-esteem." He forced air through his nose. "Well, she is a professional, so I guess she should know."
Eugene's heart rhythm sped up and his palms were slick with sweat. "I'm very grateful to you and your wife," he said, rattling off his usual apology. "I'm going to do better. Please, sir, give me another chance."
Plunkett just stood there, arms crossed, round face looming like a red balloon. Eugene wondered how a woman as pretty as his former nurse could have married such a fat ugly man.
"Yeah, yeah" said Plunkett. "I don't want any trouble with my old lady," he wagged a thick finger, "but if this happens again your ass is grass." He turned around, showing his wide rear, and walked into the store.
The rest of the day, Plunkett's warning nipped at Eugene like a piranha on a wounded catfish. He couldn't lose his job; with his mental health record nobody else would hire him; he'd end up living off a SSI check in Section Eight Housing. Plagued by these worries, he trudged through work, stocking shelves like a lobotomized zombie, oblivious even to his coworkers' snickers behind his back. That evening, on his way home, he glowered at the express lane and bit his tongue until it bled.*
Eugene walked into his cramped studio apartment, stripped down to his lightly stained skivvies and opened a can of Spam. After his divorce, filing for bankruptcy, losing his house, and in a Xanax inspired haze, wandering into traffic naked except for the obscenities he'd scrawled on his hairless chest with his ex-wife's red lipstick, Eugene was experiencing some difficulty bouncing back.
He sat on his futon bed/couch and ate his Spam with a plastic fork. All the while, the unfairness of restricting the express lane to carpoolers ignited his flesh like full-body gonorrhea. He considered attempting again to find carpool buddies at work, but since all of his previous attempts had been useless he had no reason to expect things to be different.
At a loss and frustrated, Eugene decided to jerk off. He set aside the Spam can and reached under the futon for one of his many nudie magazines. With cock in hand, he skimmed the pages of a copy of Jugs, and stopped on a photo of a voluptuous blonde, sitting with her legs as open as the expressway on Sunday morning. She cupped her enormous perfectly round pink-nippled tits in her delicate hands and smiled invitingly. Eugene stroked his swollen shaft and imagined sliding himself between those huge nurturing mammaries, thrusting back and forth, feeling the luscious blonde's soft quivering flesh all around him, hearing her sighs and moans, and then at the height of his pleasure, shooting hot cum all over her face, which she would, without hesitation, lovingly lick up.
Eugene lay back on the futon, ejaculate drying on his stomach, and flipped through the magazine until he came to the advertisement section at the end. His eyes locked on the header: Never Be Alone Again! He read on: Solid Action Love Partner, 5'4" tall, with large breasts. Lola is the only doll that goes all the way! $29.95 plus $2.00 shipping and handling.
Eugene sat up. His fingertips tingled with excitement as he realized he'd solved his work dilemma. In the city of Phoenix, two or more people qualified as a car pool. He would put Lola in the passenger seat next to him and nobody would know the difference! He opened his checkbook and wrote out a check for $31.95, payable to the Woody Johnson Co., Inc. He smiled, and said to himself: "You're a pretty smart guy, Eugene."
The following morning, he looked over at the motorists in the express lane, and instead of the usual envy and rage, he felt jubilation, the soothing mantra running through his brain: Never be alone again.*
A week later, Eugene's package arrived in the mail. He looked at the return address label, W.J. Co., Inc., and knew that his Lola had found her way to him. Employing his newly discovered intellect, he had ready a bicycle pump and a $10.98 pink and yellow floral print sundress. He slid the dress over Lola's deflated body, arranged her long blonde hair over her shoulders, and proceeded to pump her to life. With each gush, she grew more voluptuous. Eugene's heart swelled with the pride of a father watching the birth of his child. After Lola was fully inflated, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. Not too shabby, he thought. Any man would be proud to carpool with this babe.
Eugene ate his customary can of Spam for dinner and watched The World's Wackiest Home Videos on TV. After a few hours, he became sleepy and opened the futon to bed size. Before clicking off the lamp, he looked at Lola lying on the floor. It just didn't seem right to leave her there, so he picked her up and put her in bed next to him. He thought for a moment that this was odd, but then dismissed the thought. It was the same thing as a kid sleeping with a teddy bear, he reasoned.
"Tomorrow, we'll show them," he whispered to his teddy bear and nestled against her cool shiny body. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard a woman's reassuring voice: I'm here for you, Eugene.*
In the morning, Eugene carried Lola down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot. He looked around, hoping that none of his neighbors would notice and make fun of him, but no one did. He opened the passenger-side door to his Ford Festiva and placed Lola in the seat. Driving down Mesa Street, he was so nervous he felt as though buzzards were devouring his entrails. "The moment of truth," he said through his teeth when he reached the onramp. He drove onto the freeway, signaled left, and entered the express lane. "Let's keep our fingers crossed," he said to Lola, under his breath.
In what seemed like no time, he was cruising into the employee parking area at K-B Shoe Outlet. He looked at Lola. "We did it!" he said. He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, about to remove his companion from her seat and put her in the trunk.
"Good God!" shouted Mr. Plunkett. "What in the hell are you doing?" His belly jiggled like the Anti Claus.
Eugene dropped Lola.
Plunkett scrutinized her where she lay. "Well, that's a relief," he said. "I thought you'd gone and murdered someone!" He removed a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Like they say," he chuckled, "it's the quiet ones you have to watch."
Eugene knelt down and picked up Lola.
"So," said Plunkett, "what in the heck are you doing with that thing?" He pointed a thick finger at Lola.
Eugene looked at his boss's fat red face and wondered again why Mrs. Plunkett had married him. "I didn't want to be late for work," he said, and confided his clever strategy for passing himself off as a carpool.
Plunkett ran the handkerchief over his face. "Eugene," he said, "you really are a rare bird." He chuckled. "But if this is what it takes to get you here on time, then I'm all for it!" He laughed again and walked back into the store, his enormous ass shrinking with the distance.
Eugene stood there holding Lola in his arms. Instead of putting her in the trunk as he'd planned, he rested her in the back seat. "I'll see you later," he whispered.
That morning he clocked in five minutes early.*
The next several weeks proceeded as though there had never been a conspiracy against Eugene. He was early for work and home in time for the evening news. Life made sense again.
He had become in the habit of, while watching television, positioning Lola next to him on the futon. One evening, while watching Believe It or Not!, Eugene put his hand on his companion's thigh and allowed it to rest there for a few pleasant moments.
His cock swelled in his pants.
He moved his hand again, this time to caress Lola's sleek inner thigh, her full breasts and protruding nipples. He stood up and looked into her unblinking eyes; they seemed to welcome him.
Eugene unzipped his pants and stroked his hard throbbing member. With the exception of Mrs. Plunkett, Lola had given him more support than any woman he'd known. He looked at her perky breasts sticking straight up like missiles; why not make love to her? He went into the bathroom, got a jar of Vaseline, greased his shaft, put Lola on the floor, climbed on top and pushed inside. Lola had the tightest pussy he'd ever had the pleasure of fucking, tighter even than the fourteen-year-old prostitute he'd frequented as an Army private stationed in the Philippines. The added pleasures of Lola's big bubble breasts underneath him and the smooth cool feel of her skin were more than he could bear. He came so hard, pumping his load into her that he felt as though his cock would blow off his body.
He rolled off and lay on the floor, panting. After several minutes, he sat up and looked at his cum-stained car pool buddy. Unlike his ex-wife, Lola didn't complain that he was a "two-minute man." In fact, she appeared quite satisfied. He brought a washcloth from the bathroom and lovingly wiped the jizz from her snatch.*
The following morning Mr. Plunkett greeted him in the parking lot. "Eugene," he said, "you've really shaped up over the past couple of months." A smile lit up his fat face. "I'm going to offer you a raise-an extra fifty cents an hour, starting today!" He clapped together his meaty hands.
"Thank you, sir," said Eugene. "Does Mrs. Plunkett know about this?"
Plunkett raised an eyebrow. "Why, yes," he said. "She suggested it actually, after I told her how well you'd been doing."
Eugene smiled and was glad to have made his former nurse proud. Lola would be proud, too. He sped through the day with the enthusiasm of a hyperactive kid in a candy store. He could barely wait to get home and celebrate.
After clocking out that evening, Eugene walked quickly to his car, pulled Lola from the back seat and repositioned her up front. "I got a raise today," he informed his dutiful paramour. "When we get home," he whispered, "I'm going to make love to you like no man has ever made love to you." His cock was hard just thinking about it.
He kept his foot on the gas pedal all the way to the freeway, entered the express lane, and was still speeding when he got off at the Mesa Street exit. A few blocks from his apartment, he heard a siren, and in the rearview mirror he saw a patrol car. He looked at Lola; she was staring straight ahead, depending on him to make everything all right. "Everything is under control," he said, although his heart was beating in his throat. "I won't let them hurt you." He rolled down the window as an officer approached the car.
The cop, who had a long pointy face and thick black hair, reminded Eugene of Sylvester Stallone in Rambo. "Do you know how fast-you-were . . ." A mixture of disgust and amusement spread across the policeman's angular face. "Is that an inflatable doll?" He looked at Lola.
Eugene just sat there.
"Hey, Jones!" The Stallone look-alike called his partner. "Check this out!"
"On my way, Sanchez!" shouted the partner. Jones had dirty blonde hair and a heavy jaw; Eugene thought he looked a lot like Chuck Norris in First Blood. "Well, this is something," said Jones, standing on the passenger-side of the car. He looked at Lola and laughed, softly at first, then loudly. Sanchez laughed, too, and soon the two cops were doubled over on the side of the road.
"License and registration," said Sanchez, after several minutes.
Eugene handed over the documents, which Sanchez scrutinized. All traces of laughter disappeared from the officer's face. "Jones," he said, "why do you think this scumbag is driving around with a doll in his car?"
Eugene hadn't been called "scumbag" since his army days. Sanchez and Jones reminded him of the drill sergeant who enjoyed torturing him with pushups in the rain.
Jones cracked his knuckles. "Well," he said to Sanchez, "when we first clocked him, he was on the express lane. So, I would say that this scumbag is trying to pass himself off as a car pool."
Sanchez scratched his pointy chin. "I think you're right," he said. "Hey, douche bag!" the officer shouted at Eugene. "Do you know that it's illegal to drive in the car pool lane when you're not really a car pool?"
Eugene just sat there.
"I asked you a question!" shouted Sanchez.
Eugene's throat constricted as though he'd swallowed cobra venom. He looked at Lola sitting next to him in her pink and yellow sundress and he knew that he would let her down.
Sanchez looked at Jones. "The perpetrator is non-responsive," he said.
"Get out of the vehicle!" shouted Jones. "Put your hands on your head!"
Eugene wondered how he was to open the car door with his hands on his head. He kicked the door handle with his foot.
"What's he doing?" said Jones.
Sanchez narrowed his eyes. "I think we got ourselves a wacko." He opened the door and pulled Eugene out by the hair.
When he fell onto the pavement his glasses flew off and landed next to Sanchez's boot. The officer stepped down, breaking them beneath his thick rubber sole.
Sanchez and Jones frisked Eugene, handcuffed him and searched his Festiva.
"Nothing," said Jones, after they'd completed the search; his disappointment was evident. "What do you want to do with him?"
Sanchez shrugged. "Drive him out to the desert and shove a glow stick up his ass?"
Jones smirked. "Too messy."
Sanchez looked at Eugene. "Buddy, you're lucky this isn't L.A.!"
Jones chuckled. He wrote Eugene two tickets: a fifty dollar speeding ticket and a two-hundred-fifty dollar ticket for illegal use of the car pool lane.
"OK, scum bag!" said Sanchez, "On your way!" Eugene was sitting on the pavement with his hands cuffed behind his back. Sanchez unlocked the handcuffs and Eugene walked towards the Festiva.
"Just a minute!" said Jones. "Hey, freekazoid," he said to Eugene, "what else do you do with that doll besides car pool?"
Eugene's innards turned to sludge. "Nothing," he murmured.
"Nothing?" mimicked Jones. "Well, in that case, you won't mind if I borrow her. My brother's getting married and that doll would make a great gag at the bachelor party."
Eugene watched Jones carry Lola, head down, to the patrol car. Her sundress slipped over her waist, revealing her pretty pink butt cheeks.
"Don't worry," said Sanchez. "She's in good hands." He pointed to Eugene's tickets. "And make sure you pay those." He smirked. "You don't want us to come looking for you."
The policemen drove away and Eugene felt hot urine running down the inside of his leg. He looked at the puddle forming on the pavement and realized that he was numb.*
Mr. Plunkett fired Eugene from the K-B Shoe Outlet. He had been late five days in a row and Plunkett said he'd rather have his do-gooder bleeding heart wife mad at him than have dead weight on the pay roll. Eugene stopped eating, wouldn't leave his apartment or return his mother's phone calls. After the fifth unreturned phone call, his mother came to the apartment. When Eugene wouldn't answer the door, she got the apartment manager to let her in. Eugene was pale, emaciated, and kept repeating to himself the words: Never be alone again. His mother called 911.
After a six-week voluntary stay at the Phoenix General psychiatric ward, Eugene obtained "an acceptable level of functionality," and moved into a new apartment. Mrs. Plunkett, who still worked at the hospital, confided in Eugene that she disagreed with her husband's decision to fire him. She helped him obtain employment as a fry cook at Burger Barn, where her nephew was a manager. Burger Barn was only two blocks away from Eugene's apartment, so he didn't have to worry about carpooling.
Tuesday nights, he attended an anxiety-management workshop in the basement of a nearby Methodist church. After several sessions, he'd quieted his negative self-talk enough to ask out one of his coworkers at Burger Barn. Dee was a single mother who was hired through Welfare to Workfare. She was tall and slender with long yellow hair and crooked teeth. When she smiled she covered her mouth with her hand in order to hide the teeth. At the end of her third date with Eugene she agreed to go up to his apartment for coffee, and maybe to watch some TV.
As she sat on the sofa with her coffee cup, Eugene walked into the bedroom and rolled back the closet door. He studied the pink and yellow sundress hanging behind his work uniform. Tonight he would ask Dee to model it for him. He imagined if she lay very still, she would look just like Lola.
Copyright © 2005 Rosanna ArmendarizSend us your comments on this article