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That night Nicole found me, Peter and I had been on the road for six months; we were about a hundred cities into the tour. If the fantasy is that we're having sex, I don't want to just zip up my pants the second we're done and leave. She also told me that her mother had passed away recently and that she'd been having a tough time with it—they'd been especially close.Three nights later, in Oklahoma City, I was getting ready for bed out in the van when my cell phone rang. The next few times we talked, she was still whispering, which was starting to seem a little suspicious.I went to the window, peered through the curtains—the parking lot was dark and still. Maybe so, but I was just that bored and lonely enough to play along."Well," I said. We made these shirts for our rec-league basketball team. Not that I was opposed to it—it was just one of those things that never came up. I'm pumping in and out of you, like, well…well, like an oil derrick! I'm the sword, baby, and you're the scabbard! We burned from one city to the next in a 1999 Dodge van we'd bought on e Bay.
I was busy, and I was dating real girls—real in that they were in the flesh in front of me, and real in that they were unquestionably biological girls.She refused, and for the next week I wouldn't answer her calls. One time I even asked a girl I met at one of the Found readings for details of what happens on the visit to the gynecologist, then asked Nicole the same thing. "They come at you with that speculum—it's like a medieval torture device." I pressed her to continue, but she wasn't going to pay these games with me. Ten out of ten male friends I polled had no idea what that was. Sometimes we'd talk for half an hour before phone sex.Out in my van after a long night in Phoenix or Des Moines, I'd be lonely, drunk, and depressed, and tell her about my problems.I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing all right."That night, on the shoulder of I-94, big rigs howling past, I thought of Nicole. We should meet up." There was a long pause, the kind of silence you hear when the TV's showing footage of a plane crash or a natural disaster and the anchorman's at a loss for words. It's fucking freezing here, anyway."Ten days later, I was in Austin. This was the kind of girl I'd move to Texas for. I turned away and headed out of the restaurant, almost bumping into a guy on his way in.We'd had kind of a nice connection, hadn't we? Nicole suggested we get together at an Applebee's off I-35 at the far-north end of town. I wondered if we'd be having sex in my hotel room tonight. He was black with a shaved head, about 30 years old. Then slowly, shyly, he raised his hand and gave a little wave. We went inside and sat in a booth far from everyone.She said her boyfriend was studying just outside her bedroom door. "Just talk out loud for a second so I can hear your real voice." She refused.I got a little freaked out—was this a guy I'd been talking to? Still, she seemed like a girl—there'd been a few times when I thought I'd heard her real voice, times when she laughed, times when she moaned. Houston, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Tampa—Nicole and I skittered across the South; it was like Badlands for the new millennium (less killing, more "anytime minutes").Every few nights, I'd be out in the van after a show, making my bed in the backseat, when Nicole would call, and we'd get hot and heavy.I was still wary that this was all some crazy prank by my friends and that our calls were being recorded, so during phone sex I kept things tongue-in-check, as though hamming it up for an audience.But I also felt bad that I'd left Nicole in the lurch, and on occasion I'd still have a late-night phone visit with her.We were like those couples who break up but still end up sleeping together every once in a while.