Caligula and Caesar's American Adventure

Four in the Morning (Cae)

Let’s get one thing straight. I take no issue with self-pleasure or whatever the fuck you want to call it. A little fiddle beneath the sheets, fine. You know, you gotta do what you gotta do and that’s fine by me, but I’d rather not have to fucking listen to it. Wait, no – listening is a choice. I was fucking forced to hear it. The camper ain’t that big. In fact, there is an angle from which I can fucking see Cali from my bed. And yes, I saw her. I thought she was fucking dying so I looked, in case I had to fucking resuscitate her but no, she was just fucking. Herself. She had her hand rammed down her pants and then I looked away. For fuck’s sake, the fucking noises she was making. It’s a wonder she’s always up for a fuck if she’s doing that to herself the way I saw her fucking doing it.

And, to add insult to injury, I lost my fucking earphones, so even with a pillow over my head I could hear her fucking herself for, like, half an hour more. It really freaked me out, I feel kinda perverted just writing it down, God. So she finally stopped and fell asleep and safe to safe, I didn’t get a fucking wink last night and now I’m fucking shattered. And then, this happened just, like, ten minutes ago.

So, I’m eating toast (it’s really just stale bread) at, like, seven in the morning, and Cali comes out of her room and grins at me, and I’m a bit freaked out by last night still. Makes me wonder how many times I haven’t heard her fucking herself. Hopefully the fucking waiter took care of her until now. And anyway, I’m drinking orange juice and she shakes the carton and it’s empty.

Cali: “Why’s it fucking empty?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, I finished it.” And I hold up my empty glass, and she. Fucking. Slaps. Me. Across the face. With her wank hand. And I sure as fuck didn’t hear the taps running last night.

Cali: “You owe me juice.”

Me: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?”

Cali: “Jesus, chill. Just a slap. Wasn’t even hard.”

And I kind of recoil, and she looks all weirded out.

Cali: “The fuck is up with you?”

Me: “That’s your fucking fucking hand!” And I do some hand gestures, and she laughs.

Cali: “Oh, you heard?”

Me: “I fucking saw.”

Cali: “Chill, we’ve talked about this before. It’s the only thing to do at four in the morning. Haven’t you ever?” And then she gave me the most judgemental look ever.

Me: “Well, yeah, but, you know, not in a fucking camper van. People can hear you. It’s awkward.”

Cali: “Loosen up. Live a little.”

Me: “I’m loose enough, thank you. Maybe you should tighten up a bit.”

And then she wiggles her fingers and grins. “Can’t complain there.”

Me: “Ew, no. Wash your hands.”

Cali: “Gotta get my kicks somehow. Seeing as I didn’t get my gas fuck.”

Me: “You talk like a fucking whore with the libido of, I don’t know, a fucking rabbit.”

Then Cali gets this evil glint in her eyes. “Talking of a fucking rabbit.”

And I have to physically hold her down. I do not want to see that.

So anyway, she finally washed her hands and now we’re on the coast and it’s so beautiful that I can forget about this morning, and I’m looking forward to looking at that Pilgrim rock thingymabob. Cali’s looking for an entirely different kind of pilgrim rock.