A Nerd Writes His Mission Statement

A Novel by David I. Cohen

About 61,000 words

For Your Consideration


“Perverse, vulgar, and disturbing... a profound coming-of-age story with vivid imagery that I never will be able to get out my head.

I still suffer nightmares long after reading it — but what an amazing and mesmerizing book.”

~ Hilda Chasia-Smith (author), 2022


In his childhood, the innocent and awkward, Dinty Oyagen, stumbles upon a group of boys tormenting naked girls in a club initiation rite. Thus begins his rude awakening to the outlandish physical world that exists beyond his bookshelf. As a closet masturbator and timid personality, Oyagen realizes he must somehow figure out how to become more manly or else remain an eternal dweeb. While dealing with the many obstacles of life, Oyagen is surprised to discover that he is a magnet for outrageous father figures and insatiable nymphomaniacs, all seeking to mold him into what they believe he must become. Strange circumstances lead Oyagen into the depraved worlds of porn, casinos, celebrities, Russian whores, and Hollywood party crashers. All of Oyagen's many sordid adventures culminate in one fateful night of robbery, debauchery, and an unforgettable, transformative, experience in downtown Las Vegas.


“OK,” I told Frankie, “Give me the name of your residential college and room number, and I’ll come over in about another hour. Do you want me to bring anything?

Frankie seemed to examine my crotch, then stated, “No, I’ve got everything we’ll need.”

Anyway, cut to me ringing Frankie’s doorbell, and she answered in a bright yellow bathrobe. Her brown curls made a nice contrast to her casual attire as she cradled PoopScoop in her arms, a scowling Siamese that I sincerely doubted would like me at all.

Frankie offered PoopScoop for me to pat and, as she did so, I got a much closer look at those wondrous impertinent titties, barely concealed now by her skimpy robe. They looked so tasty that I just ached to pull them out and chew upon them. I couldn’t help but wonder if they tasted like California sunshine.

“PoopScoop, this is our new friend, say hello to him.”

I tentatively placed my hand upon the cat’s back, resting it there for about five seconds; then, suddenly, he swiped me with his sharp claws, digging a nail into my hand, and drawing blood. As I flinched in pain, Frankie quickly withdrew PoopScoop, scolding him angrily.

“PoopScoop, that is NO way to treat a guest! Shame on you!”

Smiling, Frankie released PoopScoop onto the floor and held my bleeding hand.

“So sorry,” Frankie said in mock concern, “I can tell he really likes you though because if he didn’t, he never would have let you touch him!”

Well, who was I to argue the point? After all, I did not know PoopScoop as well as Frankie did. Moreover, I was not about to dispute anything coming from a girl with luscious tits who I hoped would get naked and dirty with me, sooner than later.

With my hand properly bandaged, Frankie proceeded to give me a tour of her one bedroom dorm space. She was one of the lucky students, seeing that she did not have a room-mate, and could obtain the kind of privacy I sorely missed. To that effect, Frankie decorated the walls with posters of anatomy and other such medical images.

She even had a skeleton placed in a corner of the living room, and each bone had been labeled with the appropriate name. As I wandered through her abode, my nose was treated to a confluence of smells... the overpowering stench emanating from the cat’s litterbox, located in the living room, mixed with the natural spicy aromas of Frankie’s naked body, that she likely pressed against every piece of furniture, like a cat marking its territory.

The entire olfactory experience succeeded in making me hard as hell, and I doubt that I did a good job hiding it from Frankie, who occasionally glanced most approvingly at my protruding bulge.

“Listen, Dinty,” she intoned into my ear, “I’ve got an early class tomorrow so I really don’t have much time to fuck. Maybe about half an hour, at most... do you like classical music?

I thought that was a strange non sequiter but I nodded my head.

“Great!” Frankie exulted, “I’ll place the conclusion of Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony on the player…it times out to about 30 minutes, and let’s see if we can both cum at the same time when the final bells and chimes ring at the end of the piece….then once it happens, you’ve got to clean up and get the hell out of here, I can not oversleep tomorrow’s class!”

And with the rules established, Frankie pulled out a disc, placed it into the player, tossed her glasses aside, dropped her robe, and pulled me down to the living room carpet, as Mahler’s symphony swelled loudly in the background. She had a firm, athletic, body, and preferred legs over shoulders, as I buried myself deeply into her belly, our foreheads pressed together, inhaling her urgent grunting, California, fuck-breath. Tugging roughly at Frankie’s curly hair and squeezing her floppy breasts, I felt as though Mahler himself was conducting our passionate intercourse, because could not help but time each and every thrust to the epic music. There is something about Mahler that inspires pure synchronicity because, when that rousing musical climax arrived with so many bells ringing, we had become two intertwined bodies of soaked flesh, experiencing pure simultaneous orgasms, cunt and cock joining the symphony choir in pure ecstasy and divine release.

For the next several months, Frankie and I would sex each other frequently, at least four times a week. When she knew my roommate was away, she loved to appear in a raincoat, entirely naked beneath, and always preferred being fucked on the floor, typically in 30 minute segments, with Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony serving as the timer. She always preferred legs over shoulders, because she insisted she wanted to feel my cock as deeply as possible, beyond her trembling vagina, and all the way inside her fuck-hungry belly. I cannot recall having so many simultaneous orgasms with any other woman and I suppose I only have Maestro Mahler to thank for that.

I often wondered if Mahler had been inspired to write that rousing symphony ending, under the special inspirations of his own private sex trainer, but then I really knew nothing about Mahler’s love life, and never got around to researching it.

The only downside: when we would debauch each other at Frankie’s place, PoopScoop frequently would attack my bare feet and legs while I was buried inside Frankie, knowing that I could not retaliate and, to this day, I still have visible scars from PoopScoop’s teeth and claws as reminders of those numerous feline assaults.

Our musical encounters would continue until Frankie made the terrible mistake so many women make: she bragged about her intimate exploits to her best friend, an associate professor in philosophy named Sabrina and there are certain things in life that should best be kept a secret.


As for myself... David Cohen... I was supposed to die at age one.

Nerdmission Author

I contracted Golden Staph, a disease that killed most babies. Thanks to an experimental drug, I survived, yet a chronic lack of oxygen to my brain contributed to an offbeat perspective of things.

As a Yale graduate, aside from obtaining a degree in Economics, I studied creative writing under the renowned, curmudgeonly, novelist/editor, Gordon Lish, who once told me, “ Cohen, you write the kind of mesmerizing, obscene, crap that, if you ever become serious, will make you a fortune, yet gain you absolutely no respect.”

I am no stranger to the topic of nerds.

Back in 1985, I wrote/ directed the cult film, “Hollywood Zap,” about a nerd from Mississippi searching for his long lost father in Hollywood. The film featured several Hollywood stars, such as Chuck Mitchell (Porky’s) and Tony Cox (Bad Santa). It was endorsed by artistic luminaries such as John Waters (Hairspray), Paul Bartel (Eating Raoul), and Mark Mothersbaugh (Devo).

Reviewed June 8, 2023: 'Tom Baker of "Geeks" declares "Hollywood Zap" to be a Feel-Good Movie'

Trailer for Hollywood Zap!

Years ago, as a screenwriter, I was represented by David Wirtschafter, currently a partner in William Morris Endeavor (WME).

Bouncing around the worlds of finance, film, casinos, and music, I’ve had a lifetime of eclectic, memorable, experiences. From giving provocative speeches to thousands in Las Vegas to creating a library of 60 songs as shadow musician, “Catman Cohen,” I now aim to provide a meaningful fiction that impacts these oft meaningless times. In writing, “A Nerd Writes His Mission Statement,” the entire idea was born of innumerable regrets, sexual frustration, daily stool softeners, haunting memories, and earnest, silent, prayers for divine revelations within the darkness that surrounds us all.

If you feel you can be of assistance, then I would be more than happy to supply you or your associates any pertinent materials you may request, and thank you for your kind attention.


David I. Cohen
20992 Uptown Ave., #303
Boca Raton, FL 33428

Home: 561-880-0244 (voice only)
Smartphone: 310-869–1136


© 2024 David Cohen