I tried to get her out of my head… She was just a girl- something you just use, keep around for a few weeks, and then toss away once you’re bored. She was supposed to be just a tissue: pick up, use, throw away- pick up, use, throw away, repeat. She was supposed to be a passing fancy until the next best thing came by- but it never came.
I managed to make it to stage two of the unwritten “guy code”: keep around for a few weeks, but never made it any further. I’m young, vibrant, powerful, good-looking, and yet… here I am. From the outside of this glass house, I can see that I attached to this metaphorical ball-and-chain, but how can I judge from the outside when I am no longer the mere passerby. I live in this green house.
“This is different,” I tried to repeat to myself.
My better sense of judgment screams to me, “What the fuck are you doing?”
My lesser sense of judgment peeps, “I don’t fucking know.”
So I asked myself, “David, what’s different?”
What’s different? Is she really the best you’ve ever had? No, it can’t possibly be. The best I’ve ever had was the 6th… no, 8th Amanda I had? Now she knew how to have sex. If anything, this one, Tina, fit in snuggly between girl number 18 and whatever number I’m at because I stopped counting.
Why did I stop counting? Jesus- I’m a whore. Really, the only times numbers matter are: statistics which no people care about, taxes which some people care about, and the number of World Series the Yankees won already which all people care about. Still, the question remains: what’s different.
How open her mind is- yeah, right. Number 27- no that’s the number of World Series the Yankees won. How about… number A, yeah, number A cared about politics, animal’s rights, et cetera, et cetera, and of course, being vegan. Now that I think about it, for a vegan, she really liked giving blow jobs. It definitely isn’t an open mind though. Fuck it, I don’t know.
I sighed and rested my head against the pillow. Looking outside, there was a flashing, red beacon perched atop a skyscraper. While I enjoyed staring at repeated flashing lights as the next person, the smell of wet hair wafted into my nose. I propped my head up a bit and sniffed around… nothing. Then I buried myself into the pillow and took a brief sniff. There it is. I’ll keep it on my list of things to do.
Fuck. So what’s different? She has a great character? I frowned and shook my head as I scoffed. Every girl has a “great” character once you get to know them. Usually it’s that “great” character that I get bored of and end up dumping for some frivolous reason. Then there are girls like Tammy- she was just a bitch. I could say girls like Tina are one in a million, but- actually, that’s right. Girls like Tina
are one in a million, but there’s seven billion people in this world, and the nice ones are all equally nice. I just happened to meet every single one of them. Speaking of Tina-
Tina was just one phone call away, one text, and she’d be here. At the same time, I’d lose track and end up spending all my time with her. Not to say that, in of itself, is such a negative, but it does make me wonder as to why it isn’t such a negative. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find out why if I see her again…
“Pussywhipped,” the greater of two judgments shouted.
“Overly romantic,” corrected the lesser of the two.
That’s right, but then again, I couldn’t just stop calling her. I sighed once again. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. As I got up from my bed, I groaned a little. Looking around, I finally spotted my phone. I could call, but it
is dinner time, so I’ll just call her after- right? That’s the most gentlemanly thing to do at this hour.
“Pussywhipped,” affirmed the lesser of the two.
God, that carpet felt good. I could feel those soft tendrils coursing across the bottom of my feet. Like a game, I shuffled myself all the way to the kitchen where my warm feet were met with the cool sting of marble. After sauntering over to a cabinet, I pulled out a large frying pan. A few almost fell out, but I barely managed to juggle the clanking tools before committing myself to a balancing act on one foot.
BZZZZZ.
My phone received a text.
BZZZZZ.
Jesus Christ, chill the fuck out.
BZZZZZ.
Any more and you’d think I had an anal plug… No? No more texts? I quickly plopped the mass of frying pans down creating a cacophony of dissident clanks, clangors, and thumps. After that feat, I whipped out my phone.
“Hey baby”
“Can I come over?”
“I want to show you something ;)”
“Sure. Did you already get dinner?”
“No”
“Don’t get anything”
“K, be there in 20”
It looked like I did it. I couldn't help a slight smirk and began whistling while I cooked. Then again, I didn't do anything, she asked. Was it that she always surprised me with the little things to keep our relationship adventurous? I figured decent Alfredo pasta, mixed veggies, and chicken would be enough. Knowing her, she was going to bring some kind of wine.
The fire rose to my chest and sweat poured down as I poured oil into the skillet. The raw chicken crackled and whispered their final hurrahs of being uncooked before turning milky white. The veggies I set up remained in the steamer and the scent of summer filled my palette. My hands were masterful. They grated cheese, created a pesto blend, and diced chicken in record time. Was it motivation? Is that why I was with her? Did she motivate me to do things that I wouldn’t normally do? That reminded me, I should have thrown the pillow in the wash.
I took a long look at the meal unfolding before my eyes- I’m sure it’ll be fine for a minute. As I ran off, I nearly skipped as I happily did my chore. It must be motivation right? I pressed a button- and nothing. Press it again- and the machine is broken. I kicked it a few times and it roared back into life. By the sounds of it, I didn’t clean it out properly. I waited a few seconds before realizing my food was still on the stove. As I frantically dashed around the corner, there she was. Tina.
She stood there in an elegant business dress. The sequined, tan jacket carefully kept in place with her similarly styled mini-skirt held up by a thin, white, double belt. Her azure blouse was tucked in- pulling the upper half over her cleavage; quite a sight to behold.. Her chestnut hair cascaded down to her breasts and her emerald eyes gave a mischievous twinkle. Two small beauty marks on her cheek rose up as she gave a beautiful grin. Her lavender perfume overpowered the rest of the currently cooking food. She threw on an apron as she took over cooking for me.
“Hey! I wanted to make sure everything was alright. This all looks great!” she shouted over the fire.
On the table sat a paper brown bag. It looked like it went through hell, Mordor, and back again, but there it stood. Judging by the shape of it, she did exactly how I suspected: another bottle of wine.
I replied, “I can’t wait to open the wine.”
“Wine?” she asked, “It’s not wine.”
I frowned. Almost skeptical, I opened the bag and it was a giant handle of whiskey.
She peeped, “You seemed a little down recently. I wanted to make you feel better.”
This girl, I thought, she knew exactly how I felt. This was a great surprise for me. Almost as if she knew telepathically, she continued, “That’s not the surprise.”
She gave a wry wink as she continued cooking. Something jumped up in my heart. I felt it pounding all the sudden as my mouth drew a little saliva. She had fully secured my curiosity. “What is this surprise?” was the only thing going through my head. Right before I could ask, I heard the laundry machine chime.
I hesitantly interjected, “Hold on honey.”
Surprise. Surprise. She’s not holding anything. I’m sure it’s about a vacation or something amazing at work. She’s talented and hard-working. That’s probably it! It’s a raise or even a promotion.
“David?” I heard her shout.
“One minute!” I replied.
“Dump her already. You don’t even know why you’re dating her!” my greater judgment demanded.
I guess, out of good faith, I’ll act surprised, congratulate her, and spend the rest of the night sleeping together. I pulled the pillow cover out of the laundry machine. It smelled like- commercialized spring. Good enough I guess.
“Clearly not perfect if you’re okay with good enough, loser,” it continued.
My peace of mind was suddenly interrupted by a loud shattering-like sound. Metal bounced off marble followed by a disgusting splat. She fell.
I rushed over only to see her on the floor. I gasped for air. Was she alright? Is she okay? Is she hurt? Please be okay. Oh fuck, I hope it’s not kids. Is it kids? Fuck- Its kids isn’t it?
Frantically, I shouted, “Tina! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
She gave me a pained smile. Pillow case in hand, I attempted to clean her up. That’s when I heard the buzzing sound. The fuck was that?
A distinct buzzing sound began echoing from the tiles. Her face grew a deep shade of red as she started to shake. Her body began convulsing as she grabbed onto my leg. Her tiny fingers latched onto me and started digging into me. Her lower body rocketed up as she flew back. Her back arched as she tilted her head on the tile floor and air left her tiny body at a rate that she couldn’t suck back in. Her gasps for air turned into all out moans. She gave one final shout, one final shudder, and something like clear water shot out at me. She fell back down onto the floor in a mix of pure ecstasy and pure pride.
Exasperated, she barely uttered, “I… I tried to keep it in, but I couldn’t.”
There she was in a pool of her own ejaculation. She had left a violently vibrating, pink dildo in herself the whole time while she was over. Her body was at her limit for that moment, but her eyes asked for far more.
“I knew you loved squirters. I learned how to David,” she puffed out.
Too stunned to respond like a normal person, I asked, “What about dinner?”
She begged, “Fuck dinner David. Fuck me already.”
I shook my head as I laughed to myself. This girl… I honestly don’t know what I love about her, but who is to say that I need one thing. I love everything about her.
