Claire
“Come on, Claire baby. Why you gotta be mean? Let Zack have you one more time,” Zack—tonight’s coital transaction—pleads, despite my blatant efforts to usher him the hell out my front door.
I say “transaction” because Mr. Zack Hastings was not a fuck, not an amusing intercourse, not even an interaction, so much as an unimpressive transaction that I never want to experience again. My poor vagina concurs as memories of the Penis Poke Shuffle (a name I’ve coined for his apparent signature move, the one he attacked us with) begins to play as a nightmare in my mind, the sudden images causing both me and my clitoris to cringe.
“Oh, Christ, you feel so good.” Poke, poke, jab his stubby little penis went, over and over in some sort of odd asymmetric rhythm, a move which resulted in his nubbin hitting…nothing! No G-spot, no orgasm. Nada, zip, zilch. For me, anyway.
How can it be a hit-it-and-quit-it, if it can’t hit it?
Standing in my front hall listening to him plead his case, I can’t help but zone out…
“Tap, tap, tap…is this on?” I take the microphone as I make my way to centre stage. “Attention men of the world, please listen carefully…size does fucking matter. But so does how you use whatever you’ve got, and, yes—practice really does make perfect. Figure out your shortcomings and make up for them. I mean seriously, master the art of cunnilingus; become such an expert at peach nibbling that we become putty in your hands. And guess what? It won’t matter if the sex is good or not ’cause we’ll be so grateful for your mad oral skills we won’t even notice other areas where you’re lacking. We’ll be too busy in Nirvana to care. And maybe learn how to make us come with some hot tit play—again, the sex won’t necessarily matter. Google how to find that coveted G-spot quickly and efficiently. Strive to be known as ‘G-Spot guy’ versus ‘Stubby Dick Dude’. Whatever you choose, please do something to make up for what you lack. I mean, jeez, we do Kegels and have been practicing our oral skills on bananas since our high school slumber party days. All’s fair in the orgasm war. I mean, it is the point after all.
Am I right? Yeah, I fucking am.
Claire Knox out.”
Zack’s voice still nattering on bursts through my thoughts as the sound of my imaginary microphone drops from my hand and hits the stage floor with a thud.
He moves closer to me and rubs my nipple, licking his lips as if he thinks this is the art of seduction at its best.
“I can’t, Zack. It’s late and I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” I shove his hand off my boob, stepping around him, hoping my shift in position will force him closer to the door.
“Come on, Claire, you know you really want me to stay. No need to play hard to get, doll. I’m all in.”
Whoa? Did we just reach DEFCON 1? Did this dude forget the rules?
“I’m not nearly done with you,” he smiles, and the dimples I once found sexy are full on, but unlike before, they do nothing. “We could go again and again all night. God, your pussy felt so good around my cock.” He grabs his dick with his free hand and I swear my vagina goes on lockdown at his offer. I can hear the gates clanging shut and the whoop whoop of the alarm.
“Sorry, Zack. We had our fun, but it’s time for you to go. Besides, I was clear with my intentions from the start and you told me you were looking for the same thing. No take backs, mister.” I tap his chest semi-playfully.
“Yeah, but that was before. Now that I’ve tasted you, I want more of—”
I raise my hand to stop him from going on and embarrassing himself. “Listen. I have rules, and reasons for them. I know what I want and it’s not this.” I gesture between us. “Again, we had fun, but it’s over. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear enough about what this was. I’m not looking for more.”
“Come on, baby doll, you know I gave you a good ride, ate that pussy like I owned it. More would be so good between us.” He gyrates while holding his junk, and I have to stifle a laugh. This dude is unreal. It’d been months since I had sex, and I chose him?
My brain is shouting at me to get rid of this guy before he scars us for life. He needs to go ASAP, so we can watch some really hot porn before bed to erase any memory of him, replacing it with one of happier times: just me, my clitoris, my porn hub and my trusty purple LELO.
Unfortunately, Zack Hastings is the worst sex I’ve ever had, and the sad part? He doesn’t seem to get it. This man is gonna make me be mean if he doesn’t get to steppin’.
“Come on, you know it was the best ride you’ve had.”
I bite my tongue. Hard.
I stand face-to-face with him trying to figure out what to say.
What I really want to say is this: “Zack, your skills in bed are comparable to painting your living room—all kinds of fun and exciting choosing the colour and shade and buying the paint, but then you get home and start, and you realize not only is it a shit ton of work, but it’s a bit of a mess and fucking boring, too. Waiting for you to get either of us off was like watching mother-fucking paint dry. Boring! Your dick only speaks missionary, and it’s so tiny I swear my vagina rejoiced and shouted out in prayer when the stubby fucker finally came. Lastly, don’t even get me started on your attempts at dominance; I mean who the hell are you to tell me when to rub my clit? I mean, if you wanna play with her, by all means, please do. But, fucker, it’s my clit, and me and her, we go way back so I know when my girl needs my attention. Now leave before I scar your manhood for life.” I want nothing more to snap my fingers in his face and shout “Booyah!”
But I don’t.
Instead I take a deep breath, swallow a laugh, and take the high road.
“Again, Zack, as nice as that all sounds, I can’t. We’ve hit our three-date threshold. It’s late and I’m done. Thank you again for a nice night.” I hand him his baseball hat and keys from the small wooden table, hoping this will finally be goodbye.
“I remember,” he scowls, but still tries to pull me closer. “Sorry for being relentless, I thought…I was hoping, maybe, I was different. I felt we connec—”
Just then my cell phone blares and it’s the one ring tone that always seems to sound at the perfect time.
“Oh, shit, but I need to grab this. It’s my sister,” I say reaching for the phone as Kat’s Wonder Woman ringtone bleats again.
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Gillian Jones 