A car and a woman are a lot alike. How many times, on a cold morning when you really needed it, she wouldn’t turn over? – Rodney Dangerfield
You’ll be happy to know there was no drama last night. No penis poke. No trying to initiate kissing or cuddling. No holding of hands. A bit of talking about the kids. No pressure.
When there is no pressure, there is no sex and no intimacy.
Still, I hope you’re ready to be entertained, because I am an entertainer, afterall. Here it is, my creative writing debut (on this blog, anyway). This was actually inspired by many different experiences and things I’ve read. In fact, there is one blog in particular that really provided a lot of good material. Can you guess which one? (Hint: it’s not on my blogroll.)
Dialogue of the Amorite
“Wank off discretely and don’t bother me. Don’t grope, don’t touch and for godsake, stop oogling! What are you, some kind of animal? Is sex the only thing you can think about? I find it simply disgusting the way you fixate on my boobs and ass. I’m more than just a collection of body parts, you know? Jesus, I can’t believe you want me to suck on your junk. You must be dreaming if you think I’m putting my mouth THERE. And keep your disgusting pie hole away from my secret garden, you perverted shit! I have no desire to be licked. I’m not licking you and I don’t want your disgusting scummy tongue licking me.
No, I don’t want to give you a hug. You’ll only get stiff, and start poking me with that disgusting, obnoxious stiffy of yours. You think that’s a turn on? Please. You’re such an incompetent mental midget when it comes to romancing a woman. In fact, when I think of a REAL MAN, you’re the furthest thing from my mind. Stop pouting! See? You’re nothing but a big, sissy baby!
If you figuratively kiss my ass (not for real, you retarded pig!) I MIGHT use my hands to stroke your pathetic little wee wee and get you off.
Oh for heavensake, don’t whine! My god, you are so pathetic! Alright, alright. If you’re going to be a baby about it…jesus, you’re such an infant. Go get a towel. We’re certainly not going to be messing up our nice sheets with your filth. Okay…take off your shorts. No, I’m not taking them off for you. What am I, you’re mother? God, you’re so pathetic…you’re hard already! Good, let’s get on with it, then. I hope this doesn’t take too long because I’m tired and don’t want to miss Desperate Housewives.
No, I’m not going to dress in anything remotely sexy. You’re such a selfish bastard. You think everything has to revolve around you? I’m keeping the denim jeans and hooded sweatshirt on until I’m finished indulging your childish whims.
Lube? You want me to lube my hands? My god, you are such a self-centered prick! I’m putting myself out jerking you off, and you act like the godamn king of Egypt or something! Shut your mouth and count yourself lucky that you’re getting this much, pig boy. It’s bad enough I run the risk of getting your goopy shit on my hands. I’m certainly not going to put more crap on that is going to take extra time to wash off. Besides, I have delicate skin and don’t need to risk causing a rash or something. I have allergies, you know
Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother. Do you ever think of anybody besides YOURSELF?
Pipe down! You don’t need to carry on with those disgusting guttural moaning sex noises. What if the children hear? Have you no shame? Hurry up, my hand is getting tired.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Pumping your pee-pee and you act like it’s a fucking Six Flags thrill ride or something. You are such a simple-minded twit. How could I have ended up with someone with so little sophistication? Look at you, twitching and trembling!
Excuse me? EX CUSE ME! Who the hell said you could touch my breasts, mister? Keep your filthy, disgusting, perverted paws off of my boobs! I’ve had a long day and the last thing I need is you groping me like some slimy, sex-crazed octopus! Keep your mucus-covered tentacles off me. What am I? A piece of meat? I’m so sick and tired of you treating me like I’m your own private sexual amusement park, who only exists to service your gluttonous, Neanderthal appetites. It makes me want to puke.
You are so shallow. All you ever think about is indulging in YOUR childish, perverted, simple-minded little games. Are you listening? PAY ATTENTION! My god, you just can’t do it, can you? You just can’t think or focus on anyone or anything besides yourself and your little chicken neck, here, can you? I have a mind to do a Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Maybe then you might be a little less fixated on your little “friend” and be able to show a little respect to your wife.
Come ON! What’s taking so long? Look, my hand is getting tired. I’ll give you another minute for you to spew your spunk and then I’m finished. I have other things to do. More important things than catering to your childish selfish, self-centered “needs”.
If only your buddies and coworkers could see you now, shaking, trembling and whimpering. This isn’t exactly what I imagined, either, when we first met. I never thought I’d be sitting here, you gasping for air getting all excited while I pump away on your yucky little wiener. It could be worse. At least I’m not having to endure your stinking, grunting, rutting around between my legs with all your weight on me. God, you’re a fat slob!
FINALLY! Well, two and a half minutes. Better than you were the last time, a couple months or so ago. Now towel off while I take a shower to wash your slimy dirtiness off of me. Look at that towel…DISGUSTING! Don’t put it next to any of the other dirty clothes. Put it outside on the porch for godsakes! Do I have to tell you EVERYTHING?!?
Don’t even THINK of coming in while I’m in the shower. The last thing I need after the inconvenience and trauma you’ve just put me through is to feel your perverted, staring, oogling eyes all over me. It makes my skin crawl, just thinking about it. You can come in ONLY after I’m fully dressed in my comfy flannel sweats and have removed myself. I have no desire to look at your hairy ass. The thought of having to look at your sorry excuse for nakedness makes my skin crawl even more.
After you finish, don’t forget to scrub the toilet as well as the shower. Seeing your pubes is truly the height of disgusting. It’s not like I share your fetish for crud and sewage. It’s like you’re purposefully trying to gross me out and contaminate me and my environment. In fact, don’t touch me or anything else until we get a new can of Lysol. The last thing I and the children need is to be infected by whatever bacterial load you are hauling around on your decaying and worthless carcass.
By the way, I need $250 to buy my mother a present for her half-birthday. And the dishes need to be unloaded from the dishwasher. You don’t mind, do you?