0 comments/ 8098 views/ 0 favorites My-sogyny Ch. 01 By: Agni And then there was Jenny, standing in the doorway, her carefully matched white panties and perhaps too small sports bra hinting at the shape of things to come. Her hair was short cropped and blonde, falling over her black-rimmed glasses. She was attractive, until you peered beneath the surface. She demurely raised her hand to the light switch and flicked it downward. I was laying on her bed, my shirt off and my jeans becoming tighter and tighter. She moved her foot. I noticed her thigh trembling. She was nervous. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm cool." More to herself than to me, it seemed. I blinked my eyes and she walked towards the bed. She crawled onto the end of it, her breasts grazing my feet as she moved up, towards me. "So this is not what you expected huh?" She smiled, timidly. No, it wasn't. I'd known her almost a year and a half. When we first met, I asked her out immediately. A club, a bar, a show or concert, I don't remember where it was and it doesn't matter. She soundly refused me and that was that. She was the friend of a friend, a roommate's buddy's buddy. Some sort of twisted social chain that. Over the months we'd become drinking buddies. She was faint of heart and between Prozac, therapist visits and panic attacks, she filled her time with booze and men. Just turns out, I was the flavor of the night. She moved up my body like a hot shower, leaving any exposed flesh goosebumpy and tingly. Too soon she was right on top of me. Her lips as soft as expected, her hands stronger than was necessary. I reached up and touched, explored for the first time. I'd stolen glances at her, a quick glimpse of cleavage through her blouse, a casual examination of her ass as she walked to the bar for another drink. I knew, intellectually, what I was about to experience. She kissed, and kissed well. Not the sloverly-happy-puppywash with her tongue that some women do. Not the pinch-lipped, defensive, virginal kisses. But even, enticing, welcoming kisses. She stopped and took off her black-rimmed glasses. "You're blurry now." She giggled, then dove into my chest, searching and exploring with her hands, while I returned the favor. Her sports bra was next to depart, bored with the scene. I threw out all pretense and scoured her body with my eyes. Every curve and line, her hardening nipples (due to the cold, I'm sure, not excitement), the sleek line of her shoulders I committed to memory in a single moonlit second. My hands found her trembling thighs. I ran my hand along them. "Relax." I said, not too softly I hoped. I didn't want her to think I liked her. Because I did, but not forever. I was going to like her very much for tonight. Then tomorrow, I'd like her as much as yesterday. She straddled me and sat back. My excitement was obvious, and that gave her power, gave her leverage, and she liked that. She sat with a wicked grin, swaying slowly. Feeling frustrated, and vulnerable, I sat up and flipped her over. I put my weight on her and held her down. She responded by arching her back and opening her legs. So, I thought, now we understand one another. Not that I had any doubts as to her particular brand of kink, you can sense it on folks usually. Smell it on them. "You like 'em?" She asked, wiggling her chest, and thus her medium-small breasts, back and forth, like bait for a lion. "Yeah." I said stupidly, grabbing one and squeezing it, rolling my thumb across the nipple. She smiled. "My mom has huge tits." She said, quite matter of factly. I wasn't sure how to react. My first thought was why ain't I fucking around with her then, but my brain filter kicked in and I said "Oh?" "Yeah. Huge. I wish I had tits like that." I pinched her nipple. Me too, I thought. "Pinch harder if you want. Or suck, its no big deal." I considered. To my regret, she went on. "It doesn't do much for me. But I know guys like it." I paused in my tongue and finger assault and looked at her. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I'm drunk, that's no surprise, but this girl is bizarre. Quick, say something. "No pleasure at all?" I asked. "None." Fuck it then. I unceremoniously gripped the waistband of her contrived white panties and pulled them down. She lifted up her ass to accommodate my desire, and in moments, they'd gone to dance with Sports Bra. What I found was no surprise. Fashionable as she was, she and her razor had endeavored to emulate the late 90's trend in pornography, keeping everything slick-smooth, everyday, because, you never know. Moments passed strangely. She closed her eyes and I suddenly cursed my self for not trimming my fingernails, you know, because you never know. I got over it. When I called her earlier tonight, I said "You, me, drink 'til someone falls." And here we were, both of us on our backs. So my fingers flashed back through every girl I'd ever touched, and every lecture I'd ever heard and every drunken conversation with anyone who's ever touched a vagina. Every woman is different! A thousand voices slurred in my head. I focused my efforts. Everywoman is different, but this one likes it rough and is drunk. She put her hand on my shoulder, pushed gently. I smiled to myself. I knew that push. It was a push I'd given to many women in my lifetime. It was the subtle way of saying "put it in your mouth." So I played dumb, until she finally broke down and asked. Time is an odd thing when you're fooling around with someone. You want to get in as much of everything as possible, but ultimately, you want to fuck. And eventually, someone will break, give in and just get to the fucking. She broke before me. "Lemme see it." Again I considered. I sensed the warning signals. My drunkenness was fading. No, I decided, better not to add this one to the list. "Sorry, let's not. It'll make our friendship weird," I said, as if it wasn't already. "Come on. Lemme see it." She pushed me off of her, rolling onto of me. "Come on." She began to tug at my jeans. "No. I'm not going to fuck you." I said, a little more assertively. "What? Why not? You'll finger fuck me, but that's it huh? What's the matter? Decide it's too loose for you? Fucker." On top of me, completely naked, she ground herself against my crotch and tore at my jeans. "Cut it out!" I said, grabbing her wrist. Her other hand pulled the snap on my pants loose and pulled at the zipper clumsily. I grabbed both her wrists. "NO." I said to her, squeezing her wrists. "Come on." She licked her top lip just a little and pushed her shoulders back, her breasts jutting forward. "I'm pretty good." "Listen, sun'll be up soon. Let's sleep. Or if you want, I'll work you over with one of your toys. But I'm not going to fuck you." Her eyes narrowed. Rejection, that's what I read in her eyes, cold and clear. Then I read hate. She pulled at my pants, hoping to slide them down before I could get them re-fastened. She fought over my pants for a while then anger crept up on me like a hang over. Slow at first, a simple feeling of discomfort and vague nausea, then, full on sickness. In this case it was rage. She would rape me if I let her. "No means NO." I said, thinking back to all those public service announcements, those anti-date-rape ads. And it worked. She stopped instantly, frozen by her own Safe Words. My anger subsided, I knew I'd chosen my words correctly. She laid down on top of me. "It's okay. Let's just lay here, close." She purred. I watched her curl up and close her eyes. The next morning I found a note. "Had a good time. I'll call ya tonight. Stay as long as you want, but lock up when you leave." That night, I got an email from her. "I'm sorry for my behavior. I hope we can be friends still." My-sogyny Ch. 02 My-sogyny: Part II - The Date "You think a lot." She said, matter of factly. Her blue yes were pretty, but vacant, like that punk rock song. "Isn't that what people do?" I asked. "Not like you do." She stared at me. I stared back. Who was this woman? Some nameless broad I met in some nameless bar? Was she my wife? A girlfriend? No, not even that. She was just a girl. A companion for the evening, nothing more, probably much less. No need to explain the complexities of my thought processes to her. No need to explain what I thought about the nature of reality. None of that mattered to her. What did matter to her then? I resigned my self to trying to take another look at her. Try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Try to figure out what she WAS interested it. What she DID think about. I took a sip of my drink and lit a cigarette. It was a way for me to occupy myself, with out making eye contact. "What do you think about?" I asked finally. She looked shocked, stunned even. As if I had asked her what color panties she'd had on or if she spits or swallows. "What do you think about?" I repeated, trying to break through her disbelief. "Lotsa things..." She started to say. I looked at her fingernails as she reached for her Malibu and Pineapple Juice. Not Rum and pineapple. Malibu. Christ! Sorority-girl bullshit. For prissy women that are too ashamed to admit they actually want to get drunk and fuck. It was an excuse drink. They can drink three of them and act like they are drunk. No no, I never would have sucked his dick in the bathroom if I hadn't been so wasted. I decided to press her for what she did indeed think about. "Like what?" "Um..." "You must certainly think about your finger nails." I commented absently. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Well, they are manicured to near perfection." I told her matter of factly. She seemed to be upset that I'd said near. "Do you do them your self?" "NO! I go to Mario Tricocci." She said excitedly, but a little contemptuously. As if I should have known where she had her nails done by the shine of them. "I see." I didn't really. Not at all. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate beauty, and a woman who takes care of herself. But the void in this girl's head was astounding. If she spent half as much time thinking as she did fussing with her nails, she'd be an astrophysicist. I've decided this whole operation is a bust, so I might as well have fun with it. "Do you know any interesting trivia?" I ask her innocently. "Some. I know the names of all the boys in N'Sync." She smiles. "Wow." I say as evenly as I can, suppressing a gag. "What about you?" She asks, sipping her Malibu. "Well, did you know only one in five men wash their hands in the rest room?" She stares at me. I pounce. "It's true. After the third beer, most men barely even bother pissing in the urinals. In fact, that lack of hand washing is the number one reason for yeast infections in women." She stares at me. I stand. "I gotta use the rest room, if the waitress comes by, order me a beer huh?" I say, gesturing the to the two empty bottles on our table. I walk away, snickering. In the rest room, I find a guy sniffing coke in the mirror, talking on his cell phone. "Yeah," sniff "all I can say is thank god for trust funds." He says. Part of me wants to slam him against the mirror and pretend I'm a cop. You know, shake him down, take his coke, maybe even his wallet. What's he going to do? Call the cops and say someone took his coke? Not if I take his fucking cell phone too. The part of me that just wants to piss wins out, and I go stand in from of the urinal. As I piss, I listen in to his conversation. "Yeah, I finished the painting. No, man. That last batch we baked just knocked me out." I roll my eyes as hard as I can, and finish up. I have to push him aside to wash my hands before I return to my date. I find her sitting where I left her, looking somewhat lost. I decide to press my luck. I reach out and grab her hands. "Your nails are nice." I say, being sure to run my fingers all over hers. My-sogyny Ch. 03 Part III - Triple Threat I sat next to Belle the Red Dragon, her lean frame wrapped in skin tight leather and a blood red sweater. Her green eyes seemed to be made of emeralds and fire, though I'd wager the red was from the whiskey. I hadn't seen her in years, but in times past we'd been good friends and I'd always found her dangerously attractive. This red and black ensemble, nature's warning colors, made her even more so. On my other side was Sally, the Naughty Nurse. Sally and I had an off and off relationship, literally, on the bed then off the bed, then on again. She was a petite blonde with big blue eyes, pouting lips and gold skin. She was a nurse and had just gotten off of work. She still had her uniform on. The joke rode around the table once or twice, where was her skirt and little hat? She smiled peevishly and sipped her Malibu. I hadn't seen Sally in some months either. But neither of these two young ladies was the focus of my attention. It was the alterno-chic vixen across the blackened and scarred table, who had captured my eye that evening. Long red dread-locks, blue eyes like a summer sky, to complete the package, an ample pair of breasts, hanging like a challenge from her chest. Her name was Carrie, and she was to be my latest adventure. Of this, I was sure. I'd done a smattering of flirting with Carrie in the recent past. She was a year younger, and as things turned out, we ran with the same packs, just had never crossed paths. I ordered a round of drinks, since I was riding the high-hog at the time. Sally accepted, sucking half her Malibu and coke down like a professional. Belle protested, saying she'd come into her own and wanted to buy me a drink. I waved her money down and handed a twenty to the waitress. Conversation came and went, as did several more drinks. Empty glasses piled up faster than they could be removed, along with cigarette butts and ashes. The black and pinks lights seemed to become stronger, more forceful as the haze thickened. There were others at the table, men, friends, competitors, enemies. A regular stroll through memory lane. They chattered at me, at Belle, Sally and Carrie. The gold-poison was soaking me through and I'd had enough of the games. Last Call was rocketing towards us, and I'd be twice damned if I didn't fuck one of these ladies tonight. My approach, however, would have to be clever. The one I wanted was too far way to speak privately with. Her and her rack staring directly at me, I did the only thing that seemed natural. I put my hand on Sally, the Naughty Nurse's knee and I leaned over to Belle and began to whisper in her ear. "Belle, look at Carrie's rack." I hissed. I knew that Belle not only enjoyed men, but had a certain predisposition towards shapely women as well. She leaned close. "I know. She's cold too." We giggled. On my right, my hand crept up Sally's thigh. I turned my head forward and looked at Carrie, purposefully, slowly, mouthed the word "tits". Carrie caught my eyes and wrinkled her delicate eyebrows. To Belle, I said "Think she knows we're staring at her tits?" I felt Sally's hand on mine, but I didn't look over to her. "Shhh..." Belle tried to shush me, but it was more The Water of Life talking than me. "Look at 'em. We could each take one. I bet she would love it. She's making the eye contact with both of us. She knows." "Christ! Stop it!" Belle giggled. I pushed my hand further up Sally's thigh, to her crotch. Carrie was staring at me, her foot brushed against mine. It had to be hers. Ah, that was it. Contact. I felt Sally's warmth, and spared her a look. She smiled, finishing her Malibu. "Last call!" the bartender called out, as if it were a tornado warning, his voice careening through the bar, infiltrating the little corners, resounding off of the dirt and smoke caked walls. And we drank. One more, a jack-ass said. For the road, a friend yelled. Shots, cried a moron struggling to his feet. And we did. One more, for the road and shots, to keep the winter chill away as long as it could. The shuffle of bodies was confusing, slow moving as we were herded towards the exit. I found myself on the street, my breath freezing as I forced it from my lungs. Belle, was suddenly next to me, squeezing my hand. She pushed a crumpled piece of paper into my suddenly very cold hand. Then she was gone. I un-crumpled it and examined it. An email address. Not first place, but an honorable mention at least. I looked at the gaggle of my friends and enemies mix tape, standing in the biting cold. They stood there, hi-fiving, punching each other in the shoulder, smoking cigarettes, the Idiots. Real treasure was slipping through our fingers. I cast my eyes around for Carrie, the dread-locked dream I was so looking forward to waking up to. Gone. Like warmth of the bar, she had dissipated into the night. Poof. Ah, Sally. Sally the Naughty Nurse. It's wasn't even a matter of her being third choice. It was just another fork in the road. She was coming out of the bar. She hadn't seen Belle give me her email. "Hey, you need a ride home?" She purred, standing close to me, as if to share in my rapidly fading heat. "Uh, yeah. Please." "Come on." She stepped over a snow bank and walked to her shining, new silver car. I walked around to the passenger side and got in. She reached for the ice scraper. Though not really a gentleman, it would have been vile of me to expect her to scrape her own windows. "I'll do it." I reached for the instrument. "I got it. Sit. Warm up." So I did.