Pity Sex
Joanie's major fantasy is pity sex
Another big thank you to my editor Ken, whose patience and kind editing are a legend in my mind. Thank you, Ken!
It was Friday night, and I had nothing to do, except to study for my biology test. Tomorrow night I would again have nothing to do. Meanwhile my roommate Melissa had left town to visit her illicit lover, over in Stamford. "If Blake calls, tell him I went home to see my mother. Remind him she is very sick." She was, too. She had stage four something.
So there I was, all alone in my double dorm room with its attached toilet and shower, listening to music and desultorily studying biology. It was a section on mammalian reproduction, a subject I thought I knew all about. You know, from personal experience. To my chagrin, I knew only a small fraction of what was being covered. For example, who knew there was a debate on the theory of the obstetrical dilemma? My former instructor in intimate biology, Tony Mazzioto, (may he go to hell) was now with that slut Marybeth. We had broken up two weeks ago. I was pushed back to reality by a knock on my dorm room door.
Dammit, I was not expecting visitors. I still had makeup on from when I had thought about crashing a party somewhere, but I wasn't dressed to receive visitors. I was wearing only a T shirt and high waisted yoga booty shorts, with no bra or panties. All my underwear was dirty. I had to do my laundry, but it was just too pathetic to do laundry on a Friday night.
Yielding to this train wreck of a Friday night, I answered the door. It was Blake. Oh, great. Melissa's boyfriend is making a surprise visit from Storrs. Storrs is around 90 minutes away. He walked in like he owned the dorm room.
"Mellissa's not here, Blake. She's out of town visiting her mother. You should have called before your surprise visit." I'm proud of my ability to lie with ease.
Blake was crestfallen. Major puppy dog face. I'm empathetic, so I brought him a glass of bourbon. Bourbon straight up is his favorite drink. I prefer it on the rocks. I didn't know what to do with this disappointed boyfriend of my roommate, who is out fucking her illicit lover. When in doubt, make small talk. I spoke.
"How's life at UConn?" I asked.
"Not as nice as life at Yale," he replied. Talk about a chip on a shoulder.
"Look, I know it's hard to get into Yale. I only got in because I'm from Idaho and I speak in complete sentences," I said. "Don't hate me for my being here."
"You're from Idaho? You look normal enough," Blake teased. "Does your family farm potatoes?"
"Very funny."
"Hey, what happened to your boyfriend? On Friday night, shouldn't you be out with ... what's his name? John? Jack? Josiah?"
"It's Tony. He's no more. Irreconcilable differences," I said. "I'm the one whose name begins with the letter J," raising only one eyebrow, as only I can.
"I know that, Joanie. Why'd you break up? What were the irreconcilable differences?"
"The slut's name is Marybeth."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Let me kiss you and make it better."
I started to back away, but Blake caught me and kissed me. Melissa had always raved about Blake's kisses, and now I saw why. Christ almighty, that man can kiss. What else can he do, I wondered. Remembering he was Melissa's boyfriend, I suppressed that thought.
In the middle of Blake's erotic kiss, his hands went under my T shirt and found my boobs. They weren't hiding so it wasn't hard to find them, but he seemed inordinately proud of his discovery. I could feel his smile right through his kiss.
"Melissa told me playing with your boobs turns you on something fierce," he said. "I see it's true."
"You could have just trusted her. You didn't need to verify. What else did she tell you about me?" I was mad at Melissa for sharing things I had told her in confidence.
"That you're bad at lying, for one."
"That's not true. My lying skills are unsurpassed."
"You did a poor job of lying about where Melissa is. I know she is off somewhere visiting a lover. She's probably in Stamford with what's-his-name. I wonder if she's naked with him yet." He knew more than I thought.
"Are you upset?"
"Yes, of course I am. Now I'll have to break up with her." Blake was on the verge of crying. I could see tears welling up. I felt bad for him, got him another bourbon, and a glass for me. We could cry together for our lost loves. Bourbon is the best drink to cry in, although Scotch is a close second.
Blake saw my biology textbook. He opened it at random to a diagram of the intestines. "How is your large intestine?" he asked, presumably inspired by the diagram on the page.
"I don't do anal," I replied, jumping a few steps ahead in the conversation.
"I like vaginal, myself," Blake said.
"My kind of guy," I replied getting nervous about where this conversation was going. I pushed Blake's hands down and out of my T shirt (they had returned to my boobs. The man is persistent.) "How about some more bourbon?"
I again poured us each a glass. This was dumb. I knew I'd soon be drunk.
"I'm drunk," I said, when I had downed my second glass. I giggled. Blake's hands were back under my T shirt.
"Melissa says you're easy when you're drunk," Blake said.
"She and I are going to have a little talk when she gets back," I replied.
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Easy."
"No, of course not. Sex for me is a special thing. I have to really like the guy, for one thing."
Blake gave me another of his erotic kisses, while still skillfully fondling my boobs. Unlike his many predecessors, he had not yet touched my nipples. I was impressed with his restraint. God, that man can kiss!
"Blake, this has to stop. I'm not a girl of convenience you can seduce because Melissa is visiting her mom and not here," I said, breaking the kiss from Venus and removing his talented hands from under my T shirt for the umpteenth time that evening. Put that way, I became disgusted with myself. I was annoyed at Blake, too. "You need to go. Where will you sleep? You're too drunk to drive somewhere."
"I had been planning to sleep with Melissa."
