The drive to a friend's birthday party didn't seem like the occasion on which Mark and Lauren's relationship would completely fall apart. But sometimes it's hard to see these things coming.
Mark and Lauren met on a blind date. Lauren—playing defense, just in case Mark was a disaster—set up a gauntlet of four locales (bar, bowling alley, friend's party, Chinese restaurant), each giving her the opportunity to ditch in case things went badly.
They didn't. That was five months ago, and between Lauren sharing Mark's love for sports, and Mark beside himself at the idea of a girl looking the way Lauren does dating him, now Lauren was even toying with asking Mark to move in with her. But that was before tonight.
"Heather was in your sorority?" asked Mark, driving while fiddling with the radio.
"No," said Lauren. "I worked with her until she moved with a bunch of attorneys over to Hayward. It looked like this awesome opportunity to make partner until Hayward totally blew up and now she hates it."
"Heather was hilarious," she continued. "There was this guy in our office—Steve—he was a boob-watcher. And this one time, Heather—"
"That's like a real term?" interrupted Mark. "A term of art? 'Boob-watcher?'"
Lauren laughed. "It was with the women I worked with. There are just these guys that can't stop looking. Anyway, Steve was a boob-watcher. He's actually this guy I dated for a little while. And Heather one time—this was so funny—right in the middle of the office, she caught him looking at her boobs and she tilted her head so it was at chest-level, right in his line of sight and she was like, 'Hi, Steve!' He was totally embarrassed."
The anecdote wasn't what caught Mark's attention.
"You dated this guy?"
"Yeah," she said.
"You dated the boob-watcher."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Not that long."
It'd been a long while since Mark had felt it, this weird...sensation. The last time, he recalled later, was when his high school girlfriend told him she was thinking of maybe asking his best friend to prom. And he was feeling it again, right now, in the back of his throat.
"...Why would you do that?!" he asked.
"What do you mean 'why would I do that?'" said Lauren. "He was nice."
"Nice? He ogled women in your office, but that was okay because he was nice?"
"It was just funny...it wasn't that big of a deal."
"When you went out on dates, was he checking out your rack?"
"Um...yeah," she laughed, "but like I said—"
"Every woman in the world says that's totally repugnant behavior," said Mark. "I mean, if every girl in the office notices him doing this then he's got a serious problem."
"Why are you so upset about this?" she asked.
"Do you not see why this is weird? It's like if a flasher exposed himself to you, and instead of calling the cops you asked him up for drinks. His behavior's unacceptable and I don't see how that translates into 'boyfriend.' And then..."
Mark paused.
"And then...you know, you dated him for how long...I mean, he probably..."
"Probably what?"
He knew he shouldn't say it. But then he did.
"Did he, like...you know...get to feel your tits?"
"What kind of a question is that?!" asked Lauren.
"It's a totally valid question! I mean, this stalker-ish guy is obsessed with your breasts, right? Did you let him touch them?"
Silence.
"You're telling me you dated this guy and he never got to, like...hold them?" asked Mark. "Never played with them? Caressed them?"
"Never rubbed his face in th—"
"Yes. Yes! Of course he did," screamed Lauren. "When you go out with a guy a few times, that's what happens, right?"
Now Mark felt nauseated. She was right—but it was still hideous hearing the words from her mouth.
"Holy fuck. That's just great. And that doesn't seem weird to you," yelled Mark, "that his prize for staring at your tits for months on end is you popping open your bra for him? That doesn't seem like exactly the wrong thing to do given the situation?"
Lauren sat silently, looking out the window.
"What did your girlfriends think about you dating a sexual harasser?"
Lauren took a breath. "I don't think they thought anything about it. I mean, we all thought his boob-watching was funny. But all the women still liked him."
"Fuck. I will never understand women. He must have been fucking amazing-looking."
"Yeah," she said after a moment. "Yeah, he was attractive..."
"See?! That's why I will never understand women. They're such f-ing hypocrites! They say that the behavior you describe is absolutely unacceptable in the office, yet when some hot guy does it, not only is it not unacceptable, it's 'cute,' and apparently, a huge fucking turn-on. I mean, he obviously spent months jacking off to the thought of getting your top off, and then you...that doesn't creep you out?"
"I don't think that's what he was doing—"
"Jesus, do you know anything about guys?" interrupted Mark. "He's probably beating off right now to the thought that he actually, really did get to play with your tits. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? It's all I can do to keep from jacking off whenever -I- see you!"
Mark exhaled. "Anyway, that's just awesome. He stares at your tits all day and as punishment he gets to rub his face in them. What's the penalty for slapping you on the ass and calling you 'sweetheart'? A blow job?"
Lauren stayed silent. For a long while.
"Holy fuck," said Mark. "Holy fuck...you did give him a blow job..."
Lauren was getting madder.
Mark shook his head. "You gave him a blow job..."
Silence.
"If this pervert in your office qualified for a blow job, does that mean that everyone in your office got one?!"
"No!" she screamed.
"Well that's a relief," said Mark, followed by silence.
"Well at least tell me he enjoyed it!" yelled Mark. "Did he have a fucking great time, watching the girl he'd been beating off to sucking his cock?"
Lauren stared out the window for a few seconds before realizing she was fed up.
"It seemed like it," she said.
Her answer was like a punch in the gut. "That's just fucking great," he muttered a few seconds later.
Lauren turned to Mark. "You remember," she said, more pointed than angry, "I was dating Steve the same time I was dating you—"
"This is -that- guy?! We were the two guys you were deciding between? It took you weeks to make that decision! And the other guy was this fucking creep? Me and the boob-watcher, and it took you that long to figure it out?"
Lauren stared out the window while Mark peppered her with questions—"Were you blowing him at work? Fucking him? Did you see him high-fiving the guys in the office at every opportunity?"—and she felt like crying, until she couldn't take it any longer.
"Why do you keep asking questions that you don't want the answer to?!" she screamed.
"I 'don't want the answer?' Why wouldn't I want the answers unless the answers are worse than I could possibly imagine?"
"I just know you're going to be upset—"
"I'm upset already!" he yelled. "And partially because you're obviously hiding shit from me. So go ahead: hit me with it! I'm ready!" Lauren looked out the window for a whole minute before deciding she honestly didn't care anymore.
"Okay," she said in the most measured tone possible. "If that's what you want I'll answer every one of your questions."
She took a deep breath. "To answer your first one: yes, I sucked his dick many, many times at work. And I think he very, very much liked it."
Mark's throat was dry.
"At work...?" he asked, and his voice cracked.
"Yes. Well it's just a lot easier than..."
"Easier than what?"
"...easier than trying to have normal intercourse at work," she said.
Mark sat there, stunned. He had a hard time believing how matter-of-fact she was.
"Ah...," he said, trying to recover. "...very pragmatic and thoughtful of you." Mark couldn't believe he was asking these questions, but he couldn't stop. "How many times did you suck him off at work?"
"A lot, like I said. Whenever he texted me."
"Whenever he texted you?"
"He'd text me when he was alone in his office," she said, then looked him in the eye. "Are you enjoying the answers to your questions?"
He tried to regain his composure. "Yes," he said, "...they're very revealing." But the answers were killing him. Mark still wanted to get under her skin. It was all he had left.
"Was it common knowledge around the office that you were blowing him?"
"No. I mean, I have no idea; I don't think anybody knew."
"Getting back to the 'boob-watching' for a moment...he did really like your tits, correct?"
"He was obsessed with breasts; that's putting it mildly. He very much liked 'playing'"—and she made little air quotes with her hands—"with them, as you call it. I'd tease him about how I always noticed him staring at them in the office, and he'd always get the same sheepish grin, and say that I had the most amazing breasts he'd ever seen, how all the guys in the office talked about them, and how did he ever get so lucky to be the guy that got to...whatever."
She continued. "Whenever he held them I'd hear him say how all the guys in the office would have given anything to be him."
Holy fuck, did Mark want to kill this guy Steve right now.
"How did that make you feel?"
She thought for a second. "It made me feel super turned-on."
"Fucking awesome," Mark replied.
This relationship was pretty close to dissolving entirely; he could tell. This was probably the last actual conversation he'd ever have with her. The only thing he had left to do was make Lauren feel like a complete whore in the process.
"So he could text you whenever he felt like a B.J., and you were, like, his call girl?"
"Um...sure. Fine, call it whatever you want." She was unshakable.
