Author's Note: I haven't written a story in a long time but I felt inspired by Halloween this year. I hope you like it. I would love to hear feedback. Happy Halloween!! - K
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mΓ©β’nage or menage meβ’nageβ² (mΔ nΓ€zΜΈhβ², mΙ-)
noun
1. a household; domestic establishment
2. the management of a household; housekeeping
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It all started off with a desire to help or maybe rescue. There's a defining line between them somewhere but I've never been all that great at sorting them out. One's healthy and the sign of a good friend, the other a little over-invested. I'm guessing my actions last night probably fell into the second category, but I'll let you be the judge.
My roommate was in serious need of assistance - she hadn't gotten laid in over a year and she'd become addicted to that god-awful hospital drama where all of the staff members hook up in closets and stuff. Oh wait, my bad, that could be a handful of them, couldn't it? I'm talking about the one that coined the euphemism "vajayjay" and has characters walking around saying "Seriously?!" to each other all the time. The narrating main character, in particular, with her tequila fueled irresponsibility and annoying voice, really got on my nerves... as in "Yes, Seriously, you are overrated!"
At any rate, poor television choices aside, Rachelle's behavior was really beginning to concern me. Almost every weekend, she'd been on our couch, wearing pink pajamas that featured little crown wearing frogs and the phrase "Someday my prince will come". It was really quite nauseating and I felt absolutely certain that even if said prince were to come along, he would take one look at those pants (and the chocolate ice cream stain on the tank top) and run for the hills.
Rachelle's an attractive girl, but the only way she could pump more implausibly romantic expectations into her head would be if she could figure out a way to liquefy her dvd collection and receive it intravenously. I tried, a thousand times, to explain that men are rarely more concerned with planning the perfect declaration of their love than fucking, but she still maintains that her soul mate (her word not mine!) is out there and she just needs to be patient.
I suppose this wouldn't have disturbed me quite so much if she hadn't revealed an astonishing fact early on in our roommate relationship. She doesn't masturbate... I didn't even know there were women like her still out there, but she remained convinced that orgasm was a purely couples' only activity, no matter how much time had passed since a breakup.
"So wait, you never even touch yourself?" I asked, unconvinced. I'd mastered the art of achieving an orgasm in two minutes or less at a pretty young age, long before I introduced battery operated buddies into my masturbatory routine.
"No. I just really don't want to. Don't get me wrong, I get plenty into sex when I'm with someone, but alone, it just seems like I'm cheating my real sex life. I can wait until I have someone special in my life again."
No amount of discussion was able to convince her to change her mind about this, so I made it my personal mission to find the girl a boyfriend, ASAP.
Rachelle and I met through a mutual friend a little over a year ago when I desperately needed someone to help make my mortgage payment and she found her lawyer boyfriend fucking his secretary... who was 52. Despite his professions that there was nothing wrong with Rachelle, that he just happened to be really attracted to experienced older women, she took the whole event as a huge blow to her self-esteem. I'm not sure if she owned cute clothes and makeup before the breakup, but I haven't seen any evidence of them since.
"Chelle, I think it's time you allowed me to help you out a bit. Your soul mate, and you know how much I hate that term - but I'm attempting to speak your language here - might very well be out there, but you're not going to meet him lounging around here in those pjs. This is your intervention, my friend. I'm sorry there aren't more people here, but given how private you are about your sex life, I figured it was best addressed alone."
I expected arguments, declarations of independence, maybe even being told to go fuck myself. What I got instead were tears.
"I, I, I," she stuttered in between shattered breaths, "I think you might be right. It's just, well, men don't even notice me, Ava. The other day, a hot guy came in to the bank to ask about a loan and he was checking out Doris. You know, the white trash girl with the split ends... she's not even pretty, but she has huge breasts and wears short skirts. He didn't even look at me!"
"Well, sweetie, I think that's because you've been doing your best disappearing act since the breakup. You don't dress up, you don't do your hair or wear makeup and you have a long-standing crush on someone called Dr. McDreamy, for fuck's sake. It might be time to get back out there."
"Ok," she said taking a deep breath, "I guess we can go shopping, cause it's not like I'll fit into any of your clothes -"
"Why don't you come with me to Nick's Halloween party? I know you were planning to stay in, but this will be a good opportunity to really break the rut you're in. Besides, his straight friend Dane is going to be in town."
Truthfully, from what I'd heard about Dane, I wasn't sure he was really her speed, but I knew Rachelle would be encouraged by the potential of the situation. It didn't matter if she'd met someone for five minutes or known them a lifetime, you can be assured that if he was reasonably attractive or funny, she'd tried out his last name behind hers. It was as automatic for her as breathing.
Nick is my best friend, the Will to my Grace, if we didn't so desperately hate that show. I swear, I don't hate all television, just well, most anything that isn't on HBO or Showtime. I have very little patience for tv shows that just allude to sex scenes and/or can't say the word "fuck"... if you hadn't noticed, it's a bit of a favorite of mine.
One of my favorite things about Nick is that even though he is gay, he is still all man. We don't shop together; he doesn't critique my wardrobe, braid my hair or go see Broadway plays with me. He is a bit of a health nut that criticizes my absolute adoration of red meat, but other than that, he's a lot like my high school boyfriend; tall, blonde, plays every sport imaginable - except, of course, that Nick and I can actually Sleep in the same bed and we love to go places and check out men together.
"It's too bad Nick isn't straight. You two would be so perfect together," Rachelle said, a smirk crossing her face. I knew then that her pity party mode was over. We'd had this discussion before and I'd let her know, in no uncertain terms, that I was Not pining away after Nick. If nothing else, I've gotten some of the best blowjob tips from the man. If he were straight, I, and all the guys I've practiced on since, would have seriously missed out.