Thursday, April 3, 2008

Women Who Cry During Sex

Writing Day: 2

Word Count: 5,164

It occurs to me that my first ever “short story” isn’t going to be all that short.

You ever have one of those days where you feel like your brain went out to lunch, and then forgot to come home? And then hours later, you find out it’s been over at Johnny’s house again, smoking marijuana and looking at nudie pictures of Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton, and Peter Jackson. And you yell at your brain and tell it to come home because you’re lonely and you haven’t cuddled in like forever. That’s my brain everyday.

Sometimes I haven’t even noticed my brain is gone. I could just be sitting there reading a book.

“Hey Mal. Whatcha readin’?”

“Oh, uh…” I stop, look at the cover of the book, totally spaced out. Read the title to myself. Look back at my questioner. Forget what the question was. “What?”

“What book is that?”

Look at the title again. Look at the pretty picture on the cover. It’s a turtle.

“I’m reading a turtle book. I’m learning all about turtles. Did you know turtles can live up to…” Stop to read the passage again. Can’t find it. “A long time?”

I had this thought today about microorganisms. Some parasites kill the host, right? Others keep them alive, feeding off them, but essentially letting them stay healthy. What if there were a parasite that actually kept the host alive indefinitely? I’m talking reversal of aging, eradication of any incoming cancers, recalibration of your metabolism, the tuning out of rap music – you know, the works. Wouldn’t that be huge? You could have a T-shirt that says “Kiss me ladies, I have a disease that will keep you young and reperkify your boobs.”

Hehe, “reperkify” isn’t a real word. Did anyone catch that? I bet you did you sexy little devils.

I invented a new game today. I call it “Who-what-when-where-why.” Basically, while you’re talking to someone, you cut them off in mid-sentence with “who.” Typically, they’ll say “what?” before they know what’s going on, and you immediately respond with “when.” Now if they’re really on the ball, they’ll say “where,” and you can respond with “why!” Congratulations, you’ve won. You get to sing your favorite jingle at the top of your lungs as you jump up and down.

If they fail to help you complete the game, you shout “you ruined everything,” and you inexplicably run away. That’s just the way the game works. Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game. Sigh… This is what happens when you’re single for too long.

Oh yes, you’re probably wondering why this entry is titled “Women Who Cry During Sex.” Well, so am I. Often people talk about what a bad move it is on a date to cry after sex. I’ve had a few one night stands, and nobody’s ever done that to me, but I did have one girlfriend who used to cry during sex. It was the strangest thing. She’d start to moan and cry.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“No, it just feels really amazing. Don’t stop!”

Apparently crying for her was the orgasm. Every time. Now, I’ve laughed so hard I cried, but I still wasn’t actually crying. There were tears, but I still like to think there’s a difference. Anyway, just thought I’d share that with all of you.

3 comments:

Inkpot said...

Wow, that was quite a random stream of conciousness, but very enjoyable. I like 'reperkify' :). I am also going to play that game with the next person I see. Way to go on your word count, that is really cool. *cheers and jumps up and down*

Are you holdin' out on Sugar Jones? said...

If you look at the human corpus it is kind of a symbiotic relationship between the lymphatic and muscular. One sustains the one and the other protects the other. Much like a pimp workin' his/her hoes.

spookygreentea said...

Y'know, so long as you're calling yourself Mal, I just want to incessantly quote Firefly.

Is that a bad thing?