make them, any more.
The problem with not making any effort to avoid his wrath is twofold, however. One: it means that I have to sort of pretend he’s not really there, regarding me with his massive disdain and two:
He’s actually literally massive, and not just massive in my head, where all of his disdain probably is. In fact, he’s so massive that sometimes I feel as though he’s sat in my lap, even when he’s all the way across the room from me. I can almost make out the pressure of his immense gaze on the side of my face, as I make a comment I know I shouldn’t be making.
I know it, the second it comes out – but somehow I just can’t help it. I’m not even trying to employ this new “Artie can go fuck himself” attitude. The words simply come out all on their own, like a reflex.
A rude, rude reflex, in response to Lucy’s suggestion that she’d be happy just to have some movie star hunk of the week read the phone book to her.
‘He could read the phone book to me, too,’ I say, and then the Doc hits my knee with the little hammer, and my leg kicks up. ‘As long as he does so directly into my vagina.’
I’m not even sure why I use the word vagina, in all honesty. After all, between my legs would have been the much safer option. Or even pussy … pussy would have sounded so much nicer, because it’s a word for something else, too.
There’s absolutely nowhere to hide with vagina. It’s absolutely rude and graphic, and though it makes Lucy snort wine out of her nose and James bites on his fist like I’m the baddest person in the world, none of these reactions alleviate the looming presence of the wall.
The one that grows another 10,000 feet, the moment I say something even remotely naughty.
‘I would let him read the phone book into my foo-foo all night long,’ Lucy says, because she’s cute. She’s cute and sweet and she doesn’t say vagina.
But I do.
‘I’d tell him to take his time with really difficult names. You know – maybe have him spell them out to my clit.’
‘Mallory,’ Lucy says, but she doesn’t do it the way Artie’s eyes do it. She does it while grinning and mouthing me too.
‘What? My clit’s really stupid. She needs an intense and thorough education, on the pronunciation of several impossibly long names – and especially when they have a lot of Ls in them. Ls are very problematic.’
‘Personally I’m deeply troubled by Os,’ James says, as he reaches for the chips. Of course I notice he brushes Lucy’s arm, as he does so – but that’s not so unusual. I mean, Lucy’s right in front of him, on the floor. And the chips are nearly in her lap.
It’s all innocent, right?
‘Os?’ Lucy asks, and wrinkles up her cute little face. Of course she does. She’s like a sweet, pure angel, sent from heaven. And I’m the Devil who has to explain it to her.
‘He means … you know,’ I say, and then I do something even worse than the whole licking your clit with letters thing. I do it, without once looking at Artie. I can’t look at Artie. There’s a wall between us, remember?
So really, it doesn’t matter at all if I mime giving someone a blowjob. He can’t see me, as I poke my tongue into my cheek in the lewdest way it’s possible to actually do something like that. In fact, it’s so lewd that Lucy actually fans herself and blushes and kind of glances over her shoulder, as though maybe she’d be only too happy to do something like that to James.
If James plays his cards right.
‘And what’s the international signal for the other one you were talking about …?’ James asks, this look on his face like go on, go on. You’re practically getting me laid with hand gestures.
Of course I’m practically getting myself chased by villagers with torches, too, but what the hell.
‘You mean this?’ I ask, and then I split two fingers and just slide my tongue between …
‘I’m going to bed.’
He says it so abruptly that I do exactly what I
The problem with not making any effort to avoid his wrath is twofold, however. One: it means that I have to sort of pretend he’s not really there, regarding me with his massive disdain and two:
He’s actually literally massive, and not just massive in my head, where all of his disdain probably is. In fact, he’s so massive that sometimes I feel as though he’s sat in my lap, even when he’s all the way across the room from me. I can almost make out the pressure of his immense gaze on the side of my face, as I make a comment I know I shouldn’t be making.
I know it, the second it comes out – but somehow I just can’t help it. I’m not even trying to employ this new “Artie can go fuck himself” attitude. The words simply come out all on their own, like a reflex.
A rude, rude reflex, in response to Lucy’s suggestion that she’d be happy just to have some movie star hunk of the week read the phone book to her.
‘He could read the phone book to me, too,’ I say, and then the Doc hits my knee with the little hammer, and my leg kicks up. ‘As long as he does so directly into my vagina.’
I’m not even sure why I use the word vagina, in all honesty. After all, between my legs would have been the much safer option. Or even pussy … pussy would have sounded so much nicer, because it’s a word for something else, too.
There’s absolutely nowhere to hide with vagina. It’s absolutely rude and graphic, and though it makes Lucy snort wine out of her nose and James bites on his fist like I’m the baddest person in the world, none of these reactions alleviate the looming presence of the wall.
The one that grows another 10,000 feet, the moment I say something even remotely naughty.
‘I would let him read the phone book into my foo-foo all night long,’ Lucy says, because she’s cute. She’s cute and sweet and she doesn’t say vagina.
But I do.
‘I’d tell him to take his time with really difficult names. You know – maybe have him spell them out to my clit.’
‘Mallory,’ Lucy says, but she doesn’t do it the way Artie’s eyes do it. She does it while grinning and mouthing me too.
‘What? My clit’s really stupid. She needs an intense and thorough education, on the pronunciation of several impossibly long names – and especially when they have a lot of Ls in them. Ls are very problematic.’
‘Personally I’m deeply troubled by Os,’ James says, as he reaches for the chips. Of course I notice he brushes Lucy’s arm, as he does so – but that’s not so unusual. I mean, Lucy’s right in front of him, on the floor. And the chips are nearly in her lap.
It’s all innocent, right?
‘Os?’ Lucy asks, and wrinkles up her cute little face. Of course she does. She’s like a sweet, pure angel, sent from heaven. And I’m the Devil who has to explain it to her.
‘He means … you know,’ I say, and then I do something even worse than the whole licking your clit with letters thing. I do it, without once looking at Artie. I can’t look at Artie. There’s a wall between us, remember?
So really, it doesn’t matter at all if I mime giving someone a blowjob. He can’t see me, as I poke my tongue into my cheek in the lewdest way it’s possible to actually do something like that. In fact, it’s so lewd that Lucy actually fans herself and blushes and kind of glances over her shoulder, as though maybe she’d be only too happy to do something like that to James.
If James plays his cards right.
‘And what’s the international signal for the other one you were talking about …?’ James asks, this look on his face like go on, go on. You’re practically getting me laid with hand gestures.
Of course I’m practically getting myself chased by villagers with torches, too, but what the hell.
‘You mean this?’ I ask, and then I split two fingers and just slide my tongue between …
‘I’m going to bed.’
He says it so abruptly that I do exactly what I
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