Chapter Two Cindy

“ U gh! Ugh! Ugh! Oh my God! Ohhhh. God!”

Will this loser please finish already?

Why do I keep doing this?

“Oh, yeah, baby! Who’s your daddy?”

I’m glad I’m facing away from Frat Boy. Rolling my eyes while he’s clearly giving his best pornstar-wannabe performance is probably rude. I don’t answer his question. It’s a turn-off. Hell, this whole night has become a turn-off.

It occurs to me that I’m doing a disservice to my fellow women. This guy is probably nineteen or twenty (old enough to be at the Pine Ridge campus of NYU), and he still doesn’t know how to have good sex. He’s rushed and clumsy, but he’s not giving off “this is my first time” vibes. If I hadn’t been soaking through my black fishnets since the moment I walked into the party a couple of hours ago, his attempts at athletic fucking would be mildly uncomfortable. And he thinks outdated phrases like “Who’s your daddy?” sound hot?

I am doing nothing for my fellow women in terms of training this bozo. That is probably rude—on my part.

And yes, having time to have deep introspective thoughts during passionate sex is also a sign that it’s not good. Passionate is a misnomer.

Faking does nothing for either of us.

I pull away.

“H-hey!” Bozo is handsome enough, and yes, I know his name isn’t Bozo. It’s Brad or Bert or something. Right now, he looks like a stunned, breathless Adonis-in-training.

“This angle isn’t working. You’re not hitting my G-spot, you’re totally neglecting my clit, and you didn’t go down before moving right to home base. Also, ‘Who’s your daddy?’ Ew, no. You don’t know if I even have a daddy-kink. Which I don’t.”

Bozo blinks. “Well...You have a fat ass!”

“I know.” I beam and pat my generously padded posterior. “And if you had been good, you probably would have gotten to fuck it on some future date. But this isn’t a date. This is a party hook up, and I’m horny. Now, you’d better make me come, or I’m leaving. Want me to show you how?”

Bozo splutters. “I k-know how to have sex, skank!”

“Oh, God. Your poor, poor future wife. Learn to take directions.” I pull my dress back down and leave whatever abysmal dorm room I’m in, walking past dozens of other couples who are spilling out of other rooms, making out in halls before they end for the night or take things inside and move to the next level.

As I get to the top of the stairs, a red plastic cup full of watermelon vodka splashes me in the back of the head.

I turn slowly. My lazy, psycho bitch smile spreads even slower. Bozo, holding up a pillow in front of his semi-adequate junk, gulps and slams the door shut.

Outside, I stand in the chilly mid-March air and let out a deep, guttural groan. It’s more than sexual longing. It’s sexual frustration. I slip into my car and roar away from the dorms.

Back at my apartment, I head into the shower with my favorite toy—but then stop as my phone buzzes.

Cathy: Are you up?

Cathy works at The River House restaurant. My fellow waitress is also my primary bestie. Claire, who used to be a waitress, is my secondary bestie. She’s now my part-time boss. She and her almost-hubby own a bakery and coffee shop, and I help out when they have catering. When the bakery side of the business opens, they’ve offered me a full-time job.

Cindy: Yes. Just had the most unsatisfying sex I’ve had in months. Called it quits, and now I’m getting into the shower with something long, thick, and suction-y.

Cathy: TMI

Cindy: Why are you up?

Cathy: How do we throw Claire a bridal shower without her knowing when she works at the place where we want to have it?

Cindy: This is what keeps you up at night?

Cathy: Also the plight of children in need, human suffering, and global warming. Oh, and the threat of nuclear war.

I put my head in my hand and nearly blind myself with my OctoPussy, my delightful teal tentacle toy.

Cindy: I’ll ask Georgia to help. We’ll say we’re catering for some other person, but it’ll be for her.

Cathy: But then she’ll do all the work!

Cindy: It’s late. I’m horny. I will have more plans tomorrow.

Cathy: Don’t you ever want to find just one nice man to love and sleep with?

My heart hurts. Yes, I do. But I don’t know if I can find that.

Cindy: Sure, but in the meantime, I’m keeping sex toy manufacturers gainfully employed.

Cathy: You’re a mess and I love you.

Cindy: I love you, too.