The Sex is Always Just Fine

Initially I was going to skate by on some non-creative bullshit I wrote earlier today. Writing is writing after all. It is, but this shouldn’t have counted. Fortunately I’ve found time, so it won’t have to count.

(man, this new comma knowledge is empowering) I’ll have to learn about dashes next.

“Oh honey, the sex was just fine. The sex is always just fine–”

“Arched back? Gasping for–”

“What is it you’re reading? But really you’re on the right track here,” Connie centered her sweating Arnold Palmer on the cardboard coaster then dabbed her lips with a linen napkin. “He was funny.”

“Mmm. Doing it with a guy who makes you laugh is the best.” Lisa popped a cherry tomato leftover from her salad in her mouth and Grouch Marxed her eyebrows.

“Ew, no.” Lisa continued waggle her eyebrows. Connie grimaced, “Stop. Just stop. No, what meant was he was comical.”

“What? His thing did stand-u–”

“If you finish that sentence I’ll walk the check on you. No, he’d clearly seen too much porn.”

“The bush freak him out?”

“Jesus Lisa!” Connie sputtered. Their waiter topped off Connie’s glass with more tea, and the pair of women froze like nuns in a bathhouse. ┬áThe waiter left with a professionally blank face, but Connie would never eat there again.

“Don’t interrupt me. He was fascinated by the panty-lines on my hips. He kept tracing the indentions in my skin.”

“Cool.”

“Was that a question or a statement?”

“Whichever.”

“Cool. It was cool.”

251 words on day 542