“Let go” she slurred attempting seductiveness, climbing awkwardly down my body, moving like the opposite of what John Mayer sung about in “Your Body is a Wonderland.” The sheets clashed against her auburn hair and all that clearly remained in my eyesight were her fierce green eyes sparring against the moonlight. And “Sportscenter.” But I wasn’t watching “Sportscenter.” Even though, by the way her back was positioned, it looked as if her butt was holding up my TV, like a gag gift in a Sky Mall catalog. In a moment she gasped and took hold, causing me to shiver in an instant of pleasure and reflect on how we arrived back in my bed.
It was 1:30 a.m. in a little coast-line bar situated against a vacant Cape Cod beach. The breeze moved in from the ocean and a gentle gust made way through the sea-side shack. Both of us were alone. My friends stumbled their way towards the sand, searching for a party among the light of the dunes, leaving me with my ring-finger farmer’s tan. She – I didn’t see her until the kid behind the counter yelled “closing time,” because Cape Cod loves their mom and pop sensibilities. She wore a sundress. It was red and had a little yellow and white floral print. Stirring the remnants of her rum and coke, she listfully sat watching the room. Far and wide she scanned the bar, casually looking to the door as if she expected someone. All I could think was “this has to be the saddest person wearing a sundress that I’ve ever seen.” I had to know the origin of the sadness. The sundress is lying somewhere next to my bed now.
I smiled when I heard her name. It was Amber. Amber. Was it Amber? My eyes lowered to the woman bobbing her head up and down, siphoning fluids from me while injecting an unfettering desire. It was only right that I asked. “Amber?” I whispered in the air. Her eyes arose. Yes! Got it right. I gave her a quick thumbs up and told her “You’re doing a great job” slightly moaning through the last syllables.
She had told me that she was left at the altar and that this was the first night she had been out on her own since then. Her friends had forced her along to bar after bar, hoping that a little girl’s night out would cure, as she put it, “The most massive rejection of my life,” but it never did. Tonight she wanted to go out alone. According to her, to Amber, her recent singleness came down to one certain aspect of their relationship.
“He said I gave a bad blow job,” she indignantly maligned, as if she took pride in her oral handiwork. Amber grasped my shirt tightly, popping open a button, and pulled me close, imploring to me “I give a great blowjob!” Her eyes lingered. The young bartender looked up from his draw down and smiled. It was only right that I give her a chance to prove herself. It seemed chivalrous. Modern chivalry, as it were.
After one more drink at the bar, two in my living room, and turning on the TV to see how Buc pitched – by her request – Amber and I arrived here, with Amber striving to retain her credibility and I allowing her a platform to do so. We were intertwined, engaged in a magnificent synchronicity that made the moment a monument to everything we wanted for each other and ourselves. Her lips tightened and my eyes widened. Up and down she moved, sending wave after wave of undeniable ecstasy coursing throughout my weathered veins. How could someone not love her for this? How could someone deny marriage because of a blowjob? How could…
“Ow!” I exclaimed.
A sharp metal stab pierced my skin and I lost all focus of my fever dream. Amber, drunkenly, brought an arm to my chest in a misguided attempt to shush away my insolence as if she were a school marm and I some disobedient child. What was that? A tooth? Did I imagine it? Eventually I calmed myself and relaxed. Amber also ceased to hesitate. She cradled and caressed and kissed with a twitching tongue, tempting myself to completion. And I. I wanted to…
“Argh!” I writhed.
This time two successive stabs pierced my phallus and I felt myself lowering to expectations. Amber dug in, unrelenting to her detractor, grasping her arms upon my thighs and bracing her legs against the bed post. What was in her mouth? Was it braces? Was it a machete? Did she have braces? My mind flashed through moments that occurred during the night. Did she eat something? Nope. How did she drink? Lips closed. Laugh. I made her laugh! It was before we left the bar. What did I say? It was the Zoolander impression! It was the Zoolander impression and I leaned against her going “Mer-Man! Mer-Man!” She laughed! But she covered it. She covered it with her hand. Fuck.
“Fuck!” The stabs were becoming thrusts and the pain grew deeper and consistent.
“Soon baby,” she mumbled with my staff in her mouth.
I can do this. I can push through. I need to give this woman her groove back. I was going to Taye Diggs the hell out of this blowjob. The pain intensified with each contraction of her lips. Why the fuck am I not a masochist right now? Why couldn’t that be my kink? Her ivory daggers begin to bring water to my eyes. How could she not be feeling this? I just need to…
“Yes!” I screamed.
Amber rose and sat back on her knees. Her lips quivered as if she couldn’t place the taste in her mouth. “I think you’re bleeding,” she blurts out, surrendering a dribble of a pinkish liquid down her cheek. Anticipated shock overcomes me.
“What!” I jump out of bed and fall to the floor. The shanking to my groin caused a bit of equilibrium issues. Naively I lunged towards my bathroom mirror. Grasp after grasp I pull myself towards truth – towards full knowledge of the unrelenting torture at the center of my euphoria. The bathroom floor does little to ease either sensation and I prop myself against the counter to pull myself to my feet. The aberration before me looked like a Kool-Aid troth was attached to my pelvis.
“My dick looks like a junkie’s arm!” I scream back to my bedroom.
Amber rushes into the bathroom, “It was good though, right?”
“I feel like I am watching the color drain out of an elephant.” I guide myself back to the floor somehow.
“An elephant?” She responded with an unusual mixture of brash sarcasm and sympathy.
I look to her, annoyed. “Fine. A toy elephant.”
“Let me just ask you, was it worthy of calling off a wedding?” she asked, placing towels around the wound.
“I don’t know, you seem like a nice person,” I sigh, shifting to combat the throbbing, “Obviously it’s a red mark, but I don’t know if it is a deal breaker. I’d just discontinue oral for a period.” My eyes were fluttering and I couldn’t tell if she picked up on my own sarcasm.
“That’s what I said!” her melancholy from earlier had dissipated. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“Probably. I mean the room is spinning.”
Amber rushed out of the room and I heard her talk to the 911 operator. She yelled questions to me but I only half answered them. I tried focusing on objects around the bathroom, doing my best to maintain consciousness. I moved from the mirror, to the shower, and ended on the sink. The toothbrush stuck out and last I remember was Amber’s voice.
They told me I was laughing when the paramedics arrived.