Sarah's Case

by Chip Friday

Everyone has self-esteem issues. Most people focus on deficits, worrying they might not be good enough. My self-esteem issues are a little different—I know I'm good enough. My focus is on surplus—I wonder just how much better I am than everybody else. And why don’t people agree?

I always test my new guy’s admiration early on. I want him to say, “I’ve never been with anyone as sexy as you,” and so saying he slides his hands under my butt and pulls my vagina toward him. I have really long hair in this fantasy—so long that part of it lies flat on the bed as he picks me up by my pelvis, his hungry tongue warmly exploring my folds. Sometimes when my new guy is on the couch, I’ll sit at one end and throw my long legs over his lap. Once, my new guy (it was our second date) sat there with his fucking arms folded, just staring at my legs. I screamed at him; jumping up, I said, “I knew this would happen! I always have to call first! You sat there like an idiot when the bill came! Who do you think you are? You have a belly!” He looked shocked, like this was no way to hold court. He said, “It’s getting late.”

All these guys I meet are the same. They’re passionless, tepid. I’ve grown to hate the word “tepid.” When I answer an ad, I always use this word: “I’m sick of tepid guys. I want to be seduced. I want to be taken care of.” They reply with shit like “Everyone wants that, honey,” and “Me too! Let’s meet.” I’ve had to be very bold about asking for what I want; I now say things like “I accept there aren’t any good men in this town, so I’m willing to settle. Your job: Take care of me, enjoy my body, realize how special it is.” The ones that take the bait always play the same game: They stumble through the evening with their hands in their pockets, waiting for me to ask them questions. I thought guys all wanted sex! I thought they were actually attracted to women!

I’ve been masturbating a lot lately: Once a week, at least. When I masturbate, I don’t think about my guy’s body (none of them have good bodies anyway)—I think about having stuff done to my body. It might be as simple as intercourse from behind, or up against a wall; or, it might be as complicated as having my clothes removed after I return to my apartment with my guy, his thick stubby fingers undoing my blouse, belt, bra. He keeps his clothes on, of course. And I lay on the bed and he licks every inch of my body with his tongue: my crack, ears, feet, eye sockets. I haven’t been able to satisfy this fantasy—the closest I’ve come is having a guy lick 47% of my body. The worst part is I had to initiate it! I had to ask!

Useless fucks!

This has been my life for ten years. Yesterday, I did something about it. I asked my new guy to come back to my place. I initiated everything because I knew it was useless to wait around. When we were in bed and I was going down on him, I popped his dick out of my mouth and lurched toward his feet. I took his big toe in my mouth and bit hard—not as hard as I could’ve, but hard enough to cause exquisite pain. He screamed really loudly and jerked his foot away and his still-erect penis waved back and forth like a ship’s mast on the high seas. Jerking his foot away caused a layer of skin to peel off the toe and I could feel and taste the delicious metal of his blood. He shouted, “What the fuck! Are you crazy?” He was standing up now and his penis was actively deflating, pumping down, as if controlled by hydraulics. I wanted to remove his testicles and put them in a fruit bowl. I said, “Were you thinking about yourself when I was blowing you? Get the fuck out of here, you tepid piece of shit!” He ran outside naked, covering his groin with his boots as he hurried across the parking lot. I stepped onto the balcony and screamed down at him: “You’re a fucking homosexual! You’re not attracted to women—you like the idea of them being attracted to you! Self-absorbed piece of shit!”

So cathartic, so delicious. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it would do.


Chip Friday began his life in Buffalo, New York where he spent his first 18 years, after which time he moved to the Deep South. He is currently living in Mobile, AL where he works as an adjunct instructor. Before beginning a career as an academician, Chip held such jobs as radio disc jockey, news writer, newspaper correspondent, high school English teacher (or, crowd control), and purchasing agent. Recently, Chip completed a PhD at the University of Southern Mississippi's Center for Writers. Most importantly, Chip Friday eats prunes every night before bed.

Sarah's Case Copyright 2012
by Chip Friday






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