Creativity Magazine

Chapter 17 Part II Good Coke Bad Coke

By Reporterandgirl @reporterandgirl

He started mulling around the small apartment…rummaging his stuff…and muttering loudly about my sexual incompetence.

I Think.

It was a very hazy night.

And it seemed that in the moments that I was sitting on his bed incompletely disrobed, Jon was pacing back and forth in a stupor; the memory of our brief romantic escapade faded as if it happened a week ago.

I was a bit nervous and feeling very insecure as I let Jon’s disparaging remarks sink in.

It was hard to think straight and put everything together; I couldn’t understand why we were having problems, for something that we apparently agreed would be so simple. No feelings involved, no romance involved…just cut straight to the chase of penetration and orgasmic relief.

He always wanted to have sex, even right up to that afternoon when he was traumatized and frustrated at the idea that both of us were attracted to each other, but I still didn’t want to be involved. He spent a long time convincing me–

“YOU DON’T LIKE MAKING OUT!!!” He yelled, interrupting my weak thought process.

I am trying to give you what you want…I thought.

In retrospect, what Jon wants isn’t fair: all the benefits of a girlfriend without giving me the title. He said:

A) No strings attached

B) No work involved

C) Not a sure thing

So I:

A) I went speed dating and he met a girl at a coffee shop

B) I don’t have to make out or participate in any foreplay or romantic ritual that assisted in arousing him

C) Could change my mind, or stop the “Friendship” at any time. No warning needed.

Aren’t these the rules of a casual non-intimate affair?

“Excuse me!” He said, as he rolled down next to me on the mattress, he had his boxers back on, and started staring at the screen.

Well, let me try to save the night. I thought in my split second of clarity. After all, I am dealing with Mr. Sensitive and I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to put in a little effort and still remain detached from him. I began to feel tired and miserable.

I need another breath: it burned and then another very cool dry air filled my mouth and lungs.


I gently set the glass device down on the table with both hands, in a manner of ease and unconfident grace as if it were an activated IED. I could feel Jon’s eyes behind me; intently watching as I handled his property. I felt untrusted and trespassing.

“Hey, come on…” I began to croon as I leaned over him. I grazed my hand over his chest and body. “We can still do this!” And I began to peck his face.

He stared straight at the television with disinterested eyes.

I started to straddle him, and opened his legs, so I could have easy access to his penis.

I’m not sure what happened next, I can’t remember if Jon actually closed his legs again, or if he rolled away, still not facing me; but I got very scared and paranoid.

Why isn’t he responding? Is he ok? Why does he want to stop having sex, all of a sudden?!

“Heeeyyyy, I thought you were in the mood.” I asked slyly, while I tried to kiss his corpse.

“I’m tired and about to fall asleep” He replied, and it looked like he was.

“So take another hit!” I demanded. What happened to all that good coke he found yesterday? And he was taking hits from the bong; in fact I’m sure he has plenty of “snuff” in his apartment that could support a weekend rave.

Determined, I wedged my body between his legs, and got about bringing the romance he desperately cried for.  But after taking so many deep breaths from the glass tube, my mouth was dry and my tongue felt like sandpaper. His soft fleshy member felt like sticky rubber as the skin painfully peeled from the roof my mouth and the slow friction started to raw my tongue. My throat was still burning from the blazing cannabis and I could feel the heat and smoke rise from the lungs and mix with the cool dry air when I inhaled.

I looked up for a moment and saw that Jon was literally dead, it was like he had given up with his legs sprawled out and head turned to the side with glassy eyes. I don’t remember how long I continued, or even if I did. It seemed like one minute I was up to battle the world and save the night and the next, I was wiped out and just wanted it to be morning, maybe it is already morning? It had to be several hours since this whole mess started.

And then he was on top of me or better yet down on me. The ceiling had become quiet again and the lights from the old socket dimly glowed yellow and hazy. I felt the heat from my lungs simmer through as I exhaled a ghostly aura. I quickly took in as much cool dry air as my scorched lungs could hold in and felt my heart racing and pulsating blood as every pulse in body from my big toe, ankles, thighs, back, wrists, carotid, and temples synchronized the beat.

I started to become warm, and could feel Jon’s wet tongue softly lapping and giving intermittent bursts of icy air. He was looking up at me; and I back at him. As our eyes met, it seemed like we both knew the time was right and we were both ready; and he rose up, and it rose up too, in all its arrogant glory they looked down at the spastic girl with a mild and funny paroxysm, wild hair, shy smile, and tired eyes that could only see his glowing outline.





“Jon, go slower” I whispered.

And he did. And for a few minutes longer I was able to enjoy the rhythm of my pulse, a pulse that did not beat before, while Jon slowly stroked the internal nub. But before the clock could strike twelve, I could hear Jon let out his warrior cry signaling the end of an epic battle.

“UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!” and he rolled over to the other side.

I knew he would need his fifteen minutes. But thought that if in the meantime, I praised him for being such a stud, it would give him confidence to perform again. I didn’t want him to keep thinking that for some reason I don’t enjoy being with him. I mean after all, why am I here?

“OH! That was sssoooooo great!” I cried, “You made me feeeelllll ssssoooo gooood!”

I leaned next to him and petted his hair and caressed his face.

“Ooooohhhh, you just ravaged me and took me into your arms…it was indescribable, please you have to give me more!” I begged.

But Jon did not respond, in fact I don’t think he could even hear me as his eyes lost focus.

“Oh you’re just a sex god, Jon…you know…how to…” I desperately added. But instead of caressing him softly, I was now shaking him and slapping his butt to get some sort of physical response.


“I’m so tired…I just….fall asleep.” He mumbled softly.

Defeated, I sat down on my side. Whatever show he was watching had now ended. And I got up to turn off the lights and TV. Laying in the dark, I began to feel humiliated and frustrated as I recalled his denigrating remarks about my sexual performance.

It took forever, but we finally got something done. I pondered, but I couldn’t help think that maybe his tiredness was tied into some loss of sexual attraction for me.

I turned in close to him; the last time I slept over, it was at his old apartment where we shared his tiny twin-sized mat. Albeit there wasn’t much room, Jon practically slept on top of me…I mean he held me, snored in my ear, he whispered at me early in the morning to get up…So I scootched in and wrapped my arm around his waist.

“I’m hot…I’m hot, Sabine—I just want to sleep.” He said pointedly.

I swallowed hard, as I retreated back to my side of the mat, which had grown cold in my brief absence.

And for some reason, as feelings began to swirl…I suddenly remembered him, a guy I used to date—maybe 5 years or so ago. He was the last person whom I would sleep over at his room…

I suddenly felt defensive and insecure, as my mind began to backtrack through old memories, and I let out a snort at a very ironic thought.

“HHhhhmmm…?” He mumbled.

“You know who was my worst in bed?” I cackled out. “Sam!” and I rolled over to sleep.


The morning was dreadful. I laid in bed awake as Jon took his 2 minute shower and threw some clothes on. He wasn’t exactly cheery, but he did have a bounce in his step as he quickly and in a half-ass manner ironed his shirt and put on his shoes. I, on the other hand slowly gathered my things and we walked out to the street.

“What happened?” I grumbled.

“You don’t remember?” He asked.

I tried to put together bits and pieces: I remembered movie, coins, and sex. But I was missing sequential pieces and I had a headache.  I sat on the bench as he went for his cup of jo’ and got me an orange juice.

He came back out and looked at me, “Are you feeling ok to get home?” He asked.

“Yeh, just kinda nauseous…” I replied “From all the smoke. What about you? You had bad coke the night before last.”

“It was good coke and no it’s not that, it’s because you were drinking in the hot sun yesterday.” He countered back. “Wait, do you think….are you pregnant?”

I gave him a hard drunk look, “No.”  I said. “Listen, since you’re in the field…are you going uptown? Can I ride with you to the A?”

“Well, I’m going to be down here for the rest of the morning…it may not be until afternoon when I get in that area.” He said, as he reached into his pocket for a smoke.

Oh, yeh he did that to use me, I remembered.

“Oh ok, I’ll talk to you later.” I said as I got up and wandered towards the station.


I didn’t tell Jon, what was going on with me the night before because…we were fighting and I didn’t see where it appropriately fit. After he told me about the girl at the coffee shop, I asked him if I were in the hospital what would he do?

“Well of course I’d come see you. I’m not a dick.” He replied. In fact, he had this look on his face that seemed shock that I would think otherwise.

And I left it at that.

Later that afternoon, I was sitting on my computer reading about Dr. Joseph Campbell online, and filling out a medical form. Jon called me; it was weird to hear from him in the middle of the work day.

“Hey, I’m just calling because I need a brief excerpt about yesterday’s event to put into the paper.” He stated.

It was a 30 second interview, and at the end he asked me how I was and my plans for tonight. I stated that I would be hanging out with my friend James. He replied I should call him sometime to hang out. Clean, crisp, and professional, or detached.

It’s best that way.

Chapter 18: The Masochist and The Martyr

I was determined to show him, how I could fuck. Still riveted by his sneers, I had an arsenal and a plan to teach him a lesson. He wasn’t going to fall asleep so easily this time. I kneeled over him and his fully exposed genitals.  I pretended that I was “getting to work with the romance,” as I reached under the pillow to find where I hid it.

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