My Boyfriend's Back 1"( FF MF MFF cons )[1/3]


     I was pissed off.  Pissed off to the max.  Or, to put it 
another way, I was _maximum_ pissed off.  Here it was another 
wonderful weekend in the great big city, and I had to be alone.  
A city this size has so many incredible virtues that all my friends 
back home just drool.  They drool at the opportunities, but don't 
much care to listen to the whines.  Weekends in my hometown 
might start about mid-day Thursday, and carry on until Monday 
night was threatening to turn into Tuesday morning.  But here, 
you have to work your ass off the full five days if you hope to 
pay the astronomical rent on a tiny little one-bedroom apartment.  
The monthly sum which would pay off the mortgage on a big 
house back there in about five years.
     So the weekends here are nearly sacrosanct.  Nearly, that 
is.  This weekend my boyfriend Stephen was suddenly impressed 
into service by his company to fly off for some stupid conference 
deep in the heart of the grain states.
     As I've said, I was pissed.  It really wasn't Stephen's fault, 
but nevertheless I kicked his ass into the taxi, after refusing to 
tuck a pair of my panties into his pocket.  "You can have them 
when you peel them away from my hot neglected pussy, you 
bastard," were my parting words.  I wasn't exactly being fair, but 
where in the universe resided fairness in the face of my 
weekend's plans suddenly having to get on a fucking airplane to 
Iowa?  I stormed around the apartment fuming, kicking open the 
doors that dared to get in my way.  I finally understood why 
those little cushions you leave scattered in the corners of your 
couch are called _throw_ pillows.  At length I calmed down and 
began idly contemplating the spoiled evening.  Treat myself out 
for a sumptuous meal, a really, really expensive one--while 
cleaning up earlier in the week I'd found one of Stephen's credit 
cards lodged between the sofa cushions.  Maybe I could go out 
and take in a movie.  There was always the possibility of going 
out bar-hopping, pick up the original blind date.  But besides 
being distasteful, the only person that would punish would be 
myself.  Get a guy that blind drunk, and not much else works 
either.  I guessed I could always stay home alone and pretend to 
be all comfy cozy and woozy.
     I was weighing none of my attractive options when Kimbra 
called.  "Oh Kimbra," I answered, "I'm so glad you called.  Uh 
huh.  No, Stephen had to go fly over the Mississippi River for 
some reason.  I don't know.  To report back that it still flows, 
and corn still grows in Iowa.  Sure, come on over.  I'll get some 
dinner in."
     I ordered up some delivery from a great Vietnamese place 
around the corner, then lay back vaguely fantasizing about a cute 
young boat boy who might be persuaded by an extra tip to forget 
about his official duties for a little while.  Not that I'd ever.  The 
food arrived before Kimbra, and I opened the door to some 
transplanted skag from Alabama who apparently expected the same 
treatment.  He even came out and said so, after the money and 
food had exchanged hands.  He was no John Voight, and that 
Midnight Cowboy could just ride on back for a wild night in the 
barn as far as I was concerned.  "No thank you," I closed the 
door, "maybe in your next life, though certainly not in mine."
        Almost immediately there followed a knock on my door.  
Without the preliminary buzz on the intercom from the front door.  
I came so close to ignoring it, but then quietly slid up for a 
glance out the peephole.  It was Kimbra, her face, in that weird 
wide squishy way.
        She swept into the apartment in her usual fashion, with a 
freshly applied scent and her wild flowing hair both billowing as 
though she was propelled by a wind machine.  She came bearing a 
pair of bottles of wine.
        "How did you get in downstairs?" I asked.
        "You wouldn't believe it.  Just as I was needing to come in 
this absolutely gorgeous hunk was coming out.  I figured he was 
your secret lover, but just in case I got all his credentials and 
scribbled down every pertinent detail I could think of regarding 
you."
        This was too uncanny.  "You fucking lying slut whore cunt 
bitch you!"
        "He _reeked_," she rolled her eyes, "of a Vietnamese 
kitchen.  The lone GI so busy getting gonorrhea even the 
helicopters left him behind.  He too had to escape communism on a 
raft.  _Lucky you!_  Glad it's not me."
        "If I'd known you were this steeped in evil tonight, I would 
never have answered the phone."
        "Oh, girlfriend, chill out.  So should we eat some French 
Indochina cuisine before we indulge in the fine fruit of the 
California vines?"
        The food was really excellent but we were both finished well 
before the supplies of it ran out.  Kimbra pushed back first.  
"_Enough!_  And not more than enough.  I eat a full meal, I 
always want to go to sleep.  It's too early for that and too late 
for a nap.  I want to save room for more of this fruity liquid 
dessert.  Besides, we might want a little snack later during the 
movies."
        "Movies?" I questioned.
        "Yes movies," she made big round googly eyes at me.  
"Marvelous 20th century invention that the marvelous 20th 
century has shrunken to fit into a small black plastic box.  You 
know, Denise, you pop it in and it plays.  Movies.  Surely you 
have some around here."
        "You don't want to run wild and free and paint the town, 
dance all the dances and tease all the guys?"  I didn't pose the 
question with much enthusiasm.
        "Not really.  Doesn't sound like you do either."
        "So, that's what you feel like doing?" I asked.
        "Oh, to be honest, this is a perfect night to cocoon and 
spoon."
        "So why do you want to waste the time hanging around with 
a widow like me?  I mean, what about that guy you were seeing?"
        Kimbra blew air out between her closed lips.  "Oh, _him_.  I 
apparently snagged him on the way to a masquerade.  He's 
invisible as far as my eyes care to see."
        "What happened?" I asked with genuine concern, because, of 
course, these matters are of the gravest concern.  "He seemed like 
such a _sweet_ guy."
        "Oh, he was.  But turns out his primary ingredient wasn't 
sugar.  It was saccharine or some such artificial chemical.  You 
know, I discovered the little tag at the base of his neck:  
_Warning!  Use of this product has been known to cause cancer in 
laboratory rats._  And he was apparently popping in and out of 
the holes of quite a few rats."
        "Ooh, yuck."
        "Exactly.  I'm not _that_ desperate to have a latex membrane 
shoved up inside me, no matter how good it feels at the moment.  
So I wrote myself a little letter.  'Still having fun?  _P.S.:  Dump 
boyfriend!_'"
        "Oh, I'm sorry, Kimbra.  I mean, you know.  I'm not sorry.  
I mean, I am, but I'm not.  You know?"
        She rolled her eyes and gave her hair a flick, and then 
burst out laughing.  "_Relax_, Denise.  You really are getting it 
right.  The sentiments _are_ a little bit confusing.  At any rate, 
it's a big ocean and there's plenty of nice big plump fish, but I 
just don't feel like going out trawling tonight.  Staying here and 
having some wine and chatting and maybe watching a movie, that 
sounds like a heaven of a night to me right now."
        She picked up her glass and had a sip, then wandered over 
to the shelf and started scanning the tapes.  I went around the 
room lighting candles and turning off the lamps, all of them 
except for a row of low-wattage track lights leading down the 
hall.  
        "Huh?" Kimbra said looking at one.
        "What?  Which one."
        "_Riding the Night_.  I've heard that's decent.  For that 
sort of thing.  I mean, save your money and wait for it to come 
out on video.  Better still wait for your girlfriend's boyfriend to 
pirate a copy.  Have you seen it yet?  Is it any good?"
        "We-e-ll," I started.  "Yea, sort of, I mean, you see, I've 
only seen about the first half, which was pretty good, I mean, you 
see, Stephen brought it over last weekend, and, uh, well, we 
wound up not watching the whole thing but not because it wasn't 
good, I mean . . . "
        "What you mean is it needs to be rewound because you two 
guys suddenly didn't have the time to do anything else but hit 
the off button, is that right?" she asked in a sultry tone, casting 
a teasing look my way.  I didn't really need to answer.  "Okay," 
she popped it in, "as good a recommendation as any."  She was 
right on all counts.  The tape did need to be rewound.
        "Okay now.  One promise from you.  I'm leaving if you don't 
cheer up.  This is supposed to be quality girlfriend time.  If 
you're going to put on your dreary uniform and salute Major 
Mope all evening . . . well, so long, it's been good to know you."
        "Well, gee, thanks for the commiseration," I snapped back.
        "Oh, _please_, Denise.  If you'd just gotten dumped or 
something I'd lend you my shoulder until there wasn't a tear left 
in your body, I'd rail against every bastard that ever did you 
wrong.  But face it.  You're pissed off because your boyfriend 
was forced out of town for the weekend.  How do we address 
that?  I don't want to spend an evening sitting around bitching 
about _jobs_.  Jobs are like men:  _can't live with 'em, can't live 
without 'em!_  I mean, was Stephen wearing a smiley face when he 
got the news?  _Doubter!_  Sure, he's one of the most totally 
awesome babes I've ever met.  But he's a guy.  You _know_ what 
was going through that guy brain of his."
        I gave a little shrug and took a sip of wine.
        "Oh like right you don't."  Kimbra cast her voice down low, 
"_Well, goddamn, no pussy this weekend, and next weekend she'll 
probably be on the rag_."
        I exploded in laughter.  The wine nearly shot out my nose!
        Kimbra joined in chorus, "Now am I right, or am I right?"
        "You're right, and you're right.  I probably will be on the 
rag!  Welcome to Blow Job City!  I'll be climbing the walls with 
horniness, and he'll be all," I pitched low, "_Oh no, that's okay 
honey,_ I _can wait, no, really, I don't want to wind up ruining 
your sheets or anything_."
        It was Kimbra's turn at scalding the nasal membranes.  
Finally she recovered.  "Okay, okay, so you're pissed off _and_ 
horny.  Why don't you make like the yellow pages, let your 
fingers do the walking."
        "That's what I do all week long, Kimbra.  Weekends are 
supposed to be special."
        "What?" she shot me a wicked look, "you don't have a 
bedside companion."
        "Huh?"
        "_Ah-hem!_  Mr. Reliable.  Pull out your Dirty Weekend 
Dildo.  Flip the switch on that old vibramagic orgasmatron!"
        "Oh, no," I shook my head, "that's not for me.  Plastic, 
latex, rubber, I just don't like it.  Okay, once upon a time, with 
this _huge_ king kong thing.  It was the color of the _flesh_ 
crayon.  Sort of like a loaf of puffy white bread.  Okay to ingest 
and it sure filled me up, but it got me nowhere.  I mean, I need a 
little visual stimulation, but everytime I opened my eyes it was to 
the sight of the evil alien monster trying to impregnate me.  I 
couldn't get beyond _good god girl, you're messin' around with a 
dong!_
        "Well, I knew this gal who swore by cucumbers, baked in 
the oven at a very low heat.  Not too mushy.  And of course let it 
cool down a bit."
        "Kimbra!  I'm flesh and blood.  I don't want to have sex 
with a vegetable.  Grr-rr.  I want _meat_."
        "Okay, a nice thick salami, _whatever_."
        "I don't _do_ pork."
        "I understand they are doing wonderful things with turkey 
these days."
        "Kimbra, you just don't understand."
        "Sure I do, Denise.  You're a very picky eater."
        "You're missing the whole point."
        "I admit sometimes I do.  But right now I'd say you're the 
one _missing_ the whole _point_."
        There was that burning sensation spreading from my lips up 
my cheeks.  I was hoping the lighting was low enough my blush 
would go unnoticed.  Kimbra can get on a roll where any sense of 
mercy is a scrap of trash out blowing along the gutter.  It exists, 
but not in the room where she sits.  I leaned over to the side 
table and lit a couple of scented candles, hoping, I suppose, to 
hide the primary evidence of my other blush, rising up from my 
other lips to my other cheeks.  Damn I was horny.  My poor blood 
was so confused it didn't know where to go.  Rushing this way 
and that.  There definitely wasn't enough left to keep my brain at 
full function.  I had to calm down.  I tried to pay attention to the 
movie, but it was nothing but a screen full of flickering lights, 
shouting loud noises.  I vaguely recognized the pair of protagonists.  
Then it segued into a flashback, a tedious courtroom scene that was 
apparently injected at the last minute in an attempt to make the 
whole premise of the movie plausible.  It was long and stilted and 
so very dull that I'd decided to rip off Stephen's clothes and molest 
him instead.
        "So Denise, when exactly did you last get some?  With 
Stephen or not you don't have to say."
        "_Kimbra!_" I protested, "it's always with Stephen.  Last 
weekend," I admitted.
        "Oh you poor thing.  Saturday?  Sunday?"
        "We-e-ll, gee, um, both."
        "_We-e-ll_ indeed.  What are you complaining about?  Twice 
within a week."
        "Actually . . . "
        "Actually what?"
        "O-o-h . . ." I rushed through it, "three times Saturday, 
and twice on Sunday and another time I'm not technically sure of 
because I wasn't paying attention to the clock."
        "_Girl!_  Oh you poor _deprived_ thing.  Jollies, yes or no?"
        "With Stephen, always.  Almost always.  Usually, you know, 
_multiple_."
        In the low light Kimbra's eyes were full moons shining at 
me.  "Shit.  No wonder you're aching.  You've gotten too used to 
the too good stuff."
        "I _know_," I fairly groaned.
        By then there was a grand swell of music and a fade-out 
shot of a man and a woman, looking a bit battered and dirty, 
staring at each other with unconcealed if stylized lust.  The 
credits started rolling.
        "Is this the end? that's the end? how did it end?" Kimbra 
burst in staccato.
        "_One guess!_  Ms. Good and Mr. Good defeated all evil and 
have themselves for rewards.  But before they can drive off in 
the sunset for a quick shower before you-know-what they have to 
find a taxi because all the other cars got blown up along the 
way."
        "So that's the sequel then?  Ooh, scary!  Two hours of 
standing around all ready for the real action, but no way to get 
there.  _Hailing a Cab_.  I think I'll skip that one.  Just thinking 
about it is going to give me nightmares."
        I was looking all around us for the remote, when right as 
the film finished I saw that I'd left it on top of the television.