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“Tits bigger than her IQ?”
“That’s the one. I wouldn’t have minded so much if she’d been a rocket scientist. But to be passed over for a giant pair of knockers.” She looks down at her breasts. “I always thought I had nice boobs.”
“You have exceptional boobs.”
“Thank you. I knew you’d appreciate them.”
We clink glasses and have another mouthful of whisky. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I can’t believe he cheated on you. What an imbecile.”
“I thought so.”
“Did he get the plate-glass window treatment too?”
“No. I just turned and walked out.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Yeah, part of me wishes I’d kicked him in the family jewels, but hey. It’s done.”
“So what about Rich then?” I ask. “What were the issues in the bedroom?”
“You know I’m only telling you this because I’m drunk.”
“Why d’you think I’m pouring the whisky?”
She sighs. “He suffered from premature ejaculation.” She glares at me as I start laughing. “It’s not funny.”
“I know. There but by the grace of God and all that. It’s every guy’s worst nightmare.”
“So why are you laughing?”
“I honestly don’t know. Christ, Elizabeth.”
“Me and sex don’t go together well,” she says somewhat gloomily.
“I think you’re a perfect match.”
“Yeah, yeah. Between you and me, I think sex is vastly overrated. I get far more enjoyment out of my vibrator than I’ve ever done with any guy,” she says, a little sulkily.
“Ah, man.” She’s determined to torture me tonight. The thought of her preferring to pleasure herself is both an incredible turn-on, and a little bit sad at the same time. “Please don’t say that.”
“Men are high maintenance. They’re so selfish.”
“We are, it’s true.”
“No, not you. Well, maybe, I don’t know, I can’t think about you and sex in the same sentence.” She waves a hand. “But generally, you know, guys just want to get to the finish line. So it’s like, five minutes of foreplay max, which involves one erogenous zone, or two if you’re lucky, and speaking of which, why do guys think it’s a turn on to touch you as if they’re stuffing a chicken?”
I give a short, humorless laugh. “Jesus.”
“And then they’re like, hey, what do you mean you’re not ready for me? So they have at it anyway, then they’re shocked when you don’t come. And then afterward when they leave you unfulfilled and you ask them for some help, you’re the selfish one for keeping them awake when they want to doze off. So you lie there while they’re pressing buttons knowing they’re thinking for fuck’s sake, come on, and if anything’s going to kill your passion, it’s that…” Her diatribe trails off as she looks up at me.
I’m resting my forehead on a hand. “Please don’t tell me any more. You’re killing me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just telling it how it is.”
“Elizabeth… please go to bed with me.”
That makes her laugh. “We are so drunk.”
