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“Not with a shoe anyway,” Courtney said.
“Not with a shoe,” I said. “And that was the weapon I happened to be holding.”
“So, what happened?” Courtney asked.
I looked around. This story was about to get very office inappropriate, and I was still relatively new to Dynasty. I had a captive audience of three, but I didn’t want any eavesdroppers to hear and report me to HR.
“Now as little as Bradley knows about wine, he knows even less about pleasing a woman,” I said. “This is a guy who needs Google Maps to find the clit. His hands were all thumbs, he’d squeeze my tits like he was man handling fruit. The one time he went down on me, it was so bad I told him to stop. I’ve had more sexually fulfilling Pap smears.”
The memory of that sent a bit of nausea into my gut. I honestly didn’t know what I was thinking being with him. I suppose it was buying into his bullshit. He was so convinced of his greatness that it was hard not to get swept up in it. It was like he’d used a Jedi mind trick. Instead of asking if that was good for me, he’d tell me, and I didn’t have the heart to give him feedback.
It was actually upsetting for me to think about it and, sure, I might have been exaggerating for comic effect, and embellishing a few of the details, not to mention leaving out the tears in my eyes as I listened to him and the secretary from behind the closed door. Leaving him was the best thing I’d ever done, but it still hurt to be cheated on. It still hurt to have spent as long as I did with him knowing how little he actually cared about me.
But my audience was loving it and I wasn’t going to stop now. From the looks on their faces, I should have brought popcorn.
“And the sounds that he’d make,” I said. “You know like when a dog is about to throw up? Imagine that but nonstop for like two to three minutes, broken up by some of the worst dirty talk I’ve ever heard.
“So, after I’d had enough of that—”
“No, no, no,” Courtney said.
“What?” I asked.
“You can’t just tell us that and not give examples,” Vince said. “What did he say?”
I looked around. Nobody was nearby. I kept my voice low.
“He refused to call his penis his dick,” I said, “or his cock or his Johnson or anything reasonable like that. He was really into D&D and Tolkien and stuff, so he called it his ‘dragon.’ So, everything he’d say was like ‘Oh, you make my dragon blow fire’.”
The three of them laughed at that. Abigail was blushing, “What did he call your… er, um…?”
“My lady bits?” I asked.
Abigail blushed a little harder.
“That was the weirdest thing,” I said. “He called it ‘the Dragon Slayer.’”
“No!” Courtney was downright shocked.
“That’s so weird,” Vince said. The look on his face was what you’d expect from a man witnessing a horrific car accident who refused to look away.
“So, I’m hearing these ungodly sounds coming from behind the door and the most half-hearted attempts at moans from her and I figure the kind thing to do would be to just put her out of her misery.”
“Were you mad at her?” Courtney asked.
“Heck no,” I told her. “I felt bad for her. Nobody should have to endure what she was going through. As I see it, she and I are the victims in this story.”
That’s at least what I told myself. She was young and stupid and taken in by Bradley. It could happen to anybody. He was a narcissistic prick no matter how you slice it and it’d be impossible to put a number on the amount of women that probably ended up in therapy because of him.
“So, I barged in there to put an end to it,” I said, miming the activity and making sure to show that I still held that high heel shoe in my hand. “She was leaning over the bed, and he was giving it to her from behind, wheezing like he was knocking on death’s door.”
I had gotten so good at telling this story from various parties that I was practically on autopilot, making sure not to rush the payoff.
“I stepped forward and I threw the shoe at him.”
I acted the activity out in slow motion, throwing that imaginary shoe just as I had that day.
“Bullseye,” I said, “Four-inch heel all the way up his asshole.”
