So, my story of masturbation has been going on for a long time, really. Men come into the story a bit later, but there’s been plenty of them, too. But things have come to a head lately and I want to tell you about it. Let’s start one Friday night, late last year, in 2012.
It was an important time for me. I was waiting for a call to see if I got a design fellowship offer in the United States, and it hadn’t come in yet. So I went out to make my mind off things. I did not get to the bar until just after ten, and when I got in my work crew were already well into it. Some of the men would already be starting to calculate how many more drinks they could squeeze in before the bell was rung at eleven. Some sounded like they had been there since just after five.
I like James. He’s an accounts manger, not an artist, but he is polite and well mannered, and makes decent conversation, and when he’s cocky he usually gets it right. I know he likes to look at my armpits and his eyes went immediately toward them, but he found them covered, and he settled for a good look at my breasts. Then he was back in the room.
‘Um, hi, Joanne. You’re here pretty late. Do you want a drink?’
He smiled and disappeared into the throng at the bar. That was when Mike from my office came up.
I like Mike too. He’s an artist like me, at a junior level, and technically I’m his boss. I like him because he works hard and never lets me down, and then when he goes out, he always gets very drunk and doesn’t say anything. He just stands there grinning like a big drunk Ox.
While I waited on my drink I poked him gently in the stomach and offered him some chocolate.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘You OK?’
I could smell the beer and the cologne and the day’s sweat on him, and I didn’t mind it at all, because that is exactly what I would expect my big drunk work Ox to smell like.
‘Yep, I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Good night?’
‘Oh, the usual.’ He grinned again and sort of faded into the background when James came back.
The VAT was not a double and James did not say “get that into you” when he handed it to me. More points for James. His eyes were quickly back on my chest again.
‘Looking for someone?’ I said.
‘You’re going to do a lot of exercise or you’ll get back problems,’ he replied with a cheeky smile.
‘I should,’ I admitted. ‘But I still feel fine so there’s not much incentive.’
He laughed, and nodded. Still more kudos for James. I thought about asking him to go dancing with me, when everyone else had gone home.
But then, Gareth came over.
Gareth is my ex-boyfriend and I do not like that fact.
Actually, I dislike it so much that I wish there was such a thing as an ex-ex boyfriend because then he could be in that category; formerly my ex-boyfriend, but now no longer, because of time travel.
That’s right. Gareth is not my ex-boyfriend. I never started sleeping with Gareth. I was never taken in by his charm, and do not have the misfortune of knowing how charmless he is when he is alone with a woman. I have never been on the receiving end of one of his eleven minute power fucks. I do not have that fading memory of the seven rushed, panicky orgasms he gave me. I did not have to go to the bathroom afterwards and hastily finish the job while I pretended to pee. And, I did not have to put up with him questioning me afterwards, about whether I was satisfied.
All thanks to the wonders of time travel.
I do not like Gareth, obviously.
Actually, I don’t really like many of my ex-boyfriends. And I don’t really ‘date’ men any more. I just pick them up sometimes.