A Tale for the Modern Attention Span
Charity Bolt (née Hope) sprinted into her husband’s bedroom and tore off all her clothes in a matter of seconds. Once naked, she jumped up on the bed, spread her trembling legs wide and bit her lower lip in anticipation.
Knowing it was her first time, Steel tried to create a sensual air by walking toward her slowly and lingering as he removed his clothing. It didn’t work. Charity was on him in a flash, endeavouring to rip the shirt and pants from his body—with no regard whatsoever for their future wear-ability. He lay her down again and, in deference to her desires, stripped quickly.
As he did, he couldn’t help noticing that she looked quite like a younger version of another, formerly demure brunette he’d known. He managed to shake that thought as he positioned his imposing six-foot four-inch frame atop her diminutive one.
He was rather surprised how easily it went in. (Thanks to his first wife’s careful handling of his ego, he had no idea about his lack of girth down there. Nor was he aware of Charity’s penchant for large-handled hairbrushes.)
He pushed up awkwardly a few times then promptly grunted, convulsed and collapsed. Then he rolled off and sighed with contentment.
Charity stared at the ceiling, puzzled. She was reluctant to complain, yet couldn’t help herself. “Um, is that it?”
“Pardon, my love?”
“Is that it? Is there any more?”
“No, that’s all. Did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” she replied, not sure that she was truly able to gauge the enjoyability of an event so brief.
“Good. So did I. Immensely,” said Steel as he manoeuvred himself into a position obviously meant for sleep.
“Ah ... can we do it again?”
“I said, can we do it again?”
“Oh my love, I am flattered that you enjoyed it so much, but most men aren’t able to perform more than once a day.”
“So we won’t be doing it again until tomorrow?”
“Not even then, darling. It is my belief that only the weak allow themselves to be ruled by their libidos. Sexual intercourse is a healthy, perhaps even necessary release, but it should be enjoyed quickly and infrequently. What we will do is have sex Wednesday nights between 10:00 and 10:15, and Sundays from 8:00 a.m. until 8:15.”
“Between 10:00 and 10:15?” Charity repeated.
“Yes. Your cycle permitting, of course.”
“And when my cycle doesn’t permit, do we reschedule for another time?”
“No, darling” Steel chuckled, “it’s not like a baseball game getting rained out.”
“Uh .... are you sure that’s often enough?”
“That will more than suffice.”
Steel ground his face into his pillow. Before drifting off to sleep, he murmured, “If you wanted someone with an immense sex drive, you should have married my brother Daedalus."
Meanwhile, across town, Trixie Testosterone was carrying a tray laden with empty glassware toward the bar at Chez Pussy when she stopped suddenly. So suddenly that glasses and bottles toppled and smashed on the floor all around her. She stood rigid, a blank expression on her face, making no motion toward cleaning the mess she’d caused.
She continued to stare obliviously.
“Trixie? Is everything alright?” asked the girl, jostling her slightly.
Finally Trixie jerked her head and said “Huh? Oh yeah, everything’s fine ... Just fine.”