Carol Comes Home
Carol burst into the apartment and slammed the door shut, locked it, bolted it, and then, back against the door, slid down to the floor.
The apartment was dark, but the red light on the phone’s answering machine was blinking. Messages.
Carol was breathing heavily, eyes closed, when the memories came flooding back.
This can’t keep happening … these men are horrible!
Eyes now open, Carol rose from the floor and shuffled to the phone machine. Three messages.
Message 1: “Carol, it’s mother. I’m worried about you. Please pick up if you’re there … otherwise, call me when you get this.”
There was a muffled sound just outside the apartment door, and Carol wondered if someone from the bar had followed and was out there. Surely not ….
Unwelcome memories from the nightclub kept coming back:
Minding my own business, having a drink, checking my cell phone, and the creep sits down beside me. When I don’t acknowledge him, the creep looks at my phone and says, “Can I send you a dick pic?” I say, “Why would I want that? I can tell just from looking at you that you’re hung like an acorn.”
All he did was smile.
Message 2: “Hi Carol. This is Xavier from the club. You don’t have to return this. I was just wondering how things went the other night. You know, with my bro Alex? Seemed like you two hit it off (laughter). Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you soon at the club. Bye.”
Alex from the club. Right.
These damned men! They have no idea the time and effort I — and millions of girls around the planet — put into our appearance, and they have no clue as to why. Yes, we want to look attractive — but that doesn’t mean we want to sleep with you! We enjoy the attention, it feels good to be noticed and desired, sure, but that doesn’t mean we want to bonk!
“Funny thing about dick pics,” the creep at the bar had said. “Women complain about them, but they don’t understand the motive. They think men are like peacocks, strutting their feathers — or dicks — in a bid to attract a woman. But that’s not the case. Usually, the man knows he has no chance with her. The dick pic isn’t for her benefit; it’s actually an act of aggression.”
Message 3: A hang-up.
“The guy thinks, OK, she’s not into me. But at the very least, I can get her to see my dick, plant that image in her brain. At some point, she’ll probably imagine sex with that dick — if only for a moment. And so the dick pic is for the guy’s benefit, sort of a mind fuck. Pathetic, sure, but not what most women think it is.”
At that point, Carol stood and faced him. “You speak like you have a lot of experience sending dick pics. No thanks. Like I said, I can tell just from looking at you that you’re probably sporting a baby dick.” Carol left him sitting there, a smirk on his face.
No more phone messages. Somewhere outside, a siren was wailing. It grew louder, then fainter as it moved on.
Of course, everyone has some sort of … kink. I certainly have one. But some of the fetishes these men entertain …. There is a difference between tolerating a man’s kinks, and actually indulging them.
“I know your secret, Carol.” This new guy, unlike the creep, was somewhat good-looking. He wasn’t vulgar and had a certain charm. But after he’d sat there, at the bar, for ten minutes or so, his hand was suddenly on Carol’s upper thigh. “I don’t mind your secret,” he said.
As with the first creep, this was a cue for Carol to leave. He’d blown it.
But he had followed Carol out of the bar and into an alley. They stood next to a reeking dumpster.
“What happened then was self-defense,” Carol said aloud. “He cornered me, and I had no alternative but to …”
Carol looked down at the blood-stained stiletto heel. It had gone into the man’s eye socket, pushed in hard until it struck bone. Now his body was in the dumpster, where someone would eventually find it. But it was self-defense.
It was a repeat of the scene with Alex a few nights ago. Lovely Alex, who did not understand that Carol had no intention of sleeping with him. Carol simply craved attention. But Carol didn’t swing that way.
Alex’s body was now in a dirt heap beneath a highway bridge. They would find him, eventually.
Carol went into the bathroom and removed his wig and began to disrobe. There was blood on his dress, and on his blouse. He stood and relieved himself in the toilet, flushed, and then, like always, he left the toilet seat up.
Click here for the index of short stories.
Click here to see all of the stories.
© 2010-2023 grouchyeditor.com (text only)