Post-coital Tristesse — Word Count: 24,358

Bruce looked over at the clock on his nightstand. Elizabeth had been crying for the last 20 minutes. Awkward, he thought. I know I’m good, but she needs to calm the fuck down.

He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, trying to drown out the image of Elizabeth sobbing. He hoped the servants hadn’t heard her crying — it was perfectly fine that they had heard the moans of passion he had drawn from Elizabeth’s lips, but he had a reputation to uphold. And a crying bitch did nothing for his repuation.

“Do you do this every time?” he asked in a bored tone, staring up at the ceiling.

Elizabeth sniffled. “Y- yes,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“Yeah, not interested,” Bruce said coolly, sitting up and covering his enormous package with the bedsheet. “I just want to know if I can expect the same thing next time.”

Elizabeth wiped at her eyes with her hands. “Oh, definitely,” she said. “I cry after every orgasm.”

“Great,” Bruce said sarcastically, sighing loudly and running a hand through his hair. “I hope you can at least think of some way to get me off — quickly.”

“Oh, that,” Elizabeth said, worriedly. Her sobs started up again. “I haven’t thought of a plan just yet, but I can promise you, I won’t let them take you to jail.”

“No, I’m not talking about the date rapist thing,” he said. “I mean, you know.” He pointed to his dick.

“Right, of course,” Elizabeth said. “Well, there is this trick I learned from Jessica, but it involves an Altoid and a hair scrunchie—”

“Awesome,” Bruce said. “Get on it.”

Elizabeth nodded and leaned over the side of the bed, looking for her purse. Just then, the bedroom door swung open and Roger stuck his head in the room. Elizabeth screamed in surprise and backed up into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Hey, cousinbro!” Roger exclaimed cheerfully.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Bruce growled.

“Oh, yeah,” Roger said, noticing Elizabeth. “Hey, Liz, how are you doing?”

“Fine,” Elizabeth said, dabbing at her eyes. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Roger said. “Thank you for asking.”

“Roger, is there something you need?” Bruce asked angrily. “Because I’m about to bone a really hot-looking chick, and I really don’t have time for your interruptions. In fact, I think now I’m going flaccid. Awesome.”

“Oh, no, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out or something,” Roger said shyly, looking down at the floor. “Male bonding or whatever.”

“Uh, yeah, not interested,” Bruce said coolly. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Sure, OK,” Roger said, backing out of the room. He waved to Elizabeth. “Nice to see you again, Liz!”

“Nice to see you again, too,” Elizabeth answered as Roger shut the door.

“What a douche,” Bruce said. “He totally killed my boner.”

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said sincerely, putting an arm around his shoulders and giving him a condescending look. “It must be really difficult to have a cousin who’s always getting in the way of your many sexual conquests.”

“It is,” Bruce said, turning to look into Elizabeth’s tear-filled eyes. It’s so strange, he mused. I thought Elizabeth and I were just friends with benefits. But she’s the only person who seems to get me. Maybe she’s right and we really are best friends forever.

“It must also be really hard to have everyone in town thinking you’re some kind of date rapist,” Elizabeth continued. “Most of our sexual encounters have been consensual.”

Bruce nodded. “Most of them,” he agreed sadly.

“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said, tightening her grip on him, her erect right nipple digging into his side. “We’ll think of something.”

“Roger suggested we hire your dad to defend me,” Bruce said. “It’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Not a bad idea? It’s a great idea!” Elizabeth exclaimed cheerfully. “My dad got me off that one time, and Steven helped, too!”

“Incest is also a bonerkill,” Bruce said, shuddering.

“No, I mean he got me off on vehicular manslaughter charges, silly,” Elizabeth said, laughing.

“Oh, right, that,” Bruce said. “Do you really think it’s worth a shot?”

Elizabeth nodded, snuggling up to him. “I really do,” she said.

He looked down at his crotch. “All right, we’re back in business!” he exclaimed.

“See?” Elizabeth said warmly. “I knew you could do it!”

* * *

Lila blew her hair out of her eyes, frustrated. She had tried everything she possibly could to get Marshall off — including Jessica’s famous Altoids-and-hair-scrunchie trick. Nothing had worked.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, climbing off of Marshall’s still figure. “If tips from a professional whore won’t help you, nothing will.”

Marshall remained silent, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes unblinking.

“Ugh, this is so totally gross,” Lila said, pacing across her extravagant room at Lila Crest, moonlight cutting through the window and catching her glossy brown hair. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”

She stared at Marshall. Sure, I don’t love him, she thought. But I need him to live the life I’m accustomed to. But what if there was another way?

There was only one other man in town who could keep up with Lila’s extravagant lifestyle and give her the deep dicking she really wanted. Could I really go back to him? she wondered. Could I really go back to Bruce Patman?

* * *

Maria sat up slowly and leaned against the wall, her head pounding. Where am I? she wondered. The night before was a complete fog. The last thing she remembered was walking into Kelly’s Bar and asking about Winston.

“Winston?” she croaked, trying to make out anything in the darkness that engulfed her. But there was no answer.

She struggled to her feet, feeling blindly along the wall for a door, a light switch — anything that would take her out of the choking darkness. Her fingers ran over something. A light switch! Maria thought excitedly. She turned on the lights and looked around. She was in some sort of industrial-looking warehouse. The walls and floor were bare, illuminated by one dim bulb. A closed metal door stood to her left. Out of the shadows in the far corner of the room, a man crept toward her, a tray in his outstretched hands. The tray came into the light.

Pancakes! Maria thought, suddenly frightened. Her mouth opened to form a scream, but no sound came out. Oh, well, it’s not like I’ll be actually traumatized by this event anyway.

The man slowly came out of the shadows. “Bruce!” Maria cried with relief. “You scared me half to death!”

He set the tray at Maria’s feet and stretched out a hand to touch her hair. “Can I just stroke your hair for a minute?” he asked, mesmerized by her low-maintenance mom haircut.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Maria said, leaning her head down so he could get a good grip on her hair. “It’s so strange,” she began as he ran his hands through her hair in a hypnotic, repetitive motion, “I can’t remember how I got here.”

“You came with me,” he said. “Willingly.”

“Is Winston here?” she asked, peeking out at him from under her hair.

He shook his head. “No,” he said, a grin creeping over his face. “It’s just you and me.”

She sighed. “I’ve heard — I’ve heard rumors that you and Winston are friends these days,” she said.

He laughed. “He works for me, if that’s what you mean. When I have a bad day, I beat the shit out of him and it makes me feel better.”

“Can you talk to him for me?” Maria asked, suddenly struck with inspiration.

“Talk to him for you?” he echoed, continuing his assault on Maria’s hair.

“Yes,” she said. “I need you to get a message to him for me. I need you to tell him that I made a mistake by leaving him.” She paused. “And that I still love him.”

“I can do better than that,” he answered, letting go of Maria’s hair. He tilted her chin so that she was looking straight into his eyes. “I’ll get Winston so you can tell him yourself. You just do me a favor and stay right here.”

The next thing Maria knew, she was alone in the room with the tray of cold pancakes, the sound of the door locking shut behind him echoing through the room with cold finality.

* * *

Jessica flipped through the magazine on her lap, not paying attention to either the latest make-up tips in its pages or to the television, which was softly humming with the sounds of Amy Sutton’s special report on “the sixth Droid” Lynne Henry, who had been booted from her songwriting duties just before the band made it big on the indie circuit.

Elizabeth, where are you? Jessica wondered silently. It wasn’t like her twin to be so late, but Jessica hadn’t yet felt the eerie tingle that usually ran down her spine whenever her sister was in trouble. She had, however, experienced multiple vicarious orgasms in the past hour.

As usual, Jessica was annoyed with her twin. It’s almost midnight and I haven’t even eaten yet, Jessica complained in her head. I hope she gets home soon to make me dinner. I’m hungry!

Jessica yawned, settling back into the couch and switching the channel to a music station that didn’t show music anymore. She idly watched two skanks beat each other up on “Valley Shore,” but Jessica was too tired to even crack a smile at the hair-pulling on the screen.

I’ll just close my eyes for a second, Jessica told herself. Just a second.

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03 2011

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