Sex by the Numbers
“So, I get the low numbers — six, seven, eight, nine, ten — and even the twelve, but what are the others?” Emily Thorton motioned to a man with a twelve on his back and a sixteen on his front. “Why two numbers? Cause let me tell you if you see a sixteen inch penis coming at you, I suggest you turn and run the other way.”
The gaggle of women seated around her burst into gales of laughter. A few snorted, a few cackled.
Her best friend Jennifer just sighed. “You can’t even say it, can you?”
“Say what?” She had a very good idea what her friend meant, but was so not going to say it.
“Cock, dick, jackhammer.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Anything, and I mean anything, but penis!”
The last word was almost shouted, earning the group some strange stares. Really strange considering the type of club they were in.
A Mandingo Club. Yup, that’s what Jennifer had said. Emily didn’t really get that reference either but she wasn’t about to ask, she appeared naive enough as it was. Which she was. Truly naive. But it wasn’t her fault. Circumstances had forced her to live a very sheltered life. An all girl’s catholic school until college, then, even though she’d been accepted into Harvard, Yale and Stanford — her dream college, three thousand miles away from her parents — she had attend Wesley, an all girl’s college on the east coast less than a hundred miles away from her parents.
Majoring in psychology had been hard, leaving her little time to socialize. While Wesley was not a fortress with moats and drawbridges guarding the virgins within, it was difficult to date. But more important, it was difficult to form any lasting relationships with a member of the opposite sex with the restrictions on her time and the inaccessibility of the college coeds. She knew all she could possibly want to know about the female population — and some things she truly wished she had never learned, but there were so many blanks in her knowledge when it came to men.
The bartender brought another round of drinks. She had no idea who had ordered them this time; she just knew they’d all be paying for them later — literally and figuratively.
They’d agreed to split the bill at the end of the night — cover charges, drinks and food. With the stipulation that if one of them ordered a drink; she ordered a round for the table.
Emily had three pink colored drinks lined up in front of her, reminding her of the one legged flamingos stuck in the front yard of a trailer park. Pretty at first but faded and used looking at the end of the day.
She had hunch she’d be feeling the same way in the morning.
Not wanting good money to go to waste, she picked up a glass and downed the contents in one long gulp. They really weren’t that bad. Quite tasty in fact. She licked her lips. It was the calories she didn’t need. The alcohol she didn’t mind. She’d told herself she needed to get out and experience life if she wanted to become a successful psychologist. How could she possibly relate to the woman who habitually got drunk and picked up a different man each Friday night if she’d never gotten drunk or picked up a man?