29. Dickmatized
Chapter 29
Dickmatized
LETTIE
I t must be an unwritten rule of nature that a woman going through a breakup must be in want of a group of girlfriends to bathe her in man-hating trash talk.
Day one post-breakup was sad and quiet.
Day two has been a certified bitch fest.
Stella and Freya have led the penis-bashing brigade with a determined vigor. These two are giving me all the cock contempt I could ever need. Dick disparaging. Roasting the rod. Belittling the balls.
It’s almost funny.
Do we have to knock others down to make ourselves feel better? That’s never been my style. As a gender, why do we do this?
It’s like my suffering has triggered this primal reaction from my girl squad, whereby we band together to remind each other how shitty men are. As if to say they aren’t worth our tears.
Perhaps it’s because most women have been royally screwed over by someone they thought was the one . The person who was going to guard and cherish their heart forever. Their partner. Someone who they trusted explicitly. Then... bam . The love is gone. Trust destroyed. That kind of scar doesn’t fade easily.
Witnessing me in the midst of a betrayal seems to hit close to home for my friends, inciting a familiar sense of injustice. All that feminine rage has to go somewhere. Like to the dining room table with a bottle of wine or three.
Of course I’m not drinking since I still can’t handle the idea of being intoxicated. But Stella and Freya sure as hell are. Like little lushes. Or fish.
Related question. What’s the origin of the phrase drinking like a fish ? Are they really just swimming around drinking all day? That’s gross because they defecate in that water. Fish are nasty. Remind me not to eat them anymore.
But I digress.
So Stella and Freya are drunk, raging against the man, while I’m trying to stay upright and not cave under the weight of grief.
Annnd there goes their third bottle of pinot. That’s gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning.
“Another dead soldier,” Stella jokes as she shakes the last few drops into her glass.
Back home in Climax, dear sweet Bonnie Gilman used to say that about every bottle of booze that was polished off in her presence. Then she’d thank them for their service before tossing them in the recycling bin.
Unscrewing the top, Freya opens another bottle—yes, we’re fancy with corkless wine. She leaves the cap barely attached to the mouth of the bottle. “Let me bless this one,” she says while flicking the cap with her middle finger, sending it sailing across the room.
We all laugh. Even me.
It hurts my ribs. but not too much. My physical pain isn’t terrible since I haven’t been laughing as much as a few evenings ago when we had our little game night at Tomer’s house.
It’s my heart that’s a shit show.
“Sure you don’t want some, Lettie? You just saw me open it,” Freya asks, angling the bottle in my direction.
“No thanks.”
Stella leans her head to the side, her blue-streaked hair flopping over her eye with the sudden movement. “Is it bothering you that we’re drinking?”
“Nah. It’s entertaining.”
Sort of.
Silently, I remind myself there’s nothing wrong with them drinking three nights in a row. Especially since tonight is more about them drowning their sorrows and frustration... well, by proxy sorrows. They went through some shit these last few days, picking me up off the floor and watching me break down time and time again. That has to be hard to stomach.
I get it because when my friends hurt, so do I.
They’ve earned a few nights on the sauce. Wish I could stomach the idea of getting sloshed. Wouldn’t it be nice to numb all these emotions? Just for a few hours. Wonder if it would silence my racing thoughts too?
“It’s just like I was saying. Damn dicks can’t be trusted.” Freya tsks her lips as she tears open a lollipop wrapper. “They’ve been dickstracting and dickmatizing straight women and the gays for years. Penis holders are out there running amuck on their third legs, blinding us to red flags with their cocky ways.”
“Bunch of pricks,” I toss flatly.
So far, my mantra has been to pipe in occasionally so they don’t realize how upset I really am. How empty I feel inside. Hollow.
Broken.
“Right? Enough is enough. They should be ashamed of themselves for giving everyone the shaft,” Freya jokes between hiccups while twirling her sucker in the air.
I click my tongue at her, squinting one eye and doing the finger gun thing. “Ha. Shaft. Good one.”
Stella piles onto the pun-tastrophy. “Waving their wangs around like magic wands. Bah. Be gone, Peter, Johnson, and Willie.” She flicks her hand through the empty air. “You have no power here.”
They break out in raucous laughter, clearly amusing themselves.
Good for them, the scorned woman thought bitterly.
Maybe it makes me a stick-in-the-mud, but I don’t want to laugh at this kind of shit anymore. My sad sap heart aches for Tomer as much as it aches for me. Every few minutes, I relive how gutted he looked when he realized I was leaving and all the begging in the world wouldn’t make me stay. I hated hurting him, but there was no other choice.
I had to go. I knew it was going to destroy him. But what else could I do?
Nonetheless, hurting him hurts me.
And I know he felt the same about the pain he caused me. Not just yesterday. But for the last year. I could feel his grief and regret. It was stifling.
That’s not a cocky, asshole man who is out running amuck in the world waving his wang around.
He’s a wounded man.
There’s nothing funny about that.
And he’s worth my tears.
I hide my non-smile behind my water bottle. After taking a sip, I screw the cap back on tightly and set the bottle between my knees under the table. Nice and safe.
“Speaking of waving their wangs, I saw this porno once where—” Freya cuts herself off with a snort-laugh, then continues. “It was two dudes standing up, face to face. And I shit you not, they were smacking their dicks together. Hands-free, they were waving them back and forth like a cock saber battle. Had to be the unsexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
This time, I laugh along with them. That’s daggum hilarious. “Please tell me they added the light saber sounds to the video.”
“Nope.” Freya chuckles into her wineglass. “Talk about a missed opportunity.”
“Men are the fucking worst, I swear,” Stella says with a soft sigh.
Oh crud. Here we go again.
“That’s why God invented vibrators,” Freya yells a bit too loudly.
Forget beer goggles. Wine earmuffs are the danger we should fear.
Stella lifts her glass in Freya’s direction. “Viva la strap-ons!”
They clink glasses, their eyes twinkling at each other. I smell a love connection.
That makes me smile, unlike all the dick-bashing. Not to be confused with dick stroking, which I won’t be doing ever again.
Unfortunately, the joy I feel over whatever attraction could be brewing between my friends doesn’t last long. Almost immediately, my mood sours with something that smells like jealousy.
Wonderful.
I must be a joy to be around.
Glancing over my shoulder, I gaze longingly at my room. I could really go for a few minutes on my own. Could I handle it? Mind over matter, perhaps?
Only one way to find out.
Grabbing the water bottle from between my legs, I stand slowly and stretch my arms over my head. The achy twinge in my ribs distracts me from the fear over what I’m about to attempt. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
Freya and Stella both push back their chairs, preparing to get up. I stop them with my outstretched palm.
“I want to try to go on my own.”
Both their faces wax over with varying degrees of shock.
Stella’s expression quickly morphs from wide-eyed surprise to proud mama bear. “Nothing holds my girl down for long.” She grabs my hand for a quick squeeze before I leave the table.
I wish her words were true.
Each step I take away from the safety of the table feels like a mile. By the time I’m in my room and heading for the adjoining bathroom, my heart is in my throat. As are my stomach and all other vital organs.
Nonetheless, I won’t turn around.
My vision goes hazy, but I make it to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, I peek my head in and sweep from left to right, up and down. All clear.
Deep breath. In I go.
Choosing to leave the bathroom door open feels cowardly. But I do it anyway. Baby steps and all.
My knees are shaky when I drop my pants and lower to the toilet seat. Yet I’m not quitting. I’m not crying. And I’m not huddled in the corner.
A minute or so later, I’ve finished and am washing my hands at the sink when a soft voice from behind startles me. “Lettie, are you okay?”
Wiping my hands on a towel, I spin around to see Freya smiling tentatively from my bedroom doorway.
I raise my chin, injecting some confidence in my posture. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Look at me. I can go potty all by myself like a big girl.
Pathetic, Lettie.
“Atta girl,” she praises with a wink.
“You still trying out your Domme skills?” I tease, feeling a bit like myself.
Her cheeks turn ruddy. “I won’t be praising anybody for giving me that good dick any time soon. So you’ll have to satisfy my praise kink.”
I giggle behind my hand for one second. Two tops.
Until all joy is sucked from me like a vacuum when I’m suddenly run over with a truckload of sadness. Tears well in my eyes before I have time to stop them.
The hand that was hiding my giggle is now muffling my sobs. I move slowly to the bed and collapse onto my side. And I fucking cry.
Over hearing the words praise kink.
It was near the top of both our lists.
Freya joins me on the bed a second later. Stella after that. They make a Lettie sandwich and hold me through my breakdown.
When this latest round of Lettie’s Sadfest comes to a close, I wipe my cheeks and announce, “I want to go to that therapy place for professional help. I can’t do this on my own.”
“No offense taken,” Stella quips.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, then train my gaze on her, an apology etched into my face. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re both helping a lot.”
Her answering smile is genuine and only slightly inebriated. “I know you didn’t. Just kidding, Lettie bear. Trying to make you smile.”
“I think therapy is a great idea,” Freya responds. “We can take you tomorrow if you want. Get you all set up with their outpatient program.”
Something about that doesn’t feel right, but I nod.
Outpatient would mean lots of driving back and forth. And that means more chances to get taken during the commute. I think I’d rather be inside the compound. According to the brochure, it’s gated and protected by top-of-the-line security systems and personnel.
Until I see the place, I can’t be sure how I’ll feel there.
Tomorrow, I’ll decide.
Tonight, I’ll cry.