Page 47 of Four Letter Feelings

He groaned and took a bite of his own cinnamon roll. “Are you going to hit me with that feminism shit right now?” he asked with his mouth full.

“Damn fucking straight I am,” she argued, waving her cinnamon roll in his direction. “It is absolutely ‘that feminism shit’. Women are told they shouldn’t have a sex drive, they shouldn’t talk about their sex drive if they somehow ignored the first memo about not being allowed to have one in the first place, and if they both have a sex drive and talk about it, they’re a whore.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh,” Jeremy countered.

“Oh yeah?” she popped the last of her cinnamon roll in her mouth and got up to help herself to another one. “Says the dude who thought I was a hooker last night for propositioning him.”

“I—”

She sat back down on the chair and held her hands up to silence him. “I get it. It’s how you’ve been conditioned. Only strippers and whores want sex, or enjoy sex, the rest of us just endure it to make the men folk feel good, right?”

“Again, I think that’s a little extreme.”

But also, kinda true. You know how dudes look at chicks who like sex.

“Oh yeah? You tell your teammates you have a fuck buddy, maybe two, and they think you’re a God. You tell your teammates I have a fuck buddy; they think I’m a slut, easy, or will drop my pants for anyone 'cause I don’t have standards.”

His mouth dropped open as he contemplated his answer, and closed again as he thought better of it.

“Ok, that’s true,” he began carefully. “They’d probably want your number and expect you to… y’know.”

“Exactly. Yet for you, you’re a hero. You sow that seed, man!” She toasted him with the remaining half of her baked treat.

“Ew. Ok, gross.” He laughed. “Though I gotta say, for someone who has been in my life for less than twenty-four hours, you’re certainly giving me plenty to think about. I can’t say I’d ever thought about it before.”

“I know. You have no cause to, though, 'cause you have a penis and not a vagina.”

She spoke so matter-of-factly that Jeremy wondered what had happened in her life to make her so forthright and open about things. She was the first woman he’d ever met that was like this, and he couldn’t say that he didn’t like it, he found it refreshing, exhilarating even. He’d wasted a lot of time trying to figure out what made women tick. Here sitting in front of him was a woman who’d not only figured out what made her tick, but who also put it out there to make it easier for others as well.

This could be a win-win situation. I can learn what she likes pretty quickly and she can grade my test papers quickly, too.

Though that might result in early dismissal.

Better learn, quick AND right, Lewis.

“You look like you might be going through an existential crisis right in front of me, Jer,” she remarked, as she washed down the last of her second cinnamon roll with what was left of her coffee.

“It’s possible,” he admitted with a small smile.

“I mean, no need to get bent out of shape or anything. Just something to be more mindful of going forward, yeah? Most women know what they like in bed, or at least they have ideas of what they might like and might want to try, because let’s face it, how can you know what you like, or don’t, if you haven’t tried it? And by extension how can you try out new things when society deems you a promiscuous harlot if you admit to wanting to try something? You’re a selfless lover, and you certainly have… skills… but have you ever taken the time to get inside a woman’s head and ask her what she really wants to try, or have you do to her? It’s a game changer.” She grinned. “Trust me.”

Dang. Even if I never see this woman again, I’ve learned more from my time with her than I’ve ever learned about women in my whole freakin’ life!

“You should charge for this shit,” he remarked, as he finished his third cinnamon roll.

“Maybe someday I will. I kinda hope men will catch on at some point and realize that there’s more to women than occasionally faking headaches to get out of having sex. Some of us really like it.”

There was that quirk of her eyebrow again, that suggestive, alluring, are-you-up-to-it kind of half question, half challenge. Leaning over her, he picked her up and draped her over his shoulder, enjoying her laughter as he dropped her carefully onto the worktop, determined to show her just how up-to-it he actually was.

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