Page 43 of The Lineman

She waited patiently, sipping her tea, watching me like a hungry tiger watching prey.

I sighed. “It went fine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

I nodded. “Good conversation, good food, good time.”

A wicked look spread across her face. “And how was the sex?”

I choked violently on my beer.

“Jesus Christ, Mrs. H!” I coughed, pounding my chest.

She shrugged, unbothered. “What? It’s a valid question. Please tell me you saw his pecker. I’ve been dying to know what it’s like. I bet he has a big, fluffy one.”

I gawked at her. “It was our first date!”

“So? Is he uncut? Nothing gets me wet like a snake with a sweater.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “I am not discussing this with you.”

Mrs. H ignored me entirely. “What about his ass? Does he have a nice ass? It looked all perky in those jeans he was wearing the other day.”

I choked again.

Mrs. H tutted. “You really need to work on your lung capacity, sweetheart. You’ll never survive in bed with those weak-ass airways.”

I groaned into my hands. “I hate you.”

She grinned. “No, you don’t. Now, tell me—he’s got a good build, right? Sturdy legs? Broad shoulders? A nice, tight, perfectly pink little hole?”

“Mrs. H!”

“What? I just want to know if he’s proportionate! Some men are all chest, no thighs, and that’s just a damn shame.”

I took a long, slow sip of beer, praying for the sweet release of death.

She smirked. “So?”

I sighed. “He looks good.”

She grinned triumphantly. “That’s what I thought. Now, did you top or bottom? You big boys act like tops, but I know too many whose legs fly in the air in a stiff breeze. You’re not a screamer, are you? I couldn’t handle it if you melted into some whiney thing the moment a giant cock found your hole.”

I nearly knocked my beer over. “OH MY GOD!”

Mrs. H shrugged, completely unfazed. “I bet you’re all top. One of those ‘slam him against the car and fuck his brains out’ tops. But who knows? I don’t know how you boys work. Is it always the same, or do you switch? Is it like with straight couples, where some women prefer to be on top?”

I stared at her, horrified, suddenly realizing the food wasn’t the most horrifying thing at this dinner.

Without giving me a chance to answer one of her dozen or so questions, she continued, her voice completely casual, like she was discussing the weather.

“Or is it like a logistical thing? Like, do you have to make a schedule? Take turns? Does he have to use his fingers to loosen you up, or are you always ready, winking up with that one good eye?”

“Kill me now. Right here. God, please, just take me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Do you douche?”

I dropped my head onto the table.

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