Brain Sex

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Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫

 

[1] Frank Sinatra “Strangers In The Night”

[2] Eurythmics “Sex Crime (Nineteen Eighty Four)”

 

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As Clayton Moore arrived at Delphino’s restaurant, and ordered his first drink at the bar, he was full of expectation. Ordinarily he steered well clear of dating sites and, when his friends suggested that he create a profile, he was more than skeptical of his chances of meeting the right girl. It seemed like such a dishonest endeavor; post a picture of yourself, likely taken years ago, before your double-chin developed, and hope that somebody finds it appealing. Then, once the ice has been broken, tell all manner of exaggerated truths and not let on that you’re needy so as to hoodwink your opposite number into agreeing to a first, and potentially, only date. Needless to say, Clayton didn’t hold out much hope of locating the girl of his dreams this way but reluctantly agreed and, as a result, had managed to arouse the interest of Dorothy Newport.

She was running fashionably late tonight so he decided against being shown to their pre-reserved table for want of not appearing desperate. While he understood that it was a woman’s prerogative to be somewhat tardy for any primary rendezvous; her absence wasn’t exactly filling him with hope. The pair had been talking on-and-off for the past three weeks before discovering that they lived in the same state and agreeing to take things to the next level. He had been particularly thorough when scouring lovelocator.com for potential mates and, from literally hundreds of candidates, it was Dorothy who stood out from the crowd. Despite this, her profile was vague enough to keep him guessing and he knew precious little about her other than that she was studying neuroscience and midway through her internship at the nearby general hospital. Other than that, he was largely in the dark about his proposed soul mate.

At thirty-six, Dorothy was three-years younger than him and, after studying her portrait thoroughly, it appeared as though that figure could easily be ten. His weathered features suggested years of being downtrodden and passed up for promotions, whereas her fresh face proposed that she was happy and contented. It had felt a little like a mismatch and Clayton was more than aware that he had punched above his weight when commencing their online courtship but he remained quietly confident that lady luck was finally smiling down on him after several years in the emotional dug-out. He considered the worst case scenario here and being stood up would present no great hardship. He would ensure that he didn’t attract the attention of other patrons, give her another fifteen minutes, then make his way to the exit before anyone was ever the wiser.

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After several minutes, and two measures of straight Jim Beam to loosen him up, Dorothy arrived. He knew from the very moment she walked in as she looked precisely how she did in her photo. 5″9, straight blonde hair which rested on her shoulders, and long legs that apparently had no idea of when to quit. To her credit, she had made no attempt to hoodwink him into believing she was somebody she clearly wasn’t, and also appeared to be brimming with confidence, in stark contrast to how he was currently feeling. Thankfully, whiskey had worked on his diffidence, and it felt like there was nothing to lose and far more to gain from approaching her for formal introductions. Game on! Clayton knocked back his third short in quick succession and plucked up the courage to infiltrate her coordinates.

“Dorothy?”

“Hi. You must be Clay”

“Guilty as charged. Wow, you look stunning. I love your dress”

“Thanks. You look nice too”

Nice? A kitten tangled in wool looks nice. Three magpies trotting around your garden without a care in the world; they’re nice. Nice wasn’t about to get him a second date.

“I think our table’s ready”

“I’ll follow you then”

Clayton was suddenly more than conscious of how he was walking. Moreover, he was hoping that she hadn’t yet realized that his left leg was longer than the other. His shoes were a dead giveaway, thus he kept moving and tried to blind side her by pointing out the painting on the back wall and coming across intellectual.

“Lovely brush strokes don’t you think?”

Where the fuck did that come from? Clayton was already drowning in a whirlpool of foolishness and was more than aware that another critical error such as that would likely see him in an early bath with only his rubber duck for company.

“You’re an artist then?”

“Not really. Just appreciate the care and attention that goes into it”

Jesus. Could he sound more like a dick on wheels?

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“It’s…nice”

There was that cursed word again. Clayton knew full well that nice translated to insipid and was ready to ask the passing maître d’ for the check and head for the hills before lowering himself any deeper into verbal compost. However, she hadn’t yet made her excuses and, if he was that unappealing, then she surely would have suggested he had his wires crossed back at primary introduction and made a swift exit. Somehow, and Clayton hadn’t the vaguest inkling as to how, he was still in the running. He reached their freshly laid table first and proceeded to pull out her chair as a token of his good nature. If he was skating on thin ice with his general appearance, then he sure as shit intended to blind her with kindness.

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“Thanks”

“Don’t mention it”

The pair took to their seats and began the obligatory uncomfortable silence as they perused Delphino’s award-winning menu. Clayton instantly located the 8 oz Fillet Steak but didn’t let on that he had already decided his hors d’oeuvre as it bought him a few more precious seconds to suss out how to spark a conversation. Served with asparagus tips and new potatoes; he wasn’t over enamored by either. Would it be considered unreasonable to request that the chef rustle up some pomme frites? Maybe she would break the ice and order fries with her steak also. God, this was excruciating. Barely a minute had passed and already he was praying for a bullet to the back of his head like a thoroughbred race horse suffering from severe knee fluid. No time for feeling beat; here came their chosen servant.

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“I’ll have the Lobster Frittata with white truffles please and I think I’ll try the…”

Please don’t select the Romanée Conti. Anything but the Romanée Conti. At an extortionate $60 a glass, and given the fact that his MasterCard was almost maxed out, he didn’t relish footing the bill should her taste be as expensive as the main course she had requested.

“The Romanée Conti sounds divine. Do you recommend it?”

Bitch! Of course he’s going to fucking recommend it.

“If you don’t mind me saying, that’s an excellent choice madam”

He would say that. Currently it was looking like he would need to take a payday loan just to put food on the table for the rest of September. There was no way on Earth this parasite was getting a tip and could stick the suggested 25% right up his sphincter.

“Don’t look so worried. I’ll pay my own way”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it”

“If you’re sure”

Was that it? Hardly a titanic struggle to come across independant. He could have hired a female escort for the evening and taken her for a slap-up meal at In & Out Burger for less; plus he wouldn’t be left pushing asparagus round his plate.

“Positive”

“You’re a doll. That’s a nice gesture”

Again with the nice. Clayton was beginning to feel an embolism coming on. Never mind; it was done now. The least he could do was to enjoy the fine dining and obligatory small talk. Fretting about his financial statement? That was what tomorrow was for.

“It’s cold out isn’t it?”

“Clayton?”

“Yes”

“Can we just skip the banal chatter and cut straight to the chase?”

“I don’t follow you”

“I’m tired of making inconsequential conversation and listening to some narcissistic plumb rattle on for hours on end about how sophisticated they are”

“Okay. So what do you suggest?”

“Brain sex”

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“Come again?”

Clayton heard the sex part. However, the last time he checked, coitus was instigated by the penis, paired with the vagina, and any fluids spent certainly weren’t cerebral.

“I’m proposing we have brain sex right now and assess whether we’re really compatible”

“How does one engage in brain sex pray tell?”

“It’s simple. No topic is off-limits, any question fair game, and by the time our main course arrives, we should have a better idea of whether or not we’re actually suited. Ergo, we make love without any of the awkwardness of having to see each other naked”

“Funny you should say that as I feel naked right now”

“Great. It’s the best way. Saves a lot of time and unnecessary heartbreak”

“You start then”

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“Well that’s not a very alpha approach. What happened to taking charge of the situation? This surely won’t end well”

“Fine. What’s your opinion of 1930s art deco?”

“You’re missing the point dear. This isn’t a test to work out how much attention you paid in high school history lectures. I want to know what really makes you tick, that’s the whole idea of brain sex. Here, tell you what, I’ll get things rolling. When you urinate in public restrooms, are you the cubicle type or do you hang out at the urinals with the other bucks?”

“We’re really going there?”

“I just asked didn’t I? Listen, we can either go round the houses and learn absolutely nothing about each other, or try a little something I like to call honesty and see where that leads us. Just lay it out on the table; it’s an intoxicating rush I promise you”

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“Cubicle”

“Why? Do you have a tiny soldier?”

“No I do not”

“Come on Clayton. I’m just addressing the elephant in the room. Why else would you feel it necessary to hide away? Boys with toys should all play together no?”

“In answer to your question, no my soldier is not tiny. I just prefer to sit down when I pee”

“Really? That’s fascinating. Do you decorate your throne with toilet paper prior to engagement?”

“Have you ever been in a men’s restroom?”

“Have you been in the ladies? We all have to shit honeybee. So how long is your penis then while we’re on the subject?”

“Where are you hiding the hidden camera?”

“Just level with me. When you think back to all your first dates in years to come, wouldn’t you rather remember the one time you simply said fuck it and told the truth?”

“Six inches flaccid”

“That’s four then”

“How did you work that out? I said six”

“Men always lob on a couple of extra inches, it’s the nature of the beast. If it makes you feel any better, women will invariably subtract at least ten from their total number of sexual partners”

“It may be five inches then. Jesus I don’t know, I was fifteen when I last measured. How many fingers do you slip inside when you rub one out?”

“All five up to the knuckle. Does that answer your question?”

“The whole fist?”

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“I’ve got small hands. Besides, it’s all about thumb placement”

“I’m speechless”

“We’re just getting started sweetness. Don’t you feel empowered right now?”

“Actually yes. How long is your period and when does it fall each calendar month?”

“That fluctuates. Currently I am expecting next ovulation to occur around the 27th, give or take a day. As for the bleed, well, three days heavy and then just a little spotting. How many times a day do you wank?”

“Twice ordinarily. One in the shower when I wake up and one last thing at night”

“Do you mop it up? At bedtime I mean”

“Truth?”

“Truth”

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“Sometimes I just pull my jockeys up and deal with it in the morning”

“That’s a surefire way of encouraging smegma build-up you know but I appreciate the honesty. Are you circumcised?”

“Nope. Uncut and proud”

“I hear it’s far more hygienic to have the snip”

“I’m fond of my foreskin thanks. So what about you then?”

“I don’t have a penis”

“Funny. I mean, how does the garden grow?”

“That’s so adorable. You’re asking whether or not I prune the bush? Yes, I take a little off the sideburns but I prefer to represent the seventies”

“I like a woman with pubic hair”

“You see Clayton. We’re at the customary foreplay right now”

“My turn now. What’s your ultimate sexual fantasy?”

“That’s a tricky one. I have a vivid imagination”

“I’ll make it easy for you. Top three”

“Making love in a smart car would be one. Being ravished by seven randy pygmies is another. But I think walking naked through Times Square would supply the ultimate rush”

“You’re an exhibitionist then?”

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“Aren’t we all? You’re telling me you don’t drive to work with your trousers round your ankles just for the kinky buzz?”

Wow, she was good. Only last week, he had come a cropper, when waiting patiently for a red light to change, whilst positioned alongside a Greyhound driver with elevated vantage.

“You got me. I’m a freak”

“How freaky? Let me send that question back your way bucko. Three thoughts that drive you wild. Shoot”

Clayton objected to the word bucko being used as that wasn’t a term of endearment in his books, thus he decided to air on the side of caution with his responses. Having said that, sex with pygmies wasn’t exactly par for the course. The least he owed her was an honest response. That would mean dropping his guard completely and could signal defeat if she were to take exception. Fuck it he thought, when was he likely to be in this situation again? Time to shit or get off the pot.

“I like it when women shit on me”

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“…”

Now he’d done it. Some things you just can’t take back.

“Really?”

“Uh…huh. Garçon? The bill please”

“I actually find that hot”

“Phew. I thought I’d said too much there”

“This is brain sex remember. No point going missionary. So that’s one, what are your other two fantasies?”

“I always fancied having raspberry jam sucked from my balls actually. Don’t ask me why”

“Is that interchangeable with marmalade?”

“My mother used to make her own marmalade so, no, it’s raspberry jam or nothing”

“And I’m guessing you’ve saved the best for last?”

“I would rather enjoy being spanked…”

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“Is that it? Your big revelation is that you’re partial to having your bottom smacked?”

“You didn’t let me finish. I’d rather like being spanked…by a senior citizen while she milks my prostate with a knitting needle”

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“You have unresolved attachment issues from your childhood, am I right?”

“I’d love to know how you came to that assumption”

“I majored in Psychology”

“And here I was thinking you were more the phys ed type”

“I was also captain of the girls Lacrosse team at high school”

“So how am I faring anyway? Is it good for you?”

“So-so. You’ve got some game. But I’m not such an easy conquest. I prefer to take my time and enjoy every thrust. It has been known to take over two hours for me to reach climax through brain sex”

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Over two hours? That would mean missing out on the Big Bang Theory marathon on E4 +1. With that, Clayton threw down his serviette, produced four crisp twenty-dollar bills from his wallet for his half of the bill, and proceeded to vacate his seat. Just as he grabbed his jacket and prepared to leave, Dorothy asked one final question, desperate to salvage the situation before public humiliation ensued.

“Where are you going? Have I gone too far? Tell me what I’ve done. Do you wish to start over?”

Clayton gave her a nod to the negative.

“Nah…thanks anyway sweet cheeks. But I just came”

 

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