Fail Seven Times by Kris Ripper

Author:Kris Ripper [Ripper, Kris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kris Ripper

Chapter Eighteen

JAMIE’S FIRST TEXT read, If you don’t come over for dinner, I’m abducting you.

Her second: Also, we’ll starve. Neither of us feel like cooking. You in?

Oh thank Christ, we were pretending the whole night we had shitty sex didn’t happen. The relief was intense and immediate. I texted back: I’m in.

I didn’t mean to tell them about Madison, exactly. But I started by telling them about Beefy Dudebro and my failed attempt to fuck him. Or get fucked by him. Or to incorporate the concepts of “fucking” and “Beefy Dudebro” in the same event.

“So I got the fuck out of there and bemoaned my old age, since that’s undoubtedly to blame for the fact I couldn’t just let him do his thing and then go home and jerk off like a normal person.”

Jamie topped up my wine. There were blankets pointedly piled on their couch, though I had no intention of spending the night. It was sweet that she’d planned ahead to get me drunk, though.

“So, go on. You went home dejected and alone? You went back to the bar for a better trick?”

“Er—actually, I called Madison.”

For a split second, not even a breath, she went still. Then she smiled. “Dammit, Jus, you have to introduce us to these people so I know who you’re talking about. Madison’s the dominant lesbian?”

“Yeah. Though she’s currently dating a genderqueer—uh—human. So her lesbianism is worth about as much as my homosexuality.”

“That’s hot.” She slid down into her chair and if I’d thought I could make a no sex rule and stop thinking about her body, I’d really failed. I’d had just enough of a taste to make me ravenous.

I swallowed.

Jamie tipped the last of the bottle into her own glass and offered it to Alex, who shook his head. She raised both eyebrows at me. “Obviously something happened, so?”

“We did a scene.”

“You and Madison?”

“And Madison’s riding crop, yeah.”

“Oooooh. You hate crops!” She leaned forward, all lit up and flushed, maybe from the wine. “I can’t even. How was it?”

“But I thought…” Alex shook his head. “You really hate crops. Why’d you pick that?”

“I didn’t. I mean, sort of. Or like, she asked me what I liked and I said I hated crops, so she said she was taking that as an invitation.”

Jamie applause-snapped. “I approve. Go on. Gory details, please.”

In a way, it was just like all the other times we’d swapped stories: the two of us leaning in, glorying in our tales of hunt and conquest, while Alex watched us and smiled. Except this time he looked more contemplative than vicarious. And Madison had been anything but a conquest.

I described the scene and whined about the crop and Jamie interjected her own adventures as was traditional, some of which were attached to names and places, while others were not. I assumed the non-named stories were about Alex, not that he would have objected, but that she didn’t talk about him the way she talked about other people.

I didn’t talk about Madison the way I talked about other people.

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