Perchance to Dom Ch. 3 - Sex Stories

Perchance to Dom Ch. 3

... could that be? That's a good joke and everyone else said it came off well. Did you even hear it?" "You wanted a critique, and I say this without malice. A joke won't work for you because you're not beautiful." Her reaction would be critical to what happened between us later. My words angered her, visibly, but she spoke carefully. "How does that even matter?" "Because a joke from a fat girl is not respected in this world, especially not by social-status shitheads like high school students. You need to start with something vicious. You need to sound like a threat. They'll pay attention, and when you do make a joke, they'll relax without dismissing what you say." I stepped closer. "You're, th-the shithead." She stepped back. I nodded and stood straight. "I'm sorry to be rude. I do respect you, Tamary. You've got a lot of pluck and resilience and smarts. But am I wrong?" "Maybe. I don't know, right now. I have to weigh what the others said." "Do you want to talk about something else?" "Is that your whole critique, not to start with a joke?" "There's a lot more of the same rudeness, but I sincerely want you give a great speech." She stood her ground. "Okay." I called her "fat" a few more times and said "ugly" but not about her looks, and few other rude things carefully wrapped in genuine, helpful suggestions. I didn't look at her much, trying not to emphasize the insults. I just wanted her to hear me say them. I discovered a good word when I said, "Poser." "I've heard enough." ...

... She stopped me. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to let your insults bound around the auditorium?" "I thought you'd stop me before I said five sentences." "Why are you doing this? A last make fun of the fat chick before graduation? Here we are on stage, and yet you wasted a brilliant dissing before empty seats." She snorted. "Shithead". "I've been called worse." I grinned. "Yeah, what?" "Creep, for one thing. It really hurt. I have a lot of pride in my respect for people. Tamary, I'm not here to make fun of you. I'm here because I'd like to make myself available to you." "What, to hear you call me 'fat?'" "Or 'impostor', or whatever you-" Tears flooded her eyes, and she ran off the stage. I knew I'd made the wrong call. Tamary could handle insults, but that's not how she wanted to submit. I took a different tack the next day. It was a last chance effort. I waited for her outside our writing class. When she saw me she turned her head away. I stepped between her and the door. "I just want to say, next time I'll tie you up so you can't run away." I turned and walked to my seat. She didn't look at me again the next day, except for two very curious peeks. I didn't confront her. I'd said what I had to say. After the weekend, I went to class with my writing assignment, confident in its prose. We always read our work aloud. Mine was short and everyone hated it, even though it got some laughs. Tamary didn't laugh. Instead, I saw her suddenly look down at the floor after the opening ...