Once again, this is satire b*tches...
It's a chapter from my book available for a laughably low price over at - http://picnicforperverts.com/
It has been said that it’s hard for writers to write a story from the perspective of the opposite sex. I have considered this. I consider it incorrect. Horsepoop if you will. Why are women so complex? So separate from my gender, the gender of Man -leaders, warriors, providers.
I think they are not.
But then I considered that in this book so far, there has only been one story where the lead character was female. Not a high average. I must also concede that that character was a sheep. While indulging in concession here, I must also accept that that story neatly sidesteps any analysis or portrayal of the sheeps feelings as a female, instead focusing on ramming home (see what I did there?) a rather flimsy anthropomorphic plot premise metaphor for modern day job recruitment stupidity type thingy.
So in order to poignantly illustrate the simplicity of writing from the female perspective, I will now create a short story in front of your disbelieving two eyes. Assuming you have both your eyes.
It will be starring a woman. In case that wasn’t already clear. Her name will be Jennifer. I don’t know why, first name that came to my head. Nice name. No negative connotations for me. Unlike Sasha for example, who was a dwarf evil bitch troll of a girl I had the misfortune of going to high school with. I will never name any of my female characters Sasha. Unless I write about a dwarf evil bitch troll of a girl who gets raped by a dolphin and drowns. Ha! There you were thinking my sheep story had a flimsy plot premise. Actually dolphin-human rape is more common than you would imagine. I lived in New Zealand for a year and they have dolphins everywhere there. They can vote and get preferential parking at supermarkets, totally normal to see Dolphins around, doing their thing. “Sexual deviants of the sea” they call them. Anyway, I heard plenty of stories about attempted dolphin rape from my friends. One even sent me a picture of his friend in the water, drunk (dolphins being highly intelligent they understand the important role alcohol plays in a human willingness to engage in sexual relations) and behind him is this menacing looking dolphin with a huge erection. I’ve seen smaller snooker cues. They got him out of the water in time though. Not to stop the attempted rape, but before he sobered up enough to know what just happened. You probably don’t believe that story and I’d understand that. But I have the picture, email me and I’ll send it to you.
Oh man, with those dolphin and Sasha tangents I got distracted from that female perspective story I was supposed to be writing about Jennifer. Shame on me! But also shame on Sasha and Dolphins. They shouldn’t get off scot free here either.
Let’s do this….
Okay, so it’s 6:45am and an alarm beings to ring. A girl, in a bed, in a bedroom, in a flat, in a city, in a county, in a country, stirs.
She was having an incredibly vivid dream about her wedding day. She has this dream regularly. She has the wedding day planned so perfectly, so fully formed is it in her mind that she can have it while she is awake even. A windows screensaver that plays in the monitor of her mind if she is inactive for more than a minute. Her at the Church, angelic in a simple white shoulderless dress, flattering, elegant, not the bloated meringue that some women wear. A dress you can dance in, move in. She’s walking down the aisle towards her groom and the room is full of celebrities and her family and the prime minister and Mother Theresa and the photographers from several high profile magazines and she’s walking with the angelic grace and poise of someone not of this place, this planet, this giant concrete car park of unevolved heathens.
“This angel comes from somewhere else, yet walks among us”, that is what they are thinking Jennifer imagines.
They begin to cry. Cry at her beauty. Before long everyone is crying, wailing on each other and hugging and all acknowledging that they have never, never, never seen nor imagined that there could be such beauty in the world.
Until this moment. Until Jennifer.
There are so many tears that they collect up at the end of the pews and form a small stream which is running down the aisle and back out towards the church doors. She lifts her dress a little to stop it getting wet and continues her, well they are not steps exactly, angels like her have a special deal with gravity, different allowances, concessions and so it’s more a glide……
This was the point when she woke up.
Angry at the interruption but accepting in her fate (a 9am start at work) she hobbles out of bed and heads to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast. Lately Jennifer has been worrying about her figure, she is 27, the age for marriage. Yet she has no marriage. Not even a marriage request for a suitable suitor. Just a boyfriend called Darryl who is nice. Nice enough.
She can hear the distant roar of 30. At 30 people will think that if she is not married she must have severe personality defects. They will whisper about her. They will say she is an old hag. That no-one wants her. That she is too high maintenance. They she should marry her cats. She doesn’t have any cats but imagines she’ll want them with a longing, a deep longing when she becomes 30.
All this unexpected stress arrives with her in the kitchen, so she drinks just a coffee and eats only two Maltesers for breakfast. I refer here to the chocolate and not people of the island of Malta. It would be too filling to eat two people from the island of Malta in just one breakfast sitting. The chocolate Maltesers however? They are a safe choice, she has seen the adverts on television, they are light, like air, lighter than air, super air. They are not fattening, so are suitable for breakfast if you only have two.
During breakfast she reads OK magazine, which is a magazine where rich people let people from OK magazine into their house to take highly choreographed photos of them doing things, like sitting, or making an omelette. There is never a used condom down the side of the bed, or 8 cans of white lightning and 2 empty packets of cigarettes on the living room table, a Penthouse by the toilet, just for the articles of course. This never happens in OK magazine. Jennifer likes OK magazine very much. While she reads it she pictures what her house will look like when she is interviewed for the magazine, just before her wedding, which needs to occur at some point in the next 2.5 years before she is 30. She’ll be marrying a footballer. Hopefully a famous one, doesn’t have to be David Beckham, but should be a player of international pedigree, who and this is significant, should have had tabloid expose’s about his troubled love life and inability to remain faithful to one woman. A bad boy, if you will. Her and he will be interview about their upcoming wedding and the interview will contain very choreographed photos of them sitting together on the couch, or kicking a football into a mini goal in the back garden, or making an omelette and laughing hysterically while he spreads egg yolk on her nose. They will be smug. There will be quotes about how much she has changed him. How her love and brilliance has shown him how empty and desperate his life was before. When he was a man whore. How he would die. Literally drop dead if she went away without him, even for just a long weekend. They will discuss at length the plans for their upcoming wedding, of which they will have sold the rights to OK Magazine to come and photograph. For posterities sake of course. The wedding is exactly the same wedding she was thrust out of imagining by the alarm this morning. Only this time where before there was Darryl, now there is this muscular, famous bad boy footballing Adonis. Darryl is okay, nice enough, but certainly not a muscular, famous, bad boy footballing Adonis.Oh no.
All this imagining takes longer than Jennifer would have imagined, which really does make sense if you think about it a few times, it just sounds funny because imagine was in there twice.
So she is running late by the time she hits the bathroom, a good fifteen minutes late. She uses the toilet but only and begrudgingly I should add – justto urinate. She does not poop. Even the idea of pooping makes her feel used, dirty, like a vessel,for poop. A poop vessel. Stinky, nasty poop. No, she will not poop.
She then weighed herself and was mortified to learn she had gained one pound! She blamed that second Malteser and vowed to skip lunch. She took off her clothes and looked at herself in the mirror, as she did every morning. She did not like what she saw. In reality what was there to see was very attractive, not a 10 for sure, but a comfortable 7, a 7.5, 7.8 maybe on a good day, when her long blonde shoulder length hair had fallen just right. The extra .5 coming not from any real physical change in her hair, but in the smile she carries whilst she believes that her hair has gone right. Women often don’t understand the importance of a smile. Jennifer does not understand the importance of her smile. She is very slim and taut. Her firm breasts stare back at her in the mirror. Easily her best feature. Inexplicably large for a frame so slender. Gravity defying. Ever present, willing to help. Getting her served faster at the bank. Making her never fail a job interview.
A genetic helping hand.
Unfortunately this was the only part of her body that she liked. Jennifer suffered from something called Warped Body Complex Disorder, in which there is a breakdown in a person’s ability to see their own body clearly. A shorting in some kind of visual reasoning circuit of her brain. It’s often caused by one viewing too many photoshopped images of famous people in their underwear, pictures of which were very common in Jennifer’s celebrity magazines. So instead of seeing her perky 7.5 staring back at her, she saw the bastard love child of Adolf Hitler a Jelly Baby and a Walrus. Yes three parents. It was a barbaric but modern arrangement. Hitler took alternate weekends. The Jelly Baby and the Walrus the rest, flipping for any leftover days. While she appraised herself as one might that of shit on their shoe, the hit song “who let the dogs out” played in her head.
She blocked out what she didn’t like by closing her eyes and distracted herself by fondling her breasts. Which was pretty much the only part of her body that she did like. Which I said already. But is worth repeating for emphasis alone. So sad a fact as it is.
She couldn’t resist fondling them. She enjoyed it. She liked her breasts and the warm safe feeling of them being felt. Unfortunately her fondling let to further fondling which at some points threatened to spread to other areas of her body and this delayed her even further. She was running a good thirty minutes late now. Damn.
She headed to the bedroom, towelled off and began evaluating the individual merits of some potential outfits. She knew she wanted to wear her new turquoise heeled shoes. They’d been a great deal in a 50% off closing down sale the previous weekend. She was excited about showing them off at work and was sure there would be a compliment or two for other members of the secretarial team. But not from Jackie who was a bitch and even if she thought these turquoise heeled shoes represented a new pinnacle in flawless style genius, she would turn her nose up ant them and then start telling Jennifer stories about how great her weekend was and how incredibly kind and wonderful and cough, cough,between you and me, well endowed her new boyfriend John the lawyer was. Jennifer hated Jackie and briefly fantasised about her and John the lawyer getting run over by an ice cream truck. That cute music still playing. Jackies bitch head rolling towards an open drain. Plop.
So the shoes were a given. But the rest of the outfit was still up for debate. Debate there was to be for Jennifer. Which skirt, which shirt, or blouse, or trousers, or a suit, or or or oroh the choices. She had to sit down. But not right now, since first she needed to try on every possible clothing combination she owned, in order to find the optimum outfit to highlight the awe inspiring wonderment that was her new turquoise heeled shoes.
Eventually she settled on a black and white striped shirt and turquoise skirt. No tights. This had taken longer than she’s planned for and all the changing kept exposing her breasts and she couldn’t resist playing with them again for several more minutes. They just looked so damn hot in that lacy black bra. They were inviting her, she was powerless to resist. She was running really late by now, she’d need bare legs and to neglect buttoning the top two buttons of her striped shirt to avoid a ticking off from her boss Simon. Many women know this trick and refer to it asswapping an earful for an eyeful.
She was now nearly one hour late and ran as best her new shoes would allow her in the direction of the bus stop, the shoe’s were nipping and causing her great pain which she stopped briefly to cry a little bit about. It was okay though because she had tissues in her bag. She always had tissues in her bag. It’s possible her bag was breeding them during its quieter moments. She was not sure but whenever she wanted a little cry about something, which was an almost daily occurrence, there were always tissues in there.
When she arrived at the bus stop there was a queue and the threat of having to stand for the twenty minute journey once she did board the bus, this was a real possibility, or at least until a man at the front of the queue who had been knocked near unconscious by her cleavage, motioned her in front of him and so she got on first and approached the driver who asked “where ya heading luv?” She misinterpreted the question as an encouragement to discuss her feelings and she began to tell him about her relationship with father, about how for many years she felt aimless and goalless and that she felt she still had yet to win his approval. That this stopped her committing to a clear goal or direction.
“Woah, unless this is going to end in at least a handjob, spare me your life story love, I mean what ticket do you need?”
“Oh, I see” she said with a sigh “Zone 2”.
She took a seat and lamented about how hard it was to find a man who would listen to you when you wanted to talk about your feelings. In the seat in front of her was a small child. It had braided hair and an adorably cute scarcity of teeth. The child vomited on the floor.
Her heart melted.
This was too much for Jennifer to take. Children were to her what a free bar was an alcoholic. Irresistible. Intoxicating. She was overcome with physical desire. It was a bat to the head, smacking any sense out of her until she could say only one thing, could think only one thing - “baby! I want baby!”
She was so overcome with this desire that she completely missed her stop and exited the bus three stops later at Williams Crescent. She walked back, drowning in the desire for a mini her. Ideally with that muscular footballer. But if it was with Darryl that would be okay, he was nice enough. A woman with a double pushchair containing twin boys walked towards her. She wanted to scream out “Why! Why must you rub it in my face you heartless bitch!” but thought better of it. That’s how wars start, she thought displaying her ignorance of both politics and current affairs.
Now she was really late. She undid another button on her shirt and entered work.
Jennifer liked her job, she worked as a personal assistant at a media company. This media company was very important in finding the next new thing, then putting it on television and in magazines in articles about it being the next new thing for people to read and then accept that it was indeed, the next new thing, or at least until her company had successfully found the newer next new thing that made that previous thing completely irrelevant.
Simon greeted her warmly, at least for the few seconds that he made eye contact, with her eyes, if you know what I mean, which you do. She took her place amongst the three other assistants and secretaries that made up her team. “Wow great shoes” said Dawn earning herself at least a lunch invite for that, “yeah, really something” agreed Tracy.
Really great people Jennifer thought. A lovely team. Made her day.
Jackie said nothing and then announced loudly that she had to take the bus in to today because after last night with John the lawyer she couldcough cough,wink wink- barely even walk!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jennifer sent a mail round inviting Dawn and Tracy for lunch but asked that they didn’t invite “you know who” but then she accidentally and because she was in such deep concentration about how much she hated Jackie and wanted her to die slowly and in great pain by being repeatedly bludgeoned by John the lawyers great big horse cock, she went and forgot what she was doing and accidentally sent the lunch invite it to Jackie as well!
The atmosphere was more than icy after that I can tell you.More than icy. Luckily Jackie got sick with “womens problems” and had to go home just before lunch. Which was great because they were all free to gossip about her and how she was putting on weight and might even be pregnant. Which lightened the mood in the office no end.
It wasn’t that long until lunch now, her boss Simon wanted her to organise the details of his upcoming trip to Frankfurt, but she wasn’t really in the mood and so instead browsed some shopping websites, she had the feeling she could use one or two more pairs of shoes and if there was a great deal, a real gotta have it special on, she would get some, put it on her credit card. Treat herself, after all, she worked hard!
I don’t want to make it seem like was all that she did though, no way, she also watched kitten video’s on Youtube and in quiet moments fantasised about her wedding again.
By the time lunch came she was starving and set off with Dawn and Tracy for lunch. Lunch got derailed when a woman outside the office handed them a flyer about a one day only 70% off everything sale at a local department store.An incredible deal! The sort of incredible deal one does not pass up the girls all agreed and so they decided to spend their lunch hour shopping. Jennifer did grab a sandwich though, which would have broken her “skip lunch” resolution from earlier in the morning but she opened it, picked off the lettuce and ate that, but then felt so stuffed she gave the rest to a beggar. That made her feel good. Not that she was exactly Nelson Mandela, but you know. Every little and all that....
The girls had a lot of fun at lunch, at least while they were browsing, the trying on didn’t go so well though because everyone thought that they were fat, hideous, gargantuan and this was why their clothes didn’t fit properly. Although the three girls were all very adamant that it was only they who were fat and that the other two girls were not fat at all! Had really great figures and drove Men wild and that they really would prefer to have either of the other two girls figures, than that of their ugly own.
Why couldn’t they see how attractive they were and that they had a body far superior to the other two girls?Well they were just being stupid. This all three of them agreed about each other. Such is the power of the Warped Body Complex Disorder which 99.997% of all women have if statistics are to be believed.
All that getting dressed together really bonded them and they started horsing around. Touching each others breasts, smacking an ass. You know how it is. Just girls changing room stuff. Then Dawn put Jennifers nipple in her mouth and although neither Jennifer nor Tracy said anything they shot each other a look that said “an invisible line has been crossed” and so they wrapped up their horsing around right there. They all brought a pair of shoe’s each but nothing more. They brought those because it was rare that any of the three of them could find shoes that could accommodate their “fat ankles”, which apparently all three of them had. Plus, well, 70% off was the sort of bargain of a gift horse neither of them were going to look in the mouth. 70% was not a gift exactly, but it was close enough and the credit cards wouldn’t mind!
The afternoon passed by rather uneventfully. Travel arrangements for Simons trip to Frankfurt were not made. Emails were not answered. Stationery was not ordered. But several Youtube video’s were watched and a lengthy conversation between Jennifer, Dawn, Tracy and Sally from accounts about who had the fattest thighs ended in a draw and agreement that the thighs they all had were “thunder” and “mammoth”. Yet strangely everyone agreed that everyone wanted everybody else’s.
Jennifer also set a ten game Hearts high score (the trick was to make sure you got the Queen of Spades, that card was worth loooads of points!) and did some research about Footballers in the hope of spotting the one she was planning on marrying. There were some “proper fit” ones, but she didn’t really spot one that made her heart flutter as much as she felt she deserved. Her evening was free and she was thinking about asking Dawn and Tracey if they wanted to come over drink some wine and strip down to their underwear and have a pillow fight which is how they usually passed their evenings, but then she got a call from Darryl who wanted to know if he could come over. Was going to bring an Indian and a movie. Jennifer asked who the Indian was and Darryl nearly wet himself and said “you say the funniest things you dozy cow. I meantIndian food”. Oh how they both laughed. As did Tracy and Dawn and sixty other people she told the story to later that day and on the way home. Darryl didn’t laugh later though when she told him again, he just said “Yes I know, you were talking to me” and Jennifer fell about in fits of hysterics “Oh so I was”.
Jennifer spent the early evening trying on several different outfits to make herself look pretty for Darryl and the Indian. He called her mobile at about 7 and asked “what sort of film do you want?” to which she replied “something with Princesses.” That was the truth but it didn’t really matter what she replied to be honest, Darryl would only hear what he wanted to hear as always and would rent something about either football or a robot apocalypse.
Darryl arrived with the Indian and a film called “all hail, robot overlord" about unsurprisingly robot overlords arriving from outer space to colonise earth, but surprisingly they fail due to the plucky resistance offered by one lone American man and his dog. She found it scary and spent most of the movie peeking from behind Darryl’s shoulder as they cuddled on the couch. After the movie they began kissing and cuddling passionately and it was not long before Darryl was trying to remove her clothes. She had expected this and while the physical act of lovemaking didn’t really stimulate her all that much, she did enjoy the bonding hormones and warm feeling of contentment that followed it. Plus she wanted to please him and well, it didn’t really take that long to be honest so it was no real hardship. If she just let him play with her breasts for a few minutes he’d already be tottering fairly close to abyss if you get my meaning, which you do. Plus she could lay back and think of the children they might be making. She really wanted to have children. Even with Darryl if there were no better offers on the table which there didn’t seem to be right now. After her wedding. Or even before. Before would also be good. They could be miniature bridesmaids and ushers, maybe they could adopt some African ones as well like Brad and Angelina, a small army of cuteness, that would certainly add an adorable touch to what would surely be a day no-one in attendance would EVER forget!
They made love. She made the expected noises but her heart wasn’t really in it. Which was fine, Darryl had no use for her heart at that particular moment. He was occupied elsewhere accessing other parts of her. She mostly thought about the washing that needed doing, that she really should do something about the curtains or lack of in the kitchen, she’d been long promising herself to put some up but has just been too lazy and that should change. She wondered if Darryl was thinking how fat she was and that her ass was approximately the size of Apollo 9. Something she’d noted when she saw herself in the mirror earlier. She also thought for a while about poor Britney Spears and her love life. That girl could really use a break. It made Jennifer sad to see the media circus her life had become, so sad she vowed to purchase four of the latest celebrity magazines tomorrow to find out what her old friend has been up to lately. She hopes she’s been doing well.
Afterwards during the post sex stroking and comforting that was really her favourite part anyway, Darryl had the audacity to keep trying to go to sleep!Selfish bastard. She had planned to tell him about her day inexacting detail! Lingering for a long time on that bitch Jackie that she didn’t like. She also had heard some gossip about Linda from sales cousin Jeremys best friends sisters boyfriend Rob who’d only gone and seen Geri Halliwell on the underground! Can you imagine it? Just sitting on the circle line like any old homeless tramp. She’d been busting a gut to tell him all the way through the movie but he was getting angry about her “making me miss bits” and so he wouldn’t let her speak. She imagined the muscular footballing husband of her future, the father of her beautiful child model children (one boy, one girl, both blonde) would be very interested to hear that Linda from sales cousin Jeremys best friends sisters boyfriend Rob saw Geri Halliwell on the underground! Even if they were watching some stupid movie about robot earth colonisation. Probably being as he was also famous he’d just text Geri and ask her about it and they’d learn she had an emergency dentists appointment or something and her Chauffeur was off sick with haemorrhoids.
“Are we ever going to get married?” she said, decided to end any subtlety.
“I’m trying to sleep babe, can we talk in the morning?” replied Darryl.
“No, we are talking now” she said and slapped him playfully in face a few times to rouse him.
“You really want to get married?” he asked, disbelievingly.
“Er, like yeah do you pay attention to anything I say?” she replied sarcastically.
“Of course. All the time. You were just moaning about someone at work and then you got hysterical about something and started sobbing, it was about an ant or something by the door?”
“That was no ant! That was practically a panther! Don’t change the subject. Are we ever getting married?”
“The way I look at it, one half of marriages end in divorce, the other half, death. Neither are exactly Disney happy endings are they?”
“You are about as romantic as Stalin. I’m going to sleep” and she did dreaming of her (Darryl free) wedding.