Chapter 17 Part II Good Coke Bad Coke

He started mulling around the small apartment…rummaging his stuff…and muttering loudly about my sexual incompetence.

I Think.

It was a very hazy night.

And it seemed that in the moments that I was sitting on his bed incompletely disrobed, Jon was pacing back and forth in a stupor; the memory of our brief romantic escapade faded as if it happened a week ago.

I was a bit nervous and feeling very insecure as I let Jon’s disparaging remarks sink in.

It was hard to think straight and put everything together; I couldn’t understand why we were having problems, for something that we apparently agreed would be so simple. No feelings involved, no romance involved…just cut straight to the chase of penetration and orgasmic relief.

He always wanted to have sex, even right up to that afternoon when he was traumatized and frustrated at the idea that both of us were attracted to each other, but I still didn’t want to be involved. He spent a long time convincing me–

“YOU DON’T LIKE MAKING OUT!!!” He yelled, interrupting my weak thought process.

I am trying to give you what you want…I thought.

In retrospect, what Jon wants isn’t fair: all the benefits of a girlfriend without giving me the title. He said:

A) No strings attached

B) No work involved

C) Not a sure thing

So I:

A) I went speed dating and he met a girl at a coffee shop

B) I don’t have to make out or participate in any foreplay or romantic ritual that assisted in arousing him

C) Could change my mind, or stop the “Friendship” at any time. No warning needed.

Aren’t these the rules of a casual non-intimate affair?

“Excuse me!” He said, as he rolled down next to me on the mattress, he had his boxers back on, and started staring at the screen.

Well, let me try to save the night. I thought in my split second of clarity. After all, I am dealing with Mr. Sensitive and I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to put in a little effort and still remain detached from him. I began to feel tired and miserable.

I need another breath: it burned and then another very cool dry air filled my mouth and lungs.


I gently set the glass device down on the table with both hands, in a manner of ease and unconfident grace as if it were an activated IED. I could feel Jon’s eyes behind me; intently watching as I handled his property. I felt untrusted and trespassing.

“Hey, come on…” I began to croon as I leaned over him. I grazed my hand over his chest and body. “We can still do this!” And I began to peck his face.

He stared straight at the television with disinterested eyes.

I started to straddle him, and opened his legs, so I could have easy access to his penis.

I’m not sure what happened next, I can’t remember if Jon actually closed his legs again, or if he rolled away, still not facing me; but I got very scared and paranoid.

Why isn’t he responding? Is he ok? Why does he want to stop having sex, all of a sudden?!

“Heeeyyyy, I thought you were in the mood.” I asked slyly, while I tried to kiss his corpse.

“I’m tired and about to fall asleep” He replied, and it looked like he was.

“So take another hit!” I demanded. What happened to all that good coke he found yesterday? And he was taking hits from the bong; in fact I’m sure he has plenty of “snuff” in his apartment that could support a weekend rave.

Determined, I wedged my body between his legs, and got about bringing the romance he desperately cried for.  But after taking so many deep breaths from the glass tube, my mouth was dry and my tongue felt like sandpaper. His soft fleshy member felt like sticky rubber as the skin painfully peeled from the roof my mouth and the slow friction started to raw my tongue. My throat was still burning from the blazing cannabis and I could feel the heat and smoke rise from the lungs and mix with the cool dry air when I inhaled.

I looked up for a moment and saw that Jon was literally dead, it was like he had given up with his legs sprawled out and head turned to the side with glassy eyes. I don’t remember how long I continued, or even if I did. It seemed like one minute I was up to battle the world and save the night and the next, I was wiped out and just wanted it to be morning, maybe it is already morning? It had to be several hours since this whole mess started.

And then he was on top of me or better yet down on me. The ceiling had become quiet again and the lights from the old socket dimly glowed yellow and hazy. I felt the heat from my lungs simmer through as I exhaled a ghostly aura. I quickly took in as much cool dry air as my scorched lungs could hold in and felt my heart racing and pulsating blood as every pulse in body from my big toe, ankles, thighs, back, wrists, carotid, and temples synchronized the beat.

I started to become warm, and could feel Jon’s wet tongue softly lapping and giving intermittent bursts of icy air. He was looking up at me; and I back at him. As our eyes met, it seemed like we both knew the time was right and we were both ready; and he rose up, and it rose up too, in all its arrogant glory they looked down at the spastic girl with a mild and funny paroxysm, wild hair, shy smile, and tired eyes that could only see his glowing outline.





“Jon, go slower” I whispered.

And he did. And for a few minutes longer I was able to enjoy the rhythm of my pulse, a pulse that did not beat before, while Jon slowly stroked the internal nub. But before the clock could strike twelve, I could hear Jon let out his warrior cry signaling the end of an epic battle.

“UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!” and he rolled over to the other side.

I knew he would need his fifteen minutes. But thought that if in the meantime, I praised him for being such a stud, it would give him confidence to perform again. I didn’t want him to keep thinking that for some reason I don’t enjoy being with him. I mean after all, why am I here?

“OH! That was sssoooooo great!” I cried, “You made me feeeelllll ssssoooo gooood!”

I leaned next to him and petted his hair and caressed his face.

“Ooooohhhh, you just ravaged me and took me into your arms…it was indescribable, please you have to give me more!” I begged.

But Jon did not respond, in fact I don’t think he could even hear me as his eyes lost focus.

“Oh you’re just a sex god, Jon…you know…how to…” I desperately added. But instead of caressing him softly, I was now shaking him and slapping his butt to get some sort of physical response.


“I’m so tired…I just….fall asleep.” He mumbled softly.

Defeated, I sat down on my side. Whatever show he was watching had now ended. And I got up to turn off the lights and TV. Laying in the dark, I began to feel humiliated and frustrated as I recalled his denigrating remarks about my sexual performance.

It took forever, but we finally got something done. I pondered, but I couldn’t help think that maybe his tiredness was tied into some loss of sexual attraction for me.

I turned in close to him; the last time I slept over, it was at his old apartment where we shared his tiny twin-sized mat. Albeit there wasn’t much room, Jon practically slept on top of me…I mean he held me, snored in my ear, he whispered at me early in the morning to get up…So I scootched in and wrapped my arm around his waist.

“I’m hot…I’m hot, Sabrien—I just want to sleep.” He said pointedly.

I swallowed hard, as I retreated back to my side of the mat, which had grown cold in my brief absence.

And for some reason, as feelings began to swirl…I suddenly remembered him, a guy I used to date—maybe 5 years or so ago. He was the last person whom I would sleep over at his room…

I suddenly felt defensive and insecure, as my mind began to backtrack through old memories, and I let out a snort at a very ironic thought.

“HHhhhmmm…?” He mumbled.

“You know who was my worst in bed?” I cackled out. “Sam!” and I rolled over to sleep.


The morning was dreadful. I laid in bed awake as Jon took his 2 minute shower and threw some clothes on. He wasn’t exactly cheery, but he did have a bounce in his step as he quickly and in a half-ass manner ironed his shirt and put on his shoes. I, on the other hand slowly gathered my things and we walked out to the street.

“What happened?” I grumbled.

“You don’t remember?” He asked.

I tried to put together bits and pieces: I remembered movie, coins, and sex. But I was missing sequential pieces and I had a headache.  I sat on the bench as he went for his cup of jo’ and got me an orange juice.

He came back out and looked at me, “Are you feeling ok to get home?” He asked.

“Yeh, just kinda nauseous…” I replied “From all the smoke. What about you? You had bad coke the night before last.”

“It was good coke and no it’s not that, it’s because you were drinking in the hot sun yesterday.” He countered back. “Wait, do you think….are you pregnant?”

I gave him a hard drunk look, “No.”  I said. “Listen, since you’re in the field…are you going uptown? Can I ride with you to the A?”

“Well, I’m going to be down here for the rest of the morning…it may not be until afternoon when I get in that area.” He said, as he reached into his pocket for a smoke.

Oh, yeh he did that to use me, I remembered.

“Oh ok, I’ll talk to you later.” I said as I got up and wandered towards the station.


I didn’t tell Jon, what was going on with me the night before because…we were fighting and I didn’t see where it appropriately fit. After he told me about the girl at the coffee shop, I asked him if I were in the hospital what would he do?

“Well of course I’d come see you. I’m not a dick.” He replied. In fact, he had this look on his face that seemed shock that I would think otherwise.

And I left it at that.

Later that afternoon, I was sitting on my computer reading about Dr. Joseph Campbell online, and filling out a medical form. Jon called me; it was weird to hear from him in the middle of the work day.

“Hey, I’m just calling because I need a brief excerpt about yesterday’s event to put into the paper.” He stated.

It was a 30 second interview, and at the end he asked me how I was and my plans for tonight. I stated that I would be hanging out with my friend James. He replied I should call him sometime to hang out. Clean, crisp, and professional, or detached.

It’s best that way.

Chapter 18: The Masochist and The Martyr

I was determined to show him, how I could fuck. Still riveted by his sneers, I had an arsenal and a plan to teach him a lesson. He wasn’t going to fall asleep so easily this time. I kneeled over him and his fully exposed genitals.  I pretended that I was “getting to work with the romance,” as I reached under the pillow to find where I hid it.

© 2012 -2013 S. C Rhyne

Chapter 17: Good Coke Bad Coke

“Sabrien, this is Dr. Lee, the results of your sonogram came in…”

I patiently waited, not in any kind of angst, because I already knew what she was going to tell me. I could feel it inside of me: a hard circular mass protruding from my abdomen, slightly more towards the left.

I haven’t noticed it until the recent weeks and I knew it was time to see Dr. Lee…to confirm my suspicions — and she did.

***Now What to Do?***

It is a long weekend, and I called Jon on Monday afternoon whilst out with friends enjoying the festivities in Brooklyn. I reached Jon’s new apartment around sunset. He came out to meet me as I walked from the train station since I apparently sounded like I had one too many (which was only one) to drink.

This neighborhood is definitely an upgrade from his former bachelor pad. There are more family houses representing an old European tradition, and no buildings nearby. His, is a basement dwelling in the very last house of a dead end. Ironically, you could still see the above ground train go by – but from street level. A more industrial type community with warehouses and lots not too far down the main street; but on his corner, had a close knit homey feel.

“How you feelin’?” I asked.

“Not too bad, I just woke up…did some cocaine last night!” He gleamed.


“Oh, K. You hung over or something?” I asked. I mean it was around 6pm by now and he was only awake for a few hours?

But upon entering, I immediately noticed a dirty cheap mattress smack dab on the living room floor. It’s where he sleeps, and I could see some dirt and leaves on it…either from being drag from on top of a car or maybe because he doesn’t take off his shoes when entering the house. Straight ahead to the right was a small bathroom and an even tinier sink, which I assumed was there for novelty purposes and not for any functioning value. Pass this, you entered the kitchen and the door to the bedroom is on the left and at the end of the kitchen is the back door to the yard.

On a whole, it is smaller than the apartment he shared with Neil, but his room is bigger…at least to hold a full size bed, but not a queen size like he originally wanted. It is painted yellow and although he did not like the color, he is too lazy to change it, and too lazy to put his furniture together.

“Have you been sleeping on the floor all week?” I asked.

“Yeah, Neil took apart his bed and gave it to me and the mattress. He’s suppose to by later this week to help me put it together.” Jon responded.

So we bantered a bit….I told him about the festivities in Brooklyn, and he teased me for being too “drunk” and him having to come out and “save me”…I played right into it–until–I don’t know how it was brought up…I remember trying to be nice and friendly as I had been all weekend.

He took a few hits from his bong, he offered it to me but I turned it down. I went over and sat on the mattress on the floor.

And then it was brought up — maybe I said something or he did. It could have been a snide remark like, “See, we have nothing in common” or “Oh, at least when I get drunk, I remember the phone calls I make”  or maybe it was about sex, and I refused again to have relations with someone who had no intentions….”Its hypocritical for two people who are attracted to each other to not have sex…” He stated.

He was laying on the mattress and I was sitting at the edge of it. Maybe between his coke and the pot and my homemade moonshine (that someone made in their bathtub and sold on the street)…the lines of communication got jumbled.

“Look, I could have done a purely sexual thing, if you had told me on the first night that we met…but now I know you and it doesn’t—” I tried to explain.

“SO YOU WOULD HAVE FUCKED ME IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW ME?!?!” He yelled, face down into the pillow.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” I explained, it didn’t seem like he is understanding what I am trying to say.

“It would have been easier if you told me upfront….I would have probably agreed–” I continued.


“What do you mean work?..I thought we were getting along and knowing each other…like when you came to that parade with me over the summer, and we walked and held hands to the bakery…and remember you gave me a ride home.”


“You gave me a ride home just to use me for sex….hhhmmmmm” I thought.


I wanted to tell Jon this:

Look, I don’t do friends with benefits because there are no benefits for me. If you wanted to have a fling, and if you had told me that up front; then I probably would have done it. But it would have been a one night stand and that’s it. You would call me the next day and I would ignore your calls.

I wouldn’t have gotten to known him and care about him. In fact, I almost went that way when he did call the next day….but then something crossed my mind that made me turn my phone on and call him back: I want something more with this guy and I don’t want to hurt him.

But I didn’t explained all that. Instead, Jon turned around and faced up at me, I had been leaning over him, with a half-cocked smile and using a teasingly higher pitched voice. I guess, he really believed that I was enjoying our new sexless friendship (maybe more than our sex [sorta full] romance?) because then he said:

“We don’t have anything in common that we talk about or can do together. (Sigh) There’s this girl at this coffee shop that I go to on my breaks. She works there, and will go outside to smoke on her break. She’s the biggest Joseph Campbell fan, and we talk about him all the time when I’m there and…she’s really attractive.” He said with a smile, the kind that showed his teeth, which looked whiter and squinted his eyes as he looked directly at me. “I’m thinking about asking her out for lunch or something.”

I wore my typical poker face, some part of me had accepted the fact that Jon would move on and find someone else…more attractive, more in tune with his needs — a smoker like him, a sci-fi enthusiast, a video-game master…kinky and flexible in the bedroom, as well as a scholarly intellect to talk about Dr. Campbell’s work–all rolled into one.

I don’t know why we never talked about intellectual topics, I don’t usually bring up much in conversation….I’m a listener not a talker. I listened when Jon would talk about the local politicians and some of their corrupted ways. Or on his more conservative views on term limits, taxes, and government programs. I listened to it all, but I guess I rarely contribute back…but he would monologue for an hour about these things. I never interrupted to give my 0.02¢

I sorta smiled and encouragingly replied,”Well that’s good, so at least you’re more confident about approaching women.” And that is good for his confidence if he’s able to approach attractive women and start–

I was pushed aside physically and in my thought process, as Jon groaned loudly and got off from the bed. He began agitatedly looking for a pack of smokes.

“What’s wrong? Did I–“ Maybe I wasn’t suppose to bring up his lack of self confidence while praising him? I thought.

“The things I’m interested in are very narrow and deep. I don’t want to just tell you my interests….they have to come up in conversation!” He said, almost as if he read my mind.


He took another hit.

Well, why the hell not I thought as I looked at him–miserable at our conversation which turned into a fight, in which I thought I said the right things by praising him– just made him completely shut down. So I grabbed the tall glass device, and inhaled as deeply as I could, and took in a slow burn which started in middle of my chest and spread upwards.

I coughed uncontrollably and took a few deep breaths of very cool and dry air, to put out the fire in my heart.

He put on a movie for me, which was suppose to be scary and it was! Though horror films are my favorite genre, it was too much for me to handle while pokin’ smot. Plus, he had really shiny quarters on his desk that drew my attention away from most of the film. I poked around and found a notebook of graphing paper that had a bunch of poorly drawn figures, and something entitled “Important rules from Sailor Pete to getting laid”

“Who’s Sailor Pete?” I giggled out.

1.  Buy her drinks, and for yourself too, but make sure she’s drunker than you

2. Put on a movie, but not one with a lot of violence in it

3. I forgot what this last one was, but you can only imagine my face…somewhere between shock and comedy as I didn’t take it seriously as advice that any man would follow or work for him. But Jon seemed pretty solemn when I asked him about it.

And that’s when I saw it. His face looked very different. He looked like — Adam! Someone I went to high school with….then I started thinking:

Well my inhibitions are low…so hopefully I won’t regret this in the morning. Plus, he does look a little sad…

So I grabbed his face and kissed him. Jon is completely taken back. “Let’s do it, take off your pants.” I said.

“Wait, wait. The food is here.” He said as the doorbell rang.

In a few minutes we were eating and I was back to “watching” the movie. It seemed like a very long time, but in retrospect maybe ten minutes passed. But I can’t believe Jon would finish eating in ten minutes… 😕

“Alright, I’m ready.” He said, as he began to caress my arm and back.

Now I’m completely taken back, “What are you doing?!” I demanded.

“What, you wanted to have sex!” Jon replied.

“What are you talking about?” I responded dumbfounded. At the time, what happened ten minutes ago seemed like years ago, as for the life of me, I could not remember what happened.

I remember looking at coins, and someone gets eaten by the wolf, and the food came, oh yeah I think he looks different too…as I squinted my eyes peering very hard into an invisible near past.

“Just now, you mouth-raped me!” He exclaimed.

“Oh…well I guess we could, but I’m not in the mood.” I yawned. “Maybe I need some more.”

So I breathed in, the burn, the deep breath. And then I felt very cold and lonely, or more like needy.

I put my hand on his leg, “OK, fine. Why the heck not?” I asked as I undid his pants. “Come on, are you hard? I thought you said you wanted to have sex.”

“I do, and NO, I’m not hard!” He retorted.

“So get hard, let’s go, its getting late…” I teased.

“I can’t just do that! I need foreplay, Sabrien!” He cried and he began to kiss me, in all his sloppy mannerism, which in my state of mind and with our supposed boundaries I didn’t care for or tried.

(Sigh) as I came up for air.

“You’re suppose to keep kissing” He demanded.

“Well, I need a break, besides when does the foreplay come into effect?” I whined. I felt like I was making out for 20 minutes (although it was probably 20 seconds).


“Yeh I do, and as your friend I don’t have to do foreplay. Besides why can’t we something that I like? A massage or some petting..” I said dreamily.

“NO!!! THAT’S NOT HOW YOU HAVE SEX!” He replied.

“Yeah, cause your way is the only way to have sex, its in all the books” I mumbled.


I’m now laying on the mattress staring up at the ceiling. I turned towards Jon.

“Come, lie down…I’m cold and want body heat.” I wanted to cuddle with him, feel him, touch him….he didn’t come right away. Instead, he looked at me as if I had a man-eating pariah waiting for him as soon as he’d step on the mattress.

He lied down and I gently began to caress his chest. I kissed his ear and neck as I let my hand wander. Finally alert, he sat up and I took off his shirt, but I struggled with his pants. He removed my shirt and bra and laid me on my back.  I let him kiss me on the lips and he begins to work his way down…ignoring my cold breasts and nipples, and heading for the jeans.

He slowly started to undo my jeans, but not in a sexy graceful way, but it seemed like he was fumbling…or stalling? So, I reached with my hands to pull them down.

“Don’t touch your jeans, let me do it for you.” He ordered.

A few more smooches on my pubic mound and centimeter by centimeter he slid them down. I tried to arch my back so they can come off and I could pull them down from behind.


“I know, I was trying to help….” I mumble….today is the day that I’ve ever seen Jon angry.

I looked back up at the ceiling, and a really troublesome hood draped over me. Something felt wrong about this scenario. Whatever I was thinking an hour ago, or maybe 2 minutes ago when we started…it felt wrong now. And then her voice rang in my head:

It’s about the size of 12 weeks

“JON!” I exclaimed, sitting up right and pulling my pants back up.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO HELP AND TO LET ME DO THIS FOR YOU!! THIS WAS ALL FOR YOU…..YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO HAVE SEX….YOU’RE BAD AT SEX!!….” It seemed like he was screaming off the top of his head. And where it was quiet before, footsteps from upstairs began to walk.

“I think you woke up—” I started.

“I DON’T CARE!!!! I WAS DOING THIS FOR YOU!!!!” He continued.

Speaking of which, to be continued.

© 2012 -2013 S. C Rhyne

Happy Singles’ Awareness Day and Saint Valentine’s Day

relationships, interracial dating, the reporter and the girl, jon and sabine, valentine's day, singles awareness day, side chick appreciation day

Love comes in all forms and you’re always surrounded by it. Thus, do not forget to show your love to your family, friends, and lovers.

TheGirl prefers dark chocolate, roses, and skin care beauty products, in case anyone would like to show love to her 😉

Thus, here is preview to our next chapter, which shall drop later in the weekend…..enjoy!

Chapter 17: Good Coke Bad Coke

“Sabrien, this is Dr. Lee, the results of your sonogram came in…”

I patiently waited, not in any kind of angst, because I already knew what she was going to tell me. I could feel it inside of me: a hard circular mass protruding from my abdomen, slightly more towards the left.

I haven’t noticed it until the recent weeks and I knew it was time to see Dr. confirm my suspicions — and she did.