Pay-Per-Heart

by Grace McGinty

I sang along, not because I was particularly religious, but damn, some of these songs were as catchy as Chlamydia in Vegas.

The Evangelical Channel was doing what I liked to call the Christian Golden Oldies. I was humming along to “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hand” while reading the smuttiest vampire porn book the Arcadia Branch Library held in its collection.

The idea of a beautiful woman riding this equally beautiful man was hot… but also made a stab of jealousy spear my gut, because I was stupid. My vagina, Virginia, wanted to volunteer as tribute. She’d seen this sexy man naked, and was still having wet dreams about her male counterpart. Let’s call him Peter. Peter the Python Penis.

There were three things you shouldn’t skimp on in life: a new bed, hair appointments, and things that will give you countless years of orgasms. Pretty sure Nostradamus said that.

Blake's rationale for splurging on the high-end vibrators, lol.

He purred the words, and heat pooled low in my belly. I was going to have to find Jesus or something, because I wasn’t sure I could cope with all the sexual mojo flying around this place.

His love language was definitely touch; that was for sure. So every time his lips brushed my cheek, I told my racing heart to calm its tits. Its valves? Its raging aortas? Whatever.

Actually, Pavlov’s dogs and my nether regions had a lot of similarities at that moment; apparently we’d both been conditioned to get a little moist around the lips on command.

This was going to make it weird, I could just tell. So I would do what any smart, mature woman would do. I was going to ignore it and pretend it never happened, while secretly thinking about it late at night while I touched myself. Like a grown-up.

I cleared my throat and had a stern talk to Virginia the Vagina. This was serious. She’d just gotten laid.

She needed to let the brains speak now, instead of being a horny bitch.

Rest of the quote from above

It was like I was hoarding men. I was basically a dick dragon.

The noise I made sounded like an opossum stuck in a trash can, which was probably not a sexy noise, but totally appropriate when someone sucked out your soul through the happy button.

I arched off the bed as if I were being levitated like in that classic nineties movie. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. They should have tried cunnilingus instead of chanting.

Is that something I’m into? I mean, I didn’t think so, but here we were. Time to fuck around and find out.