Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life

by Lydia Michaels

Most days, I was easy like Sunday morning and as redundant as a slinky.

What the fuck was wrong with people? It seemed like everyone was trying to shove a metaphorical dick down my throat. No, thank you.

I just sort of stayed exactly where I was, because making no decision was always easier than making a difficult one.

Son of a bitch! Annie Wilkes from Misery could have done less damage with a sledgehammer.

My nose registered that indescribably smell, stronger now since his shower. How was I ever going to survive this man in such close quarters?

The world’s big, Meyers. Explore it. Experience the fresh air, travel until your bones know the true meaning of exhaustion, and make love until you collapse. That’s the sort of exercise people enjoy.”

Doppler images scanned the ocean and I could almost make out the appearance of the coast, but for all I knew I might be looking at a pregnant woman’s sonogram. Oh, look, a penis and he has his daddy’s eyes. Oops, never mind. That’s just Nags Head, North Carolina.

“It feels good having so much power at your fingertips, doesn’t it?” Hale whispered, and I was almost certain my uterus imploded. Seriously, he should not be allowed to say things like that to me.

“I doodle dicks. I don’t know why, but they’re the only thing I know how to draw aside from Snoopy.” “You doodle dicks,” he repeated slowly. My face was on fire. There would come a moment in time that these people would realize they should have hired one of the other candidates for the job, but the more I tried to divert them from that realization, the more I was reminded how much of a calamity I truly was. So I came to terms with reality and told it like it was. “Yes. Big ones, little ones, some with faces. Once I drew one wearing a cape and an emblem with the letters SS. We called him Super Scrotum and hung him on the wall of our dorm. It’s a problem, but I’ve been doing it since high school and sometimes I do it without even realizing it. Hence, the penis you just saw.”

“What do you see when you look at me?” Oh, so many pretty things. “I don’t know how to generalize people.” I was terribly unobservant. “Just give it your best shot.” I sat up, licking my lips, and considered all I knew about Hale Davenport. Great ass, top shelf abs, glacier gray eyes, aphrodisiac pheromones. Knowing I couldn’t say any of that, I stuck to the basics. “You like your job on most days and love your dad enough to stick with it on the days you don’t. You’re tidy. You like fast vehicles and powerful machines. And you appreciate a good beignet.” “You forgot brunettes.” “What?” “You forgot to say I like brunettes, especially short ones with green eyes.” Alert! Alert! The air raid siren in my brain sounded, and all of my split personalities screamed in panic, spinning in circles and crashing into images of every guy from my past. I swear, every oddity running the show up there was ten times more awkward than the outside me. They should all be fired!

“Life shouldn’t turn around and stick it to you when you apply yourself to accommodating others.” I snorted. “Why? Because Hale Davenport said so? Life isn’t fair. Kids get sick, good people die; nepotism steals jobs, and I’ll never be a size two. I find it best to accept what is and make the best out of it.”

“I almost broke my rules today,” he whispered, our mouths only a breath apart. “Horseshoes and hand grenades, Hale.” Wait, that wasn’t right. “I mean, death and taxes.”

“Your finger’s on my boobie, Mr. Davenport.” He paused, looked into my eyes and back at his hand. “Should I move it?” I snorted. “Not on my account.” His arms dropped between us as he hastily tugged the belt of my robe and muttered, “You’re so fucking sexy. Just let me see you.”

I had the mating skills of a ram on the National Geographic channel, but he got the point.

Oh my God, I was the girl version of a pre-ejaculator, all full steam ahead and then—ptht. Nothing.

My mom had a saying about politics and religion. Her theory was both topics were like a penis. It was okay to have one, but it was impolite to whip it out in mixed company or try to cram it down someone’s throat. I agreed.

Hello, my name is Rayne Meyers, and I really like sex. Really. Dr. Seuss could have written smutty poetry about me. I did it on a boat and by a moat. I did it in a car and on a bar. I did it on the floor and by a door. I did it here and there. I did it everywhere!

“I learned a long time ago the one thing sadder than loneliness is feeling alone when you have a ‘partner’.”