The Comedian

Comedian

A first date at the comedy club seemed like a great idea. But a major detail you don't think about is that not everybody likes unending dick jokes. I know. Surprise. The headliner seemed safe. The feature was brilliant and witty and just the right amount of spice, touching on it ever so briefly, not relying on it so much. But the host. My goodness. His "material" consisted of an amalgamation of drunk driving jokes, bragging about not paying child support and the constant tirade of profanity. When he began crowd work and called her "that" name, she walked out immediately, whispering to him, "Don't follow. And don't bother calling me or texting me."

At the bar he nursed a drink, unable to concentrate on anything other than the humiliation. "Tough night?" a gentle voice offered as she occupied the stool next to him.

Through a pained chuckle, he sighed, "You noticed?"

"We read the guy the full riot act," she apologized. "He was out of line and had been told not to do crowd work. The worst part? He wasn't even funny. James, you know you're my favorite bartender, right?" buttering the friendly server up in preparation. If the batting of eyelashes had a tone, this was it.

Enchanted by the charm of her voice, he chuckled. "Yes, Mary."

"He doesn't pay tonight," she motioned to the hapless victim. "So, I'm Mary," she extended her hand to her newfound interest. "Hopefully you remembered after I performed. At least I hope I made that impact," she motioned with a sly wink. "After your girlfriend left, you might have been a little distracted."

"She wasn't my girlfriend," he corrected politely.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she offered with a Grinch-like smile.

"Matter of fact it was our first date," he cringed.

"Well I'm not sure if you've ever heard of this before but Saint Mary Magdalene is considered to be the patron saint of broken hearts. So tonight allow me to be your Saint Mary."

Relieved by her calming, sweet disposition our jolted potential lover relaxed and let go the experience of the night. For the next hour or two, the tandem discussed everything on earth: hockey, her farm, what it was like to be a woman in comedy. Their conversation was so rich and beautiful, not like what he had expected with his date.

As James began to wrap up, our unsuccessful suitor began to gather his things and reached out to shake her hand and think for her for a lovely evening. She peered into his blue eyes and countered, "I have no rush to go anywhere. Do you?"

James corrected, "Yes, you do." Obeying, Mary led him outside and slyly offered, "Would you walk an innocent Southern Belle back to her hotel across the street?" As his arm took the familiar shape of a bow, she took his escort, and the two of them strolled to the hotel the comedy club paid for. He knew what was about to happen but could not believe it. Lil' ole me, he pondered incredulously.

The moment the door closed behind him, he wrapped his arm around her waist and reached in for the kiss she had been waiting for all night. This was a much better experience than the one he had been hoping for. As humiliating as it was, it was now worth it to be kissing the lips of a woman more beautiful than he could have ever imagined kissing.

There were sparks in this kiss akin to a Fourth of July Extravaganza, exploding every tactile joining from the lips. In a rush, she slid his shirt off. With one hand, he forced her two hands above her head as a sensation of being tied up; with the other hand he began to explore her body focusing on those legendary breasts. Seduced, they gave in to the primal ecstasy.

Unable to resist anymore, she pulled down her arms, breaking free of his hold. "No, sir, we are going to do this right." She lifted her dress off her body. His arms wrapped around her, their faces Sigourney Weaver-Alien close. He unhooked the bra, celebrating as their bare flesh touched. She enjoyed the feeling of her nipples in his hairy chest. They kissed once more and he pulled her hair back to face him, communicating only in primal grasps.

Gently but forcefully, he pushed her to the bed. Sliding off her leggings, he took a moment to worship the goddess before he entered. From this position, they had the shape of ancient indigenous burial mounds. And he treated them with the same reverence and respect that they were due. These were massive, obviously, as was evidenced by his swelling cock. But there was a certain wonder they contained. The Pyramids, The Hanging Gardens, The Colossus. Those ancient wonders dared to be equal to those breasts.

He was about to approach a holy temple. The tools at his disposal were the ones best suited for her pleasure. He touched them delicately with his hands before wrapping them around the massive structures as much as he could. He couldn't wrap them in one so she wrapped them in two. And then he began. A quick kiss. Then another, longer. He gradually took longer and longer until he added the tongue. A meditator in tune with the universe, he listened to her body's impulses. Once it gave him permission, he bit ever so gently to a delightful moan. Then the sucking began and her loud shouts signified her climax.

He continued for several more orgasms, listening to her body's directions. After three more orgasms, she barely was able to say the word "cock." Not quite sure understanding consent from that, he checked with her one more time as he lay above her. With a thumbs up, he entered her the first time. Almost immediately the sweet sensation of the innermost sanctum of her temple, he almost cried upon entry into such a remarkable location. This was happiness, joy, ecstasy. Surrendered, she watched his thrusting, triumphantly, moaning, with every insertion.

Here they were at a certain moment in time and she reveled in the most sacred of this night she had been gifted. Selfishly he kept her in missionary so as to see them flop up and down. These breasts were made for missionary. Transitioning he wrapped her legs around him, forcing him faster, more intense. Nonchalantly she presented her throat to him, subtextually asking to be choked. The gentleman obliged, to the sound of an eruption that should have had its own scientific classification.

Exhausted, he lay down next to her on the bed, eyes locked on the thing the first drew him to her. Those eyes. It had always been the eyes.