Six Word Memoirs on Life Stories

Backstory

"Help me out here, Litz! I'm strugglin'!"

Oh, dear god, I thought. This is what I get for sleeping with a math teacher.

Danny and I had been dating for two weeks. He had sandy blond hair and a biker's physique that compensated for his early bird sleep schedule and frequent use of the word, "inappropriate". I'd just come off a ridiculous fling with an actor and had craved a bit of normalcy.

"That's okay, sweetie. You don't have to finish," I said. He was focused on his subsiding erection and didn't notice my bemusement.

"Wait, I can do this," he responded, sweat dripping from his clenched jaw. He pulled out and furiously rubbed against my left thigh, like a Boy Scout coaxing fire from two sticks.

"Really, Danny. I'm sure that--"

"Aaaargh!" Danny yelled and arched his back. I looked down at my leg. He was done.

I rolled out of bed to get a towel and some distance. He reached for my arm. "Wait," Danny said. I want to hold you."

Reluctant, and careful not to smear goo on my nightstand, I crawled under the sheets. Usually, I enjoyed the post-coital wind-down, but this time, I'd gotten the sticky end of the lollipop, as it were.

"Did you climax?" he asked, sounding like an instructional video.

"What?" I blurted. "When?"

"When I did. Just now."

There was something almost poignant to his cluelessness. And it kept me from laughing. Or kicking him.

"Um, honey. No, I didn't."

"Really? Why not?" He looked crestfallen.

"The little-kid-on-a-bike technique doesn't work for me."

"What?" he asked. "A little kid riding his bike?"

"You know, 'Look, Ma! No hands!' And tongue is good, but leg fucking is not."

Danny sighed. "Litsa, didn't I get anything right?"

"Sure you did, sweetie. My name." I kissed him on the cheek, rolled over, and went to sleep.