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Dances and Dicks

Did you know the average song lasts for approximately three point seven minutes?

Authors, I'm pleading to you. Don't, not even once, write a sex scene involving romantic moments when a song is playing, not even foreplay. Just don't.

You want us to fall in love with your male lead? He's so perfect, well-endowed, and a stud between the sheets, right? Then don't write that he only lasts for THREE point SEVEN minutes!

The average woman takes twenty-five minutes of oral stimulation (not via a vibrator) to achieve an orgasm. She can't just have it licked for a couple of minutes and BAM, she comes. Men actually take a similar amount of time, so having a song playing in the background is just so . . . insulting.

Yeah, it sets the scene, but it doesn't make the leading man look that good.

And while we're at it, let's talk about recovery time. Unless you're dating some fifteen-year-old numpty, you can't make a man come, take three seconds to get situated on your back, and then he's hard as steel and ready to go again.

Give the man a break. At least go down on him first, let him return the favor, and then maybe he'll be ready to go.

Yes, I know it's fiction, and we want the perfect man, but you're really setting up your younger readers for a lifetime of heartache when they discover that perfect men don't exist in real life. The phrase 'book-boyfriend' was coined for a reason.

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"I'm going to end up either killing him or marrying him, and I don't know which one is worse," I whimpered into Mom's arms. She was my comforter, my sounding block. The person I knew I could go to and scream, bitch, or cry until I felt better.

She also gave me point-blank advice, whether I liked it or not. That's why I loved her so much and why we get on so well. She'd talk sense into me. She'd tell me what I already knew but needed to hear anyway.

It was Saturday afternoon, and I had just gotten back from the hall where the farewell party was to take place. It was nearly all set up and looking beautiful, if I must say, but it was my run-in with Mr. Bossman, which pushed me over the edge.

I know I'm not the easiest of people to get on with once you get on my wrong side, but did he have to be so nasty? It wasn't so much what he'd said to me, more, it was the looks he kept giving me. For some reason, they bloody well hurt. When had his glaring or scowling at me become something I dreaded?

Even though I was a bitch to him—see, I can admit some faults—I still did my job better than anyone else in that office. Yet, he picked me to give the snide looks and taunt with little goading words. As I said, the words weren't much, but they were enough to make me cringe, and the tone of them was horrible.

Did he really hate me that much? Maybe it was time to leave this job and find something else to keep me busy.

"Now come on, Bella, what's got into you? You're normally the strong one. I know it's hard adjusting to something new, but you'll find your groove. You just need to prove to him what a great asset you are to the company."

Mom's words made me want to cry harder. I hated feeling weak, and even worse, I hated knowing that that man was getting to me. I was too tired to deal with this shit. I just wanted to go to work and do my job, whatever that was—my job description changed daily like he couldn't make up his damn mind what he wanted me to do.

One minute I was filing, and then I was doing data transfer to back up the old computers. Then I was back in the stock room before being moved back to the computers again. In between all of this, he'd asked me to help pack up everything to be ready for the renovation of the offices. I felt like a fudging yo-yo on a piece of elastic. And the elastic was about to snap.

"I know, I'm just tired, Mom. I need a good night's sleep, and I haven't had one all this week. It's driving me nuts. Plus, that stupid mutt of mine is acting up. How on earth he can think humping the next-door neighbor's mini poodle is a good idea, I'll never know."

Yes, my stupid dog was horny as hell and didn't care what size the female was or that his balls had been chopped off when he was a pup. She was in heat, and he wanted it. Mac was letting the whole neighborhood know at the same time, too.

"You have too much on your plate, but once this party is over, you'll have just a few days left at work before a long holiday. Have you thought about going anywhere? You could always go and visit Lyn," Mom suggested, and I groaned.

Back in school, Lyn had been the typical popular girl. Her hair was bleach-blonde, and she popped gum like it was going out of fashion. Her tan made orange look pale, and every other word she uttered was 'like.' It drove me nuts, but we'd been friends for a long time, and I wanted to keep it that way. That was, of course, until I'd found my boyfriend balls deep in her, in the back of my car—which he'd borrowed under the pretense of running errands for his mom. Dickwad.

"We fell out in school because she was screwing my boyfriend, Mom. Not really a 'friend' I need to see right about now," I muttered.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

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"Will you explain to me why I have to put my hair in curlers?"

They were downright, bloody uncomfortable, and were the last thing I wanted to deal with at the moment. Mom had banned me from wearing any my usual colorful highlights, promising me that by the time she was finished with me, she'd have Mr. Bossman eating out of my hand. I'd rather he didn't but getting him to be nice to me for a change would be good.

"How about, because this is what you have to do to look pretty and because you don't want to give anyone a reason to nit-pick when we get there tonight. You'll show those batty women who's the boss, I'll put money on it," Mom joked while she made sure the torture devices were tight enough in my hair then went to sort out the make-up.

They were definitely tight enough. It felt like she'd given me an instant eye lift.

You see, this isn't me, and I hate it all. I don't like to wear make-up or have my hair like this, and I certainly don't like to get dressed in fancy fluffy shit. I haven't worn a dress since we buried my grandmother. Not even for my aunt's wedding.

"Did they have to set this party in the fifties? I can remember dancing with Dad when I was younger. I can't believe these people got in these skirts! Who did that in those days?" I wailed, thinking about the circle skirts and flashing of panties. There was no way I was letting Edward see my panties when he couldn't even give me a proper smile when I handed him his coffee in the mornings. I made sure to get it just right for him and didn't even spit in it.

"Because they wore shorts under their skirts most of the time, sweetheart. You used to love dancing with Daddy when you were little, I thought you liked this music," Mom said, and I nodded.

"I did, I do, but that was before I had to dress up like a Barbie doll," I muttered. I've never been one for dresses and skirts, ever. Knowing that I had to wear this circle skirt tonight and dance in it, too, well, it was just too much. "I don't have shorts, Mom. I don't want to show Mr. Bossman my panties," I whined again.

Yes, I'm being overdramatic, but I'm a woman and therefore am allowed to lose it once in a while.

"Well, I say that you dress up to your best, dance your best, and if you happen to show him a little of your panties, well, at least he can go home tonight thinking about what he's missing out on," Mom replied with a serious expression.

I didn't know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. "Thanks."

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"Mr. Maplin, can you please ask Bessie not to put the chocolate fountain there? It's right by the back door, so the breeze will cause the chocolate to solidify." My words came out with a fake smile and gritted teeth.

We had an hour to go until the party started, and the DJ had only just turned up to set up his stuff. After the second-hand tape player chewed up mix-tape three, I caved and hired a DJ, and he was a smarmy, balding arsehole who couldn't keep his eyes off my tits. I hated him. And this party.

People were showing up to help me but were pissing me off instead, and it seemed as though I was laying food out for five thousand.

I'm being very honest when I say that as soon as you mention free food in this town, everyone seems to turn up.

"Bella, Daddy said that he's running a few minutes late, and I can't seem to find your brother," Mom whispered while Bessie glared at me then moved the chocolate fountain over by an inch.

"Put that back, Bessie! Yeah, Dad said he had to pick something up and warned me he might run late. You'll find your son behind the hall, with the Maplin's granddaughter most likely, hence the glares the woman is giving me."

Mom nodded. "I think I might have to hunt him down and put a leash on him until he moves out. Your hormones were nothing compared to his. At least with him, we only have one penis to worry about," Mom chirped and picked up a cocktail sausage from the plate, looked at it, then put it back down.

"I was not that bad." I huffed but fought a smile. Actually, I had been pretty terrible. Often enough, I'd acted like a bitch just to get a rise out of my Dad. With his being a doctor, I didn't get to see him much due to his erratic shift patterns, so when I did see him, he spent most of the time having a go at me and then grounding me for a month.

"No, but the way your dad was making plans about digging holes and hiding bodies, you would've sworn that we had half the town's boys camped out on our front lawn."

"I didn't lose my virginity until I was eighteen, despite what the blue rinse brigade think, and we both know how much Dad overreacts to things when it comes to his little girl," I said then cringed when Edward walked in through the double doors at the end of the hall.

His hair was spot on fifties, full of gel and combed back, and his Teddy suit was a deep purple. Damn, he looks good enough to eat. All of a sudden, I found myself making sure my hair was still up, and my dress had no creases in it. God, I sound like such a girl!

"You look perfect, don't stress," Mom whispered as the boss came over.

I wanted to kick him in the shins with the sharp toes of my pointy high-heeled shoes.

Of course, being the dick that he was, he spoke sweetly to Mom, gave her a jaw-dropping smile, and even kissed the back of her hand when he reached us. Smarmy git.

"Mrs. Swan, it's a pleasure to meet you," he crooned, making me want to gag again.

"I would say the pleasure was all mine, but you've been an asshole to my daughter, so I'll pass on the sentiments. Now, Bella, I have to go and find your brother. I don't want to be a grandmother before he's old enough to drive. I'll catch up with you in a little while."

I was so struck dumb by her comments; I just stood there in awe. Go, Mommy!

Ignoring the boss, I turned to make sure everything was on the table how I wanted it, and then moved further into the hall, away from him. I was polite to everyone I met, thanking them when they complimented me on my hair or my dress, but that was about it.

I just had to focus on the job at hand and not throw daggers at the boss. How could he have gone from being so nice to me in the storeroom that first day to being such a prick once we met properly? And just because I'd worn a tiara once, why did he have to call me Princess now? I wasn't a damn princess, and I hated him for calling me one. I'd thrown out the damn thing, never wanting to wear it again.

Everything about the man annoyed the hell out of me now. Maybe if I were sane, I'd quit, but I was the bigger person, so I wouldn't. No, I wouldn't let him get the upper hand in our twisted roles as boss and employee.

"I'm not really a nasty person, Princess, but you make me angry, and I don't know why," he whispered in my ear when I went to grab a drink for myself.

The hall was filling up now, so if I didn't take the opportunity to grab a drink, I wouldn't get another chance until much later. And then he just had to come along and say that, right in my ear, which made my skin tingle.

"Then stop being an obnoxious ass, and maybe I won't make you angry," I snarked back in just as quiet a tone as him. I refused to turn around and face him, though.

My saving grace came in the form of my Dad walking into the room, carrying the large cake I had ordered, but it wasn't all good. Aro walked in right behind Dad, followed by Gertrude and Nancy.

"Princess, please tell me that they're not wearing this fifties get-up, I don't think my eyes can handle the sight," Bossman whispered in my ear again, and this time I laughed.

"Sorry, but they are. Do you want to know the worst part?" I asked and finally turned around to face him.

"What?"

"You'll have to dance with the pair of them." I laughed then handed him my empty cup before walking off. Hopefully that they weren't wearing gym shorts—so that he would see it all.

Hehehe. I love their banter and I love their internal thoughts. What do you think?

Here's the next teaser:

"So just because I have a vagina means I like to read and would want to run a book club?" I growled, and he was sensible enough to look down at his desk. That idea about stapling his scrotum to his desk resurfaced, seeming pretty good to me.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, Princess, I promise." His attempt to sound innocent really didn't suit him.

"Look, I'll do your stupid book club, but quit making mention of me being a girl, okay? We both know you're a dick and I have a vagina." Word slip, I know, but he was either dumb enough not to notice, or he did and was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. Either way, he nodded then we got down to details.