Bagged and Gagged

I had to sleep with him because he paid for dinner. Not just dinner but drinks as well. I tried to pull my wallet out but he waved it aside and I felt my enthusiasm dissipate. Now I would have to sleep with him and I had had to endure his conversation for a whole evening, a boy who never seemed to tire of talking about himself.

The pillowcase was an inspiration. The imperative was to find away to stop him from kissing me. He had the kind of tongue that kept invading my mouth, a hard probing tongue that made me think of the dentist chair. I couldn't breath because of it. I wanted to spit. I'm not sure why I thought of the pillowcase, but suddenly it was there and I reached for it and I jammed it over his head, a kind of cotton bag that kept his tongue away from the inside of my cheeks. He still kissed me through the yellowed fabric, but it was a chaste kiss, damp but inoffensive, and with his face hidden he could have been anyone. I imagined that he was someone else, anyone else. Someone who hadn't bored me for the better part of the evening, someone who hadn't paid for my expensive dinner at a restaurant.

This was my first actual date, and I realised then why I had never dated. It was all the conversation that scraped at the fabric of a perfectly fine eveing with the fingernail shriek of his voice. Even with the bag, I could hear him, droning on and on, sex talk. How could sex talk be so monotonous.

The stocking was a master stroke. He I tied it around his chattering mouth and he became silent all of a sudden. Another stocking for his hands and he could not even squeeze and poke at me. I felt myself relaxing into the anonymity of the event. When he groaned I shushed him and he quietened miraculously. I began to enjoy the blank canvass of his body. I fished my vibrator out from under the pillow and I let him buck his hips up to meet my strokes, one small compensation and it seemed to make all the difference to him. He came as quickly as I did and as silently.

He called. He called and called and called. I told my flatmate I was out and he relayed the information over the phone.

"She says that she's out".

He made me laugh. You could probably hear it over the phone.

My flatmate asked me why I was avoiding him and I told him and he could barely understood, "but you slept with him," he said, incredulous. "You tied him up and gagged him and slept with him. He must think all his Christmases have come at once. Why did you do that if you hated him?"

"He paid for dinner." I told him, "and drinks."

I don't think he ever understood my reasons, but he kept fending off the poor boy's calls as a true man must.

"I'd sleep with you two if you were bagged and gagged, " I teased, but the truth is I would have slept with him butt naked in the bright moonlight without blinking. I was fond of him and he was fond of me, but when I suggested it, he shook his head.

"You're just not my type, my love," he said.