Diva Frustration

(From the novel "Operaville")

Maddie has other ideas. She nudges me like a border collie working a sheep, driving me across the living room, to the edge of my bed and over. She yanks at the layers of my softball gear – pants, sliding pad, athletic briefs – until she unearths my cock. She works it over with her tongue until I’m sporting a grade-A hard-on. Then she hops off the bed, removes her pants and readies herself to hop onto my dick, which is now limp.

            She looks at me. “Is it all right to yell?”

            “Yes.”

            “Neighbors won’t mind?”

            “No.”

            “FUCK!”

            She stands to give her diaphragm more room, and delivers her next three notes with an impressive amount of volume.

            “Fuck! Fuck! F-U-U-U-U…”

            I’ve got my hand clamped over her mouth, an arm around her waist. She’s still yelling – I can feel the force of her breath against my palm.

            “Maddie? Honey? Ya gotta stop, Maddie.”

            It takes her a few breaths to calm down, and then she peels my hand away.

            “Why?”

            “Because I am not going to explain to the opera fans of America how it was that the end of your singing career was inspired by my limp dick.”

            She takes in a hissing breath that might be a rising indignation, then lets out a little burst, like the first puff from an air compressor. That’s the hole in the dike; the rest is a flood of wild, rolling laughter that sweeps me along in its wake. Two minutes later we are flat on the bed, pantsless, trying to stop before we asphyxiate ourselves. After that we grow silent, and I think I know why: we’re both afraid that the next utterance will send us right back into the water.

            Maddie curls across the bed, grabs my dick and gives it a stern look.

            “Why don’t you like me? Everybody else likes me.”

            This isn’t as funny as it should be. I am drowning in frustration.

            “When you got home from your drive, did you masturbate?”

            “Yes.”

            “And?”

            “Hard as Wagner.”

            “Wagner is hard. I’m so sick of this.” She releases my idiot cock and leans back on her elbows. “Sadly, this has happened before.”

            “Really?”

            “I’m a pretty intimidating figure. La Diva! Tenors and penises cower before her. Christ.”

            “Sorry.”

            She leans up and gives me a kiss.

            “If I was smart, I would sleep only with men who know nothing about opera. But don’t worry about it, honey. Please don’t. Well. I gotta go.” She hops off the bed and fetches her pants.

            “Huh?”