The Alphabet of Regret: P is for too many parantheses, Prince, plus other things

There was a moment when his fingers snaked around her wrist that she considered yelling out her safe word.

Motown Philly.

The walls of her apartment were as thin as her mother had been trying to make her for years ("This half of a half a sandwich has made me so full! Why, I'll likely be satisfied until breakfast tomorrow!" she'd often say, serving up a side of guilt the girl would enjoy while downing her own 12" sub). Surely someone would hear a girl laying down some alarming new jack swing from apartment 312, right? When they did, one of two things was bound to happen. They'd either rush to her aid (preferred)(assuming things took an unfortunate turn, of course) or they'd bust in and then break out into a bit of that sweet four-part harmony (tempting).

(Boyz II Men...going off...not too hard, not to soft...)

Who could blame them if they were tempted? It was an awesome safe word (Kudos, me!). So much better than the one her best friend had chosen.

Bookkeeper.

(No offense, bookkeepers, but having triple doubles in your job title does not a slammin' safe word make)

(I should stop using words like 'slammin')

(I wonder how long he's going to keep his hand there...)

(I could really go for a sandwich soon.)

(afterthought)

Yeah. Motown Philly.

Never mind that (technically) her safe word was two words. Never mind she'd never in her life had occasion to slip one (or two if one was being technical) into conversation before (except for the time when her friend came up with 'bookkeeper,' of course)(Bookkeeper? Please...). Oh, and never mind the fact that the man whose fingers were cuffed around her wrist at this precise moment like so many chains of love hardly seemed the type to warrant a safe word. She'd secretly rolled her eyes at his unfortunate decision to wear a cardigan sweater the night they met for the first time, for God sake!

("If I was your girlfriend, would you let me dress you? I mean let me pick out your clothes before we go out?")

(Hey! Maybe I should change my safe word to something by Prince!)

Starfish and Coffee.

Diamonds and Pearls.

Little Red Corvette.

Three words. OK, well, you can never be too safe when it comes to safe words.

(Jesus, I am WAY too wordy...)

"What?" he asked.

"Huh?" she countered.

Senses. Perhaps she should come back to hers. From the top! There had been some kissing, which (in case anyone was interested) is where she enjoyed her kissing to commence. Then, just as her hands had started to Columbus their way to the (amazing! mysterious!) new world he'd set before her, he'd grabbed them with his own.

(we return now to our two lovers nestled on the couch)

"I said I'm sorry it might be a bit smaller than you were expecting," he repeated.

There are a handful of times a girl wants (nay - expects) to hear something like that. At the moment, however, she could only think of a two. One involved sticking to the plan of a solitary safe word (but not 'bookkeeper'), and the other had something to do with being served only half of a half a sandwich for lunch.

(Full for the rest of the day? Please!)

"I'll be the judge of that!" she responded good naturedly (because that's what you should probably do when a man starts sweating some shortcomings, right?) Trouble was, who was she to judge, really? Goldilocks? No. (No matter how many times she might have been asked to dress up like some fairy tale character over the years.)

(Or that time as a slutty nurse. Or that other time with the glasses and the book and the 'Oh, it looks like you have some overdue library fees!' business. No. You do that kind of thing once and you're stuck ALWAYS having to do it...). She'd only been in this position with two other men before (though not at the same time)(awkward), and neither one of them left her with the skills that made her qualified to lay this kind of comparison down.

(although she was willing to lie if necessary)

(Like she did to the one guy who warned her it was probably going to be too big. You laugh when you hear that kind of thing, she told her friends later. Every guy thinks he's giving you the biggest one, and you smile and assure them you can handle it, 'But damn if I didn't jump back and maybe scream a little bit when I saw it the first time. It was like a full grown grizzly bear or rabid wolf jumped out at me!' she told them)

(Great. Now I'm Little Red Riding Hood)

She didn't have to stretch the truth, though. This one wasn't kidding when the package he'd been keeping sheepishly tucked near him was finally put on display for her.

(Petite. That's what I'd call it.)

(Like Prince)

("Maybe you're just like my mama. She's never satisfied.")

(See? Show me one time when a little Prince doesn't work in a situation?)

(Well, except for MY mama, whose apparently satisfied after eating half of a half a sandwich, but whatever, Prince. Whatever.) Except petite wasn't a good name for it, really, so over the course of the next several months, she took to calling it by several different nicknames and endearments to show him just how enamored she was (and to perhaps boost an ego or two here and there).

Kraken.

(for the releasing of)

(obviously)

Thor.

Robocop.

(that one made no sense and was therefore short lived)

Tony Stark.

(even more so)

Papa Smurf

(totally not appropriate)

Slash.

("Welcome to the jungle, baby!" she'd say)

("What does that say about you?" he'd ask)

("Probably nothing very flattering," she'd concede)

Spike.

(which she fell into using after a particularly long weekend spent watching seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer back to back)

In the end, they agreed on Phil (full name - Motown Philly)(which of course meant she had to pick a new safe word)(Darling NIkki? Potentially confusing, but perhaps...), and regardless of the time of day or how tired he might be, he'd come enthusiastically each and every time she yelled his name.

Motown Philly was, without a doubt, the best damn dog she had ever been given.

(even if he was a wee bit smaller than she'd have picked if she'd had anything to say about it)

Comments

[TwoBusy]

For the record: I was cackling throughout. Fast, loose, and out of control -- it was like being in a car on a windy mountain road and suddenly losing your brakes: I had no idea where I was going or if I was suddenly going to fly off a cliff... and I loved every second of it.

[Mr Lady]

That was freaking fantastic. Every single word of it.

[Jett]

This was a complete hoot.

[Cali girl]

I felt so Matt Parker (Heroes fan)... as if I could hear your thoughts the second they came into your head. Dug it!

[ms picket to you]

(that was so fucking funny) (I think I love you)

[Mongoliangirl]

That was so great that I ended up wanting to create a safe word for my own guts. xoxo Great!

[Kevin (Always Home and Uncool)]

I love when the FADKOG train leaves the rails.