The Long Arm of C (or, Woe Unto Alec…Woe to the Max)

    Somewhere in SoHo, there is a dark-haired gentleman with a passing resemblance to Alec Baldwin who has recently gone on a string of terrible first dates.  

     He meets the women on a popular internet dating site, and after a few emails, proposes drinks and dinner at a fun, trendy restaurant.    The women he meets–four or five in all, thus far–are all twentysomething and quite attractive.  They’re all in a great mood when they meet him, and launch into their cocktails and conversation with gusto.  

     He’s delighted, and thinks that they’re really hitting it off.  

    And then…something bad happens. 

    Out of the blue.

    One girl took offense at a joke he made–a joke which he honestly thought was harmless and inoffensive by any possible standard–and threw her vodka-cranberry in his face (and all over his white dress shirt), picked up her handbag, and walked straight out.  This was post-entree.  They were waiting for dessert.  

      Another date ditched him halfway through dinner.  She just excused herself to use the restroom, and never came back.  He sat there awkwardly, waiting for her.  Calls and text messages went unanswered.  Waitstaff looked at him.  

     And so on and so on, with the other two.

     Four bad dates in a row.  Four humiliating dates in a row.

    The man–let’s call him “Alec”–is starting to get very, very concerned.  

     Alec doesn’t know what’s happening to him.  Has he been cursed?  Has run out of mojo?  

     I could tell him.  

     He has, in fact, been cursed. 

     Cursed by my friend at the Studio, C.   Miss beautiful, violent, “Get paid for it, Red” domme.  

      You see, last summer, Alec and C had a relationship…a brief relationship, but C really liked him.  C was trying hard to do right by him, you know, be his girlfriend.  C was saying weird shit that is totally uncharacteristic of her, like This guy makes me think about babies. 

     Alec did her wrong.

    It wasn’t quite as bad as what the Mathematician did to me, but it was still pretty bad.  What Alec did to her was a pretty shitty thing to do.  And he didn’t have to do it.  

    (Personally, I think the man must be out of his goddamned mind to have done what he did to her.  I wouldn’t do anything bad to C.  This is the type of woman who will stab you if you step on her nice shoes and the wind is blowing in the wrong direction that day.  What the hell was he thinking?)  

      Alec broke her heart.  

      Bad, bad idea, Alec.  Bad idea. 

      So now it’s March.  C’s memory is long…and so is the reach of her arm.  

      All of Alec’s bad first dates have been friends of C’s.   Alec still hasn’t put 2 and 2 together.  Who knows if he ever will?  He’s probably forgotten all about C by now.  

      But she sure hasn’t forgotten about him.

      “Hey Red!” said C, coming over to talk to me.  She leaned against my locker.  “I want you to go on a first date with Alec.  Start cruising his dating profile.  He’ll see you looking and hit you up.  I’ll buy you an awesome piece of domme gear if you do this for me–well, I’ll make a slave buy it.  Is there anything you’ve got your eye on?”

     Miss Margo has, in fact, had her eye on this awesome metal braand this one–for some time.  I think both of them would look great on me.

      “Make him take you someplace fun and be sure to get some appetizers in.  He’s a pretty good date.  You’ll enjoy yourself.  Then say ‘You know, you’re just not working out for me,’ and walk out.  Or ‘I thought you would be more handsome.'”  

     “I dunno, C.  That’s kind of mean for me to do…”  I drifted off.

     “Yeah, cause guys have treated you so well recently, right?  They’re fucking scumbags.”

      She has a point.  I am not exactly a big fan of the XY-Chromosome Club this month, if you know what I mean.

      “I’ll buy you two awesome pieces of domme gear and get you an 8-ball of coke–ha! look at your face! Relax, you nerd, I’m just fucking with you–if you go back to his apartment, make out with him, and make him think he’s getting laid.  Then, when you see his dick, just leave immediately!  When he takes it out of his pants, look repulsed or disappointed, and get your bag and leave!  Yeah!  He’d never get over that!”

     Oh my God, I thought.  

     Even at my meanest, I don’t think that I could do that.  Boy oh boy, am I glad that I am not Alec.  

     A cranberry juice in the Mathematician’s face, though…that is kinda fun to think about.  


3 thoughts on “The Long Arm of C (or, Woe Unto Alec…Woe to the Max)”

  1. “if you go back to his apartment, make out with him, and make him think he’s getting laid. Then, when you see his dick, just leave immediately! When he takes it out of his pants, look repulsed or disappointed, and get your bag and leave! Yeah! He’d never get over that!””

    hahahaha i like C

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