Monday, January 5, 2015

Angry Birds

By Lisabet Sarai

“Hey, Liz – isn’t that Bart?”


“Behind you, at the other end of the bar. Talking to the blonde with the big artificial tits.”

“Sounds like him. It’s not worth my energy to check, though.”

“Really? Last week all you could talk about was his six pack and his stamina. You told me you thought you were in love.”

“You’re dreaming. No way I could love that sleazebag.“

“But last week...”

“Last week is ancient history, Jill. Let’s bury it.”


“Look, I was briefly deluded into thinking Bartholomew Jackson was a decent and reasonable person. I was wrong.”

“What did he do?”

“Can’t you just drop it? There are so many other, more interesting topics to discuss.”

“C’mon, Liz. I’m your best friend. Spill!”

“You really want to know? Okay, you asked for it. You’re gonna puke.”

“That sounds a bit dramatic.”

“Just wait. You know how he was the perfect gentleman when we met? So solicitous of my comfort and all?”

“Yeah – I have to admit I was a bit jealous that it was you he wanted. His buddy Jeff was a total dud. Couldn’t get it up to save his life.”

“That’s one problem Mr. I’m-a-Stockbroker-So-Bow-Down-to-Me Jackson didn’t have. He had a perpetual boner.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Well, no – I mean I like sex as much as the next girl...”

“More, I’d say.”

“Do you want to hear the story or not, Jill?”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

“The first night was great, I admit. He rocked my world. I came three times, once all over his face. Very nice indeed.”

“So what happened?”

“It all started when he saw the shelf of my books.”

“Oh, Liz! You didn’t tell him your pseudonym?”

“In a moment of weakness and deep stupidity. What can I say? He seemed so nice, so appreciative. I’m hungry for recognition. As soon as he found out they were my books, though – that I write erotica - he changed. Completely.”


“All of a sudden he was channeling Christian Gray or something. Using my stockings to tie me to the bed. Slapping me around. Forcing me to suck his cock. Bending me over and drilling into my ass without any lube. I guess he assumed that I must be a total slut, with no qualms about anything sexual.”

“Well, you are pretty wild, compared to me at least. I thought you liked a bit of kink.”

“Sure, with the right person, under the right circumstances. After the appropriate negotiations. Bart didn’t even ask. Like I said, he just assumed I’d eat it all up, that I’d swallow his cum and lick his butt hole and beg him to fuck me the way I did that first night.”

“So why didn’t you kick him out?”

“I tried! That’s when I found out he’d been secretly filming every damn thing he did to me. Even that first time, when I was all starry-eyed. He threatened to post the videos on the ‘Net, along with my pseudonym, if I didn’t go along with his filthy ideas.”

“Jeez, that would be a disaster for your job!”

“Tell me about it! So I strung him along for a couple of days, while I worked on the problem of how I could get the vids back, or at least destroy them. When he showed up at my door at 3 AM Sunday, with two other guys in tow, ready for a gang bang, I got desperate.”

“Oh my god! What did you do?”

“The first thing that came into my mind. I acted excited, like having my holes stuffed by a trio of slobs was my most cherished fantasy. In fact, I told Bart, I’d always dreamed of having guys piss on me.”


“I warned you! They loved it! It just confirmed their opinion of me as the ultimate deviant slut. Anyway, I fixed them all drinks, told them I had to get ready but I’d wait for them in the bath tub. While they were chugging down their cocktails, I made some quick alterations to the electrical wiring in the bathroom.”

“You don’t mean...?”

“Hey, there’s got to be some use for all my engineering degrees! I made sure the floor was nice and wet, then I knelt in the tub – on the rubber mat. They stumbled in, barefoot – whipped out their junk – aimed and let fly... The liquid completed the circuit, just as I’d planned. The lights flashed – there was a smell of charred meat – the circuit breaker blew – then everything was quiet. When I turned on my flashlight, I found all three bastards unconscious on the floor, lying in puddles of their own pee.”

“Liz, you’re unbelievable! What if you’d killed them?”

“Unlikely. Anyway, I didn’t. After I’d made sure they were breathing, I slipped Bart’s iPhone and keys out of his pocket. Using his car, I drove to his apartment and let myself in. I flushed his phone down his toilet. Logged on to his computer, deleted all his files on Google Drive and Drop Box, trashed all his email. Then I used his baseball bat – you remember him bragging about being the top hitter in his Saturday league? – and smashed his MacBook into little tiny pieces.”

“God! He could have you arrested.”

“I suppose. Just in case, I made sure to take some shots of him and his cronies. I can always accuse him – with some justification – of rape. Those pictures was the last thing I sent Mr. Jackson before I wiped him from my contacts and unfriended him on Facebook. I sent copies of the pix, along with a somewhat less graphic account of the situation, to my lawyer, too. Just in case. But somehow I doubt Bart will bother me anymore.”

“’Hell hath no fury...’! Hey – do you still have those photos on your mobile?”

“Yeah, sure. I look at them every now and then to remind myself not to trust anyone with the secret of my identity.”

“Let me see... Jeez, that’s totally disgusting! Hey, I’ve got an idea. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure. Ah – Joe – can I please get another G and T?”

“You pervert! Get your hands off me, you creep! Oh no, don’t come any closer or I’ll call the cops...”

“Here you go, Liz. One gin and tonic... What’s her problem? Quite a pair of lungs on her!”

“Thanks, Joe. I think she may have just had her fantasies shattered. Hey, Jill – that was brilliant!”

“I hope that asshole learned his lesson. Never mess with an angry woman.”

“Never mess with a woman – period. Can I buy you another drink, girlfriend?”


  1. Lisabet:
    I've done a lot of wiring in my time. I couldn't figure out how she could have electrified the tub unless it was stainless steel. But I guess I shouldn't mess with a woman. :)

    I love all dialogue pieces. It's amazing how much you can convey using only dialogue. The reader's mind fills in the rest.

    1. Yeah, well, I was hoping that would slip by! I should have known better.

      Actually I was thinking about somehow electrifying the handrails they put in for geezers like me...

      But actually, this is an example of why you have to do your research. Someone knowledgeable like you comes along, and bam, the story's shot, for that reader at least.

      When I first started writing, I couldn't create dialogue to save my life. I cringe when I read my early work - it's so stiff. I'm learning though.

  2. Because of the title, I pictured all of this happening with cartoon animals. :)

    This takes a bunch of the blackmail/revenge tropes I've seen and moves them in a different direction. As Spencer said, the dialogue reads very clearly.

    1. Thanks, Annabeth!

      This was one of those situations where I first came up with the title, then let the story write itself to match.

  3. I had that cartoon reaction too, at first. And then, when it became clear what sort of "Birds" we were dealing with, I thought it might have a British setting. Or did the Beatles bring that terminology over here? That aside, the dialog is delicious.

    1. Hi, Sacchi,

      If I could do a Brit accent in print, I would have, but that's far beyond my capabilities LOL.

      It's a bit scary/annoying that one's first association is a &^%$ video game!

  4. Hi Lisabet!

    Angry birds. Angry women can be dangerous. That's kind of our big worry isn't it, that people will cause trouble over what we write for fun and in some cases a living? In your case it's different, but most of us, its turning out to just not be a big deal. I remember studying M Christian's book on erotica craft and early on he cautions wanna-bes to hide their secret identities well, because the consequences can be catastropic. I wonder if that has changed. Now that there's mommy porn and Fifty Shades of Grey, is anything a big deal anymore? You can buy dildoes on Amazon now. You can make a case that Fifty Shades was not well written (Erica Jong said it made her want to vomit), but in some ways that book may have actually liberated the rest of us from the shadows.

    I admit the guys in your story (all dialogue! Whoa!) are jerks which raises other questions. What do women want? I was reading something from Anais Nin this afternoon and she was describing her thoughts on the difference bewteen male and female erotica writing, considering of course that this was around 1975 or so. She admired Henry Miller, her sometime lover, as being more graphic and carefree, but women writers and herself especially were more into the poetry and the relationship. She said that for women sex will be tied to the emotions and a special man, not just one night stands. Coming from Anais Nin that's an interesting thought.


    1. Hi, Garce,

      I don't think the risk of being unmasked as an eroticist has gotten any less just because of the greater availability of sexual material in the commercial world and in popular culture. In fact, I think things have gotten worse, because the realm of social media has become far more integrated and pervasive.

      In any case, this tale is more about people's assumptions about erotic authors. Bart was a dick to start with (obviously) but the revelation that Liz writes erotica brings out the worst in him, in terms of prejudices.

      As far as "what do women versus men want", I persist in the belief that there's not a clear difference. There's overlap. Some women are just as graphic and carefree. Some men are more sentimental and relationship oriented.

      And by the way, let me just say that this isn't in the least based on my real life. I've never (fortunately) encountered a bastard like this guy.

  5. Lisabet, this is a satisfying revenge fantasy! And it's too true that some men will focus on almost anything (a woman's interest in reading erotica, let alone writing it, feminine clothes) as "proof" that the woman doesn't need to be asked if she wants X (whatever the man wants to do). In my heterosexual-dating phase (the groovy 1970s), there was a widespread belief among guys that non-virgins couldn't be raped, or had no right to complain if they were.


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