I paused, looking out at the crowd, and smirked.
“Pussy,” I said frankly. The crowd laughed and applauded, hanging on my delivery. “Now I know what you’re thinking,” I continued on. “Macy Maxwell talks an awful lot about dick and now she’s changing gears to talk about pussy? What’s with that?”
The truth was that I had been backing off my really over the top straight sex schtick and trying out jokes that were a bit less sex specific. The rotating crowds at the Affiliate, at Loonies, and some of the other places I had been playing didn’t really know me. I was free to screw around. I knew I was at a crossroads in my career and if I wanted to transition to the material I was meant to do, I had the opportunity right now to tweak my sets and see what worked.
“Well first,” I said. “Pussy is beautiful. Like a delicate flower. And that aroma,” continued, fanning at my nose and making a scrunched face. “Majestic.” The crowd laughed along with me “No, hold on… okay, sometimes it’s not all peaches and cream. Like, after a long session on the treadmill, burying your face in that post-workout pussy might not be the most advisable activity.”
I then started to run in place for a moment, pretending to jog on a treadmill, as the audience laughed. I huffed hard into the microphone, like I was exasperated. Then, stopping, I wiped at my brow with the mic and subsequently returned it to my mouth and released a long exhale.
“Phew!” I said. “Feeling humid, feeling ripe.” I looked down at my crotch, bending closer to it, and gave myself a dramatic sniff. “You know, I could really use a tongue bath right about now to freshen up. Any takers?” The audience applauded and laughed, a couple of hoots coming from various spots in the room.
“I’ll do it!” I heard a male voice cry out from somewhere out in the seats, though the bright lights of the stage blocked me from seeing who said it.
“Of course you would, sir,” I replied. “But I don’t think I could handle being the first pussy you ever licked. I don’t have patience for that shit.” The audience responded with louder laughs. “I like to, um… get mine!”
It felt nice easing into my new skin. I knew that it wouldn’t happen overnight, I knew that I had to play to the crowd if I wanted to be successful. But I had the jokes they wanted. I had the laughs they craved. Looking off to the side of the audience, I saw Petra watching me, smiling as she sat at the bar, her notebook open and taking notes for me. It was a real boost of confidence to know that I had her in my corner. We were truly starting to become a team, something I had fought for so long for whatever stupid reason. I felt a really nice fullness in my heart. And the laughter, that made me so happy.
“But no,” I went on. “I think pussies are just spectacular devices. Sort of the pinnacle of human achievement if you really think about it,” I said. “Self-cleaning, self-lubricating, elastic enough to accommodate the bulbous head and broad shoulders of a brand new human, yet tight enough that I can get a good amount of pleasure from it with a only zucchini in the bathroom of my local grocer.” Uproarious laughter, drunken screeches, hands clapping. I was just basking in it.
“And fuck you if you say they smell like fish,” I said, hoisting a finger up into the air to chastise my audience. “I happen to love burying my lips into a fleshy folds of a delicious sea bass and if you don’t, well, I hate to say it but there’s something wrong with you!”
What I loved about these jokes, jokes that Petra had written mind you, was that they weren’t lesbian specific. By that I mean they were just jokes. Nothing about them really cornered me into a single sexuality. I liked that feeling. I didn’t want to alienate my audience, I didn’t want anybody to feel left out or attacked. I’d rather include everyone and then attack them all simultaneously.
“If I haven’t already filled your head with images of beautiful vaginas,” I said. “Let me leave you with this tidbit, this little factoid, just to explain to you why I like them so damn much.” I shifted my weight to my other leg and at the same time changed hands with the microphone. “It took me a while to figure this out but I think it’s time this knowledge got out into the world. I love pussy because of science!”
The crowd laughed and clapped, waiting for my punchline, hanging there in their seats. The whole room was with me. I felt like I was standing on top of a great mountain, looking down, heart racing from the climb, short of breath but accomplished.
“You see,” I continued. “The female vagina,” I said, suddenly pausing and laughing to myself. “What? The female vagina? As opposed to the male vagina? I dunno!” I said, shrugging and laughing along with the audience. “Okay, okay, let me get this out… so the female vagina,” I said, winking to some more easy laughter. “It has a pH balance of 4.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked around the room expectantly. The audience was confused so I made an incredulous face.
“What?” I protested. “You don’t get it? Man, you all must have failed your science classes.” They laughed. “Okay, I’ll explain it to you. Do you know what else has a pH of 4? Wine, that’s what. After all these years as a wine lover and a pussy lover, I never put two and two together. But it explains so damn much!”
The crowd gave me what I had come for. Love, adulation, respect, and a deep sense of fulfillment that reminded me that everything was going to be okay. Sometimes we can get down on ourselves, dwell on the past, dwell on the negative, think that nothing’s ever going to be right again. Absolutely nothing will bring my Mom back from the dead. I know that. But the laughter and applause from a captive audience lets me know that life will go on, happiness still exists, and we can all feel good about it.
“I’m Macy Maxwell!” I called louder into the microphone. “You guys have been fucking awesome. Goodnight!”
As I jogged off stage amid the applause, I still had a difficult time processing that I was performing at Loonies, one of the most well-known comedy rooms in all of Chicago. Everybody had played Loonies. Joan Rivers, for crying out loud. Carlin had been here. And Amy Schneider, she had most certainly been here. Now… Macy Maxwell. Who knows? Maybe there was some girl in the audience wondering if she had what it took to be a comic and she sees me and thinks to herself, ‘damn, if that weirdo can do it then I most certainly can too!’
I saddled up to the bar next to Petra and leapt at her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her in for a tight hug. She laughed along with me and returned my embrace, the two of us tilting back and forth as we held onto one another.
“Holy shit,” I said. “I’m so amped up. That was incredible!”
“They loved you, Macy,” admitted Petra with a smile. “They love the raunchy little pretty chick.”
“I could not have done it without your jokes,” I said. “The pH joke, that’s so ridiculous. You’re awesome, Petra.”
“Aw shucks,” she said with a knowing smile. Something had definitely changed between the two of us and Petra’s demeanor had changed as well. She used to be far more negative, far more cynical. But now, it was like a curtain lifted, the shades had been pulled up and a bright sun was shining in.
“I’m pumped,” I said, shaking my head, still having a tough time believe all of this. “I’m so happy. And tomorrow,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper and closing in on Petra’s ear though my murmur still belied an intense excitement. “I get to meet Amy Schneider.”
“You’re headed for the top,” mused Petra. “Can I buy you a bourbon?”
“I don’t want to get wasted,” I said with a smile. “I want to leave some parts of that old Macy behind and embrace this new Macy that’s showing herself.”
“Good call,” said Petra. “So you’re excited, you just had a great set, what now?”
The door to my apartment flung open with a thud as it banged into the wall, Petra and I spilling inside with our hands running along one another, lips locked, both of us chirping out passionate sighs as we kissed. As we entered the living room, I stumbled slightly out of one of my flats, almost tripping on my shoe, then stan
ding there next to Petra with one bare foot.
“Damn it,” I cursed, looking down at my feet. I quickly stepped out of my other shoe and kicked it away. We then eagerly returned to kissing and feeling and pressing up against each other. The lust was palpable.
“Is this going to happen?” asked Petra between kisses. Her hands moved all over me like she was some kind of computer trying to copy every inch of my form into her brain.
“Only if you brought a dental dam,” I said. The two of us laughed together and Petra playful swatted at me. “Hey!” I mock-protested. “You don’t know where I’ve been.”
“I’ll take the chance,” she said, pressing her lips firmly, wetly, back to mine. I could feel the intensity growing in my heart and that wonderful subtle creaminess in my middle.
I slithered my hands around to Petra’s back and pushed my fingers under her shirt, letting my fingertips massage into her warm skin. Suddenly, I felt slightly guilty. I had been such a bitch to Petra over the last few years. I slept with her and then relegated her to friend status without so much as a discussion. And Petra, bless her heart, had held a candle for me the entire time. In that moment, I felt like the bad girl that I was always chasing. I had spent my love life getting my heart broken while I was doing the exact same thing to someone I cared so much about.
“Hey,” I said, pulling back from our kiss. I could see in Petra’s face that she was loving our mutual affections and was ready for me, impatience in her eyes as I spoke. “I’m just… so sorry, Petra,” I admitted. “For how I’ve treated you these past couple of years.”
“That’s okay,” Petra nervously giggled, rubbing her nose against mine. “It feels good to be here now.”
“I was crazy,” I said. “I’m still crazy. I just want you to know that I really… appreciate what we have together and I’m really happy to see where this writing partner thing goes.” I smiled, she smiled. “Are we cool?”
“Of course,” said Petra. She reached up and removed her glasses from her nose, folding them and tossing them down to the coffee table behind us. Petra was sort of a geek but once she removed those glasses, it was like in the silly romantic comedy movies where the geek girl turns into the hottie. Her mousy hair had more of sheen, still messy but so cute, her pale skin offering up a soft rosy glow as her blood bubbled with anticipation. In her normal everyday life, Petra did play the part of the tomboy. But as we prepared for what we both knew was about to happen, I could really see her femininity coming out.
Next thing I knew, we were in my bed. Laying back into my pillows, my small chest exposed as Petra hovered over me, I pawed at my own panties and furiously pushed them over my hips and down my thighs. I could see the fire in Petra’s eyes, like this is what she had been dreaming of for a very long time, and it filled me with a greater sense of purpose, a sense of acceptance. The kind of feeling I got on stage when the audience was coming along with me, laughing, clapping. Petra helped my panties off my feet, she herself already totally naked, sitting up on her knees next to me. She was such a cutie. Her breasts bobbled when she moved, swaying to and fro with her frame, one slightly larger than the other. I don’t know what it was about that fact, but I was into it. Something so real about her. No pretenses with Petra. She was a real woman. Whatever that means.
Petra’s fingers glided adoringly over me, prodding at my folds, coaxing the wetness out of me. I laughed softly, an appraised giggle to make her feel comfortable, winding my hands up into the mess of pillows above my head. I just wanted to give Petra what she wanted. Widening my hips, I invited her in, letting her do what she pleased to my small body.
I then felt Petra’s lips kiss me between my thighs, softly, sweetly, inspiring a slow moan to exit from my mouth.
“Tastes like wine,” she remarked. The two of us laughed together.
“Are you sure?” I said. “With the amount of bourbon I’ve drank in my life, I’m surprised my pussy doesn’t taste barrel-aged.”
“Oh stop!” said Petra, getting the giggles. She gave my moistened pleat a light smack.
“C’mon!” I said, grinding my ass down into her sheets, writhing my hips. “Get in there and take me places.”
“Stop whining!” said Petra in her best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression. Yeah, that was a reference to the 90s classic piece of cinema Kindergarten Cop.
“Get to da choppa’!” I said, pointing down to my fur, also doing an Arnold impression. We laughed again together and then Petra dove down, pushing her lips against my warmth, and unleashing her tongue.
Silly, right? But it’s so comforting, so intimate, to be able to do stupid impressions with your lover. Some of these other chicks I’ve dated, George included, it’s all so serious-cool. You know what I mean? Like, they can’t just let their guard down and have some fun. And that’s what sex really is. It’s having fun with someone you love. I don’t know how I’d been blind to it for so long. Petra was someone I could joke with, someone who didn’t take every moment so seriously. Those are the best kind of people to invite into your bed. It’s far more fun when you’re rolling around in the sheets in a comedian.
I felt Petra’s tongue slowly lap upwards on me, her lips then pressing into mine and giving me a deep, full kiss. My head was reeling. I giggled again and then punctuating it with a terse moan as I felt her tongue once more. There was a twinkling inside of me, an ache in my belly, my lower have contracting and releasing. And then I felt her fingers enter.
“Oh God,” I groaned softly, my cheek falling down to the coolness of the pillow. I closed my eyes and enjoyed her attentions. My small chest heaved up and down, my breath quickening, as Petra’s fingers caressed, pushing and pulling through my sopping flesh, her mouth focusing in on that terrific little bullseye full of glorious nerve endings.
With soft squishy sounds of wet flesh, I relaxed deeply into the bed as Petra licked me and pushed her fingers deeper inside. She rocked against me gently, her shoulders against my legs, my butt sliding back and forth in the sheets, my mouth agape and dripping moans. I was loving it. I could feel the arousal building within, like I was stepping up to a steep precipice, getting closer and closer to the edge.
I didn’t know why I had avoided this for so long. My own ego, probably. Some sort of narrative written in my head that I was supposed to go for a certain kind of girl, a type that Petra didn’t fit, but I was such an idiot. As the humidity grew between my thighs, my heart became full, my lungs struggling for breath, the blood pumping. I was even closer. My face scrunched and my brow furrowed, my mouth open in a small circle.
“Oh!” I called out suddenly. “Okay… Shit!” My hips started to buck right there on the bed, butt jumping up and down while Petra hung on. I could feel her giggling lips still pressed into me. I couldn’t believe that I was coming at Petra’s behest but I didn’t question it. Instead, I glorified it. My synapses fired, a weird energy coursed throughout my figure, my head swam. I started laughing.
When I opened my eyes I saw Petra hovering over me, grinning, her mouth glistening with wetness from going down on me.
“Tasty,” she said, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Oh shit,” I absentmindedly intoned, feeling my foot shake, my limbs quivering in some autopilot function. “I think I’ll have another!”
“You’re so pretty,” cooed Petra. She gazed down adoringly to my middle and tenderly caressed me.
“Mmm!” I buzzed, squirming. “Still sensitive!”
Petra just laughed.
I was thankful for Petra in that moment. She had stuck with me even when I was a jerk to her. She stuck with me through other girlfriends who she knew were bad for me. She stuck with me through the peaks and valleys of my comedy career. And I knew that something special was brewing between us. I knew that as my rise in the stand up world came upon me, I’d always have a partner in Petra. She was a woman who understood me, warts and all, and it didn’t hurt that she was pretty damn funny to boot.
I relaxed i
nto this new thing. My train was definitely moving forward on the right track.
I sat alone on a stool at a local dive bar in my neighborhood, the door propped open to let in a nice breeze and some rays of sun. I had a small glass of bourbon between my hands, my thighs sticking to the vinyl stool, sunglasses pushed up into my hair. I was nervous. I didn’t normally get nervous but in that moment, I was as nervous as I’d ever been.
The bar was empty but for the bartender, a lanky blonde gayboy, who was thumbing through the Chicago Reader. He was barely paying attention to me, just existing in his own little world. I appreciated that from a bartender. His name was Lance, I think, and I had seen him walking around the neighborhood for years. As though he could read my thoughts, Lance looked up and raised a brow.
“Are you good?” he asked.
“Sure am,” I responded, though I could almost watch the anxiety move through me.
“Good,” he said. “I’m gonna have a smoke. If you need another drink, just reach over and pour yourself one.”
With that, he stood up straight, took his pack of cigarettes from behind the bar, and made his way toward the open door. I watched Lance as he closed in on the exit, his stride interrupted by a new patron to the bar. She entered wearing a baseball cap and large sunglasses, dark blue linen shorts and a loose t-shirt. Lance stopped in his tracks as he saw her, the unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“Are you…?” he said cautiously, looking at the woman and trying to sum up where he’d seen her before.
“I am,” she said with a knowing smile.
“Oh my God,” said Lance. You could see the excitement growing in his face. “Let me get you a drink.” He looked scrambled, changing his stride before the woman interrupted him.
“Have your smoke,” she said coolly. “I can wait.”
The woman moved past Lance and walked over toward me casually. She was a thicker woman, shapely in the right places, and as she approached me she removed her sunglasses and cap and gave me a smile.
Salacious Stand Up: A Funny Lesbian Romance by Nicolette Dane (2016-06-22) Page 14
