Sunday afternoon, and I nearly forgot. So I said I would have my poke back at my good pal Lisa but I wanted to do it in a way that was genuine. I didn’t want to do it how she did, taking my work apart. I wanted something better, the chef’s kiss of takedowns that was both accurate and that even she could not argue with and also find funny. So I am going to tell the story of Flipper and the best gift I ever gave her. It is a beautiful story of how one woman got a little over smug not realising she was playing with a live grenade.
Meet Flipper. Flipper is the best friend I love dearly but sometimes she gets a little above her station because obviously she is a little prettier than me. She is sweet and a lovely person. She will do anything for anyone and we did everything together. She has only ever had two boyfriends. She does not do hookups and is generally so sickly sweet that it is almost painful. She is basically quality. Her last ex was a psycho, an all singing all dancing goth gammon, and they were together years.
At the time, she had never had oral sex given to her – ever. Imagine that. Thirty years old, never had oral. I used to try and imagine what an absence of that experience would be like. She somehow managed to pick the two guys that thought it was unhygienic, and trust me folks, it’s common. These guys also expect us to put a sword in our mouth. Found lots of them myself. But her ex was manipulative, a con artist and a cheat. This is common knowledge and splitting with him was so messy she would not go near a guy in years. She tried dating. She tried Bumble. But because she is pretty she was always photobombed by a dick pic every time. It’s a shame because she is a classic melt. She would cook full dinners for a guy, bake her goth cakes, curl up and watch movies. All she wants is someone that loves her in the darkness she needs.
Flipper is the sort of woman who remembers your coffee order after one mention and turns up with it unasked the next time you are both wrecked after a deadline. She’s traditional sweet wife material. She once spent an entire Sunday afternoon helping me move a sofa up three flights of stairs even though she had a shift that night. She never once complained. She just kept saying it was no bother and then made us both a proper roast afterwards because she said we had earned it. That is who she is. Kind to a fault. The type who will sit with you in silence when you are too angry to talk and then quietly put a plate of food in front of you without making a fuss. She sees sex as something almost sacred, a ritual that only happens between people who actually give a damn about each other. She values the self respect in limiting herself to as few men as possible. Not a transaction. Not a quick scratch. Something slow and chosen. That’s great on the surface, but you can do both with the right guy.
All she does is work and then spend her nights alone in that little flat of hers with the black candles and the stacks of books she’s read a hundred times. She was incredibly lonely. Her eyes sad. You could feel it coming off her in waves some evenings when we sat on her sofa and the conversation ran out. She would stare at the telly without really watching it and I knew she was thinking about how empty the other side of the bed stayed. It breaks me to see her so lonely. What she needed was a guy to break her without actually having sex, so she didn’t destroy her morals, and I knew just the guy.
By fourteen months I could feel her frustration. She needed such a good going over you could sense it. She would joke that the next date she was going to grind into dust just to get free of the ache, but she was lying. Often it was the alcohol talking. So I started laying the thoughts, little seeds into her brain. I had a guy on my contact list that would break her so hard and so easily and he would not even need to get undressed, and he never did.
Obviously, I did this subtle like. She was never going to hook up with just a random guy. I had to get her thinking about it. I had to plant the seeds. All the great things he can do. Nothing I planted was beyond this guys ability, I’ve been on the wet end of it, so I know exactly what he can do. He’s banned me since then, and I’ve even considered offering him obscene amounts of money to do it, but my pride won’t let me go that far. On the face of it, this guy is normal. He’s a good looking lad, built like a wall, quiet, but totally dangerous. I had heard about him through his reputation of tongue skill alone. It’s all he needs to do. He was an urban legend, or so I thought. Obviously, I just had to give this dude a whirl once the rumours got to me, and he broke me, hard. In a world where mouth fun lasts five minutes if you’re lucky, to have this guy fall in your lap doing it for six hours, with specialised foreplay, and not needing to receive anything back, it’s selfish mode on steroids. And he keeps secrets like a priest in a confession booth. So after the first few times, I just had to gift this guy to Flipper, but it was going to take a miracle.
So four weeks ago, I started plating the seeds. Nothing I planted was untrue.
The occasional story over a bottle of wine. A hint dropped while we were waiting for a bus. The odd post on Substack where I mentioned that getting with a friend’s recommendation/ex was perfectly fine because I knew she was reading every word. I kept it going for a few weeks. Nothing obvious. I just needed to put a crack in her moral wall. Nothing hinders a good sex life that a moral wall. I did it just enough for it to sit there in the back of her mind. See, I had the advantage. I can write, I’ve experienced it, and she was curious, and liked things secret and private.
I gave her a fantasy that most women never experience.
Then bang. One day she was so defeated by frustration, so in need of a little attention, so lonely, so in need of some quality worship, she texts me while I was in the States.
Babe, can I have your guy’s number?
I was like leave it with me babes. I went to my guy. I said look, I have got a girlfriend that needs your magic but she is a tough one. No guy has ever made her orgasm. She is the ultimate test for you. You think you are a legend, this girl is the test. Obviously I was fibbing. A little white lie to give my mate the best damn night she had ever had. He normally uses the first time to assess. He takes the mild approach. It’s still great compared to most guys, but you can tell he’s holding back. I didn’t want that for Lisa, I threw her in the deep end, and she’s never even swam this pool before. It was pure mastery on my behalf. Obviously she was not like this at all. Flipper once had an orgasm on a train because it was vibrating so hard. This woman is so easily pleased and exhausted that I knew he would break her in record timing. My guy was like…
“Leave it to me, Blue.”
She added him on Facebook, and I had no idea. His friends list is secret, he doesn’t respond to anything publicly. When you add him, he’s a ghost. So these little beavers got talking, and I only know because she told me. I asked him, and he was his usual “Lisa who?”
So he met her. And railroaded her so hard I did not hear from her in two days. When I called her she had been sleeping those whole two days. He broke her over six hours. Slow. Gradual build that ruined her. She told me later it started with him just looking at her like she was the only thing in the room. No rush. No grabbing. Just his mouth and his hands working her over so carefully she forgot how to speak. Hours of that. I thought she would last ten minutes tops, so imagine my surprise when she said she went the full ten miles. He keeps you so energised with the push and pull, that those miles are done easily. Building and backing off and building again until she was shaking and crying and laughing all at the same time. She said she lost count. Said her legs would not work properly afterwards. Said she had to sit on the floor of the shower because standing felt impossible. That is what six hours of proper attention does to a woman who has been running on empty for over a year. And he still denies it even took place. But she wouldn’t lie to me, not about that.
Since then she has developed a somewhat annoying personality. She has a Substack now which she apparently uses to dig at me. A confidence that is off the charts. Has been on two dates in a week. Dumped by one, and her new guy is actually quite nice. This is unheard of. He brought out her wild side which is spectacular and what I wanted. He’s given her an appetite. Ironically it is what he does, despite being not very spectacular outside of the bedroom. He is quiet and moody, difficult at the best of times, so it is sweet in its own way. It was him that taught me that it’s the quiet ones you want. Flipper can pile on me, mess around with her silly posts, but the truth is her new found confidence, her new outlook, her sexual awakening, is all because of me and planned by me and created by me. So little lady you are in my debt. Forever.
That’s what my guy does. He creates monsters. A person is only prim, proper and innocent because she doesn’t know what it’s really like to orgasm properly. And I’ll tell you this about prim and proper girls, they all, with no exceptions, wish they weren’t. They all wish they could just switch it off. With my guy, they don’t need to. The never get past second base, but it feels like they have done the full home run and and received player of the year. Once they do feel it, there’s no getting rid of it. You miss it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s a regular call for her now, that’s how much my little monkey has changed. And it’s as cute as hell.
She’s now just like me.
I still smile when I think about the timing of that text. Me sat in some hotel room thousands of miles away, jet lagged and half watching the news, and her message popping up like she had finally run out of ways to pretend she was fine. I could have said no. I could have told her to wait it out a bit longer. Instead I made the call and set the whole thing in motion because I knew exactly what she needed even if she would never have asked for it out loud. That is the part she cannot argue with. She can write whatever she likes about me now. She can be smug in her new posts and go on her dates and act like she discovered this version of herself all on her own. We both know the truth. The grenade was already in her hand. I just pulled the pin and stepped back to watch it go off exactly the way I knew it would. And it was beautiful.
She’s in my debt.
Contact me at and I reply to all emails, emmawebb19976@hotmail.com