Miranda was walking around the apartment, naked with a twinkle in her eye, when Mario came home to disclose a new revelation.
“Hello, Mario. I thought you were done at nine.”
She bent over to pick up a red lighter, manifesting a silver butt plug and a dangling string from a tampon.
“Christ, Miranda. Is that necessary?”
“What’s your problem? I thought you liked this butt plug.”
“I wasn’t talking about that, honey.”
“Oh…yeah I almost forgot. Whatever works, though, right? My clientele loves it!” She couldn’t help but giggle afterwards.
“Well that’s reassuring, cause as of now I’m unemployed. What little dignity I have left is rightfully mine.”
She was nervously playing with her tampon string, contemplating how many extra hours of sexual exploits it would take to subsidize the loss of his wages.
“I told that green eyed asshole to fuck off, if it’s any consolation.”
“Mario, my little rebel. In all honesty, I shouldn’t be shocked.”
“Yeah but you are.”
“I’m not. Everything will be fine. My career as a cam-girl has finally taken off.”
“What more could I ask for? I gotta use the bathroom.”
The toilet seat was down again, a symbol of feminism.
“Respect the patriarchy, bitch!” yelled Mario from behind closed doors.
Miranda didn’t pay no mind. She was too enthralled with her favorite dildo, slowly pushing and pulling it inside her mouth.
If these desperate cyber perverts don’t cum, Miranda and Mario won’t eat. Mario’s emancipation has become Miranda’s enslavement.
The perverts were turned on. All you could hear was the sounds off grown men grunting away, as they stroked closer to release.
Miranda stood up to reveal the dangling string, sucking on the dildo with one hand, and flicking her clit with the other. Cyber perverts were destroying their keypads, one self-induced orgasm at a time. Miranda pulled out the bloody tampon in unison with her orgasm. Her remaining clientele all came at once.
Mario entered the living room, repulsed by the odor of an unwanted egg.
“Miranda, what the fuck? Are you kidding me? Is this really happening?”
Miranda said with blood on her hands and inner thighs, “I think I need a mop, but on the bright side, I just made a profit of three-thousand-dollars!”
Unimpressed by the arithmetic, Mario said, “Fuck the money! I can’t do this anymore. I need normalcy!”
“What you need to do is pass me a clean cork. Show some damn gratitude! I’m doing this for us, and all you can think about is normalcy. Like that’s even an option! When’s the last time you held a job for longer than a month?”
“You know I’m incapable of social interaction with shallow minded, capitalistic assholes,” replied Mario.
Miranda shoved a new tampon inside her lovely box and said, “Exactly! We both have that in common. Now come gimme a kiss, so I can order us a pizza. Let’s celebrate!”
Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh, equipped with a chemical imbalance and lack of patience. His writing has propagated the small press like chlamydia in Beechview. He’s out to make a difference through writing and philanthropy. A faithful volunteer at the Light Of Life Rescue Mission going on three years now, he believes in action. Michael Marrotti writes books that sell no more than five copies, but get 5 star reviews, like F.D.A. Approved Poetry, available on Amazon. You can reach him at firstname.lastname@example.org