The Over-Educated Nympho

The Triad is made up of my brain, The Pussy, and I. No good whatsoever can come from this daily three-way battle. Oh who am I kidding–lots of good cums from this. For those of you unfamiliar with The Triad posts, go here for a proper introduction.

This morning I took my car to the mechanic again because it was making a weird noise. While I was waiting for the diagnosis (another part fell off? dead squirrel in the crankshaft?) I leaned against the wall and read a book. The little bell on the door rang. I looked up and saw one of the finest looking Southern guys I’ve seen on this side of the Mississippi River. The Pussy fluttered.

We briefly made eye contact. Hot eye contact. He smiled shyly and walked to the counter. While pretending to read I sized him up: light-colored hair, nice build (slender yet toned, much like a volleyball player), nice smile, pale blue eyes, and –happy sigh– thick black glasses. I’m a total sucker for a guy in a good pair of glasses, which means a sucker for other things as well if guys would only stop cock-blocking themselves with their own stupidity.

The Pussy: I WOULD SO HIT THAT.
my brain: oh shut the hell up. Like you have a shot in hell. You’re at the fucking mechanic.

Guy: Hey.

Me: Hey.
my brain: Ah, the words of scholars. Stop making me look bad.
The Pussy: I want to hit that. I want to hit that right now. I want to hit that right fucking now so hard he that he asks god to kill him because it doesn’t get any better than this.
my brain: You would probably have a better chance if you came up with something more interesting than “hey.”
The Pussy: Like “hey, you want to go get your freak on with me in the storage closet?”
my brain: Your stunning oratory skills are exactly why you don’t get to be the one who talks.
The Pussy: Au contraire. I have FINE oral-tory skills.
my brain: So not the same thing.
The Pussy: Your oratory skills get you diddly fucking squat. My oral-tory skills get me in some delightfully compromising positions.
my brain: Shut up already and say something to him.
The Pussy: Like “Chuck Norris is in my home boy”? That would definitely get things started.
my brain: It’s a good thing you look pretty. AHHH HE JUST LOOKED AT US! Say something!!

Me: —
[mouth opens, a gurgle comes out]
The Pussy: Tell him to take off his pants.
my brain: Have you looked at him? He’s all icky. He’s in a dirty uniform. His shirt has his name embroidered on it.
The Pussy: Then tell him to take off his shirt. It’s only a hop skip and a hump away from getting him to take off his pants.
my brain: I do like his glasses.
The Pussy: He can take off his glasses too. Weee, Naked Tuesday!

Guy: –
[he looks over. his mouth opens and immediately closes]

my brain: Maybe he is a good match.
The Pussy: Yes he is. He has a dick and doesn’t mind getting dirty. I’m in, now LET’S GO.
Me: Soo…
my brain: This is the part where you’re supposed to combine words in some sort of logical order to form sentences.
The Pussy: Or I can take off my pants. I’m good at taking off my pants. I do it all the time. Oooh, there goes the bra! Weee, it’s Naked Tuesday every day!

[Guy looks up in interest, waits for me to finish (or start) speaking]

Me: So you know it’s going to be expensive when they have three mechanics looking under your hood at the same time.
The Pussy: “under your hood”… heheeeheheheheheheheheheheehehe
my brain: At least we didn’t say “I like your haircut. Wanna fuck?”
The Pussy: I’ll have you know that worked once.
[smile hopefully at guy]

Guy: Oh, really? That sucks. Which car is yours?

The Pussy: The one that has ample space in the back seat and condoms in the glove compartment.
my brain: Be normal. JUST BE NORMAL FOR ONCE.
The Pussy: Are you talking to me or him?
my brain: Yes.
Me: That one over there. [points]
The Pussy: The one that has a selection of snacks in the trunk for after we make nasty-nasty and need nourishment for another couple rounds of rocking the casbah.

Guy: Huh.
[a minute passes. he stares out window. I resume pretending to read my book.]

my brain: He isn’t doing anything. He isn’t talking! How did we fuck it up in so few sentences?
The Pussy: If I were allowed to talk we’d have his shirt off by now. Ooooh I bet he has a tattoo. Maybe several. Mmmm. GET HIS SHIRT OFF.
my brain: What did we do? Wait, maybe he’s married. Look for a ring but be inconspicuous.
[eyeball nearly pops out from over-extending peripheral vision]
my brain: Damnit, I can’t get a good look.

Guy: Is the manager here?

Me: I haven’t seen him. But that guy is his brother, he may be able to help you.
The Pussy: … help you double-team me! Now how do you expect to do that if YOU ARE STILL WEARING YOUR PANTS?
my brain: Keep talking! Get him to look at you and then The Pussy can send her kegel waves of cockquest out and maybe he’ll get the hint.

Guy: Oh. Is that him? He’s coming inside.

The Pussy: That’s what she said.
my brain: Stop watching tv.

Mechanic: Hi, can I help you?
Guy: [yada yada]

After a couple minutes of them discussing car crap, I managed to work my way into the conversation. I’ve been to the mechanic so many times that we’ve gotten to the point that we can joke around easily. Eventually all three of us were laughing and talking, then the mechanic left to tend to another customer.

Me: [yada yada]
Guy: [yada yada]

my brain: Please hit on me! I’m sending you all the signals but you’re either shy or scared or CLUELESS and I won’t want to make an ass of myself when you’re being so hard to read.
The Pussy: Oh he likes us all right. Didn’t you see the eye he gave us when he first walked in?
my brain: He probably just had gas.
The Pussy: That wasn’t gas you dipshit, that was sex eyes. Big difference, but you don’t know that and THAT is why no one ever tells us “your brain is so hot.”

Me: [yada yada]
Guy: [yada yada]

my brain:Just hit on me! I WANT TO FUCK YOU! How can you know I want to fuck you if you don’t hit on me?!
The Pussy: Looks like I’m not the only one who’s horny and pissed off.
my brain: So… why aren’t we hitting on him?
The Pussy: Because we’re pissed at the male species for being dumbasses, douchebags, and fuckwits.
my brain: Right. I’m supposed to be the one who says things like that. Damnit.
The Pussy: It’s okay. We haven’t been laid in a while, I know you’re getting stupid.

Guy: Well it’s time for me to get back to the truck.

Me: Yeah.. I think my car is ready.
The Pussy: Oh just give in and invite him to the party in my pants. It’s been two and a half months. The party in my pants is feeling like an eight-orgasm guaranteed minimum. He may need to bring back-up.
my brain: Make sure the back-up has glasses too. Raaawr.
The Pussy: Don’t do that. Don’t “rawr.” Stick to thinking you know big words other than onomatopoeia.

Guy: It was real nice meeting you..

Me: Yeah you too…
my brain: HIT ON ME HIT ON ME HIT ON ME HIT ON ME HIT ON ME HIT ON ME
The Pussy: FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME
my brain and The Pussy: HIT ON ME FUCK ME HIT ON ME FUCK ME HIT ON ME FUCK ME HIT ON ME FUCK ME

Guy: Take care.
[he walks away into the polluted horizon]

Me: DAMN YOU.
my brain: You see that sexy man-strut of his? Dammmmn he has a nice ass.
The Pussy: Think about how good it would have looked if he had just TAKEN OFF HIS FUCKING PANTS.
my brain: Doesn’t matter. I bet he has a girlfriend anyway.
The Pussy: Or kids.