Right now I’m working on writing a new collection of stories where each contain some sort of strange premise or twist. The details right now are sketchy, as I’ve only completed four stories in early drafts, but I’m hoping to self-publish this collection sometime this year. Until then, I’d like to go ahead and share this short story–this very short short story. I haven’t revised it much yet, but you’ll get the gist of it.
The Lust Generation
After a long day of prepping, primping, beautifying, finessing, and dressing, Constance was ready for a night of clubbing. She was dressed to the nines in the season’s finest fashion. Light and airy was in right now, clunky and layered was out. Effervescence was the new ideal. “There should be a certain effortlessness to a woman’s beauty,” this month’s issue of Couture Shock told her.
For the better part of two hours, she sifted through her closet for just the right combination of sex appeal and elegance. The trick was to include certain small elements that seemed out of place–a bracelet in a clashing color, for example, or a pair of jeans intended for fall. That way, people think, “Oh wow, look how pretty she is, despite how she obviously cares so little for fashion!” Her roommate watched on imperiously, quick to say yay or nay in the wittiest way possible.
Finally, she’d settled on a pair of heels from a Manhattan boutique, skinny jeans ordered from a Paris company called Jouissance, a limestone bracelet hand-made in Nepal, a jacket from Tehran, a dark purple scarf from Mumbai, kinky underwear from Maid in America, and lip gloss she found in a vegan co-op.
She was ready for the club, but dancing was only the first part of her projected night. According to last month’s edition of Charmed Life Quarterly, women were finding liberation in the world of casual encounters. The hook-up was the perfect way for a woman to meet her romantic needs while pursuing a career. Constance was wondering what exactly would get her career going.
Her roommate balked at the idea of the one-night stand, and took it one step further by saying the idea of responsibility-free sex being liberating for women sounded awfully misogynistic to begin with. But then, she was engaged to a real dead-ender, and was poor.
Things worked out swimmingly for Constance. At the second club she went to, she met someone. His personality was blah, his conversation blase, but his fashion? Tres chic! Plus, he was forward. The moment they stepped out of the club into the humid, neon blear of the night, he bluntly said to her, “Your clothes look good. I bet they’d look better on my floor.”
The taxi ride to his studio apartment was over in a heartbeat. As she stepped into his apartment, she thought with excitement, “This is it! I’m actually going through with it!”
Before he turned the light on, she began taking off her clothes, strewing them on the floor, trying as hard as possible to resist the urge to fold them up nicely. Soon, she was standing completely nude, near his bed, waiting.
Confusedly, Constance fumbled around and found a lamp on his nightstand and clicked it on. Then she saw him, completely dressed, on his knees pawing at her clothes.
“Wow,” he said, holding the hem of her jeans, “These are Jouissance?”
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