Page 39 of More Than I Can Bear

“I’ll have you know I had a very disappointing experience with Johnny Goodall the night of the Year 11 formal, which helped consolidate my identity as a gay woman,” she said with a theatrical air. “So spill, bitch.”

“I think…” A thought niggled away in my brain and once that worm started twitching it wouldn’t stop. “I think I know what a baculum feels like.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Jack shouted. She punched me in the arm and I pulled back with a yelp.

“Fuck, ow! What was that for?”

“Where was that topic of discussion when I asked for all the deets, bitch?” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

“You said no P in V conversations would be had.”

“Ordinary peen? Gag.” She poked a perfectly manicured nail down her throat and then actually gagged momentarily. “But weird peen? C’mon, Frey Frey—”

“Don’t call me Frey Frey. It makes me sound like a French poodle,” I shot back.

“Did you go onto that website with the freaky fantasy dildos that look like dragons?” she asked me in a patronising tone.

“The one you traumatised me with, spamming me with links for gelatine ovipositor eggs when work was slow, and then we had a deep dive into research, trying to work out if melted jelly in your va-jay-jay would give you thrush? No.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, so I nicked one of her shots, copping a smack to the hand, but not before I swallowed most of it down. “But when Adam bit me…”

“He…” She made a rude gesture, poking several fingers through a ring on her other hand.

“More like…” I replicated that, then curled the tips around until they caught on the rim of the ring. I made a tugging motion and then her eyebrows shot upwards.

“That looks… painful. Tell me that prick did not shred your cervix, because we will have words—”

“He didn’t.” I wriggled in my seat and Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “More like the best G-spot stimulation I’ve ever felt and I’ve got one of those stainless steel things you can brain a guy with.”

“The Njoy Pure Wand?” She grinned widely. “You never said.”

“Well, unlike some people, I don’t need to advertise everything I do with my vagina,” I said.

“I sent you a video of the wet spot a girl left that one time…” she groaned.

“You made me come into your dorm room at university, and calculate the circumference of the wet spot, so you could record it in a chart.”

“For science.” She raised her shot with a goofy grin so I grabbed the last one, doing the same. Jack clinked her glass with mine and then we downed the tequila.

“Hello, ladies…”

The guy, about the same age as my dad, moved to prop his elbow on the top of our booth, leering suggestively when we both turned to him.

“Do you have a bear dick with extra G-spot attachment?”

“What?” The guy blinked wildly and we both started to cackle.

“Didn’t think so,” Jack shot back, “so off you go.”

Margaret Atwood always said that women are afraid that men will kill them and men are afraid women will laugh at them. His reaction made me guess that was true. The bloke turned and walked away, muttering something about us being bitches.

“Ladies, it’s been real…” Janey said, giving the two of us the hairy eyeball.

“But we must be going.” Jack got up, stumbled, grabbed at the table and then burst out laughing as I did the same. Jokes on me, the floor seemed to have moved too. Janey just watched the two of us learn how to walk again, clutching onto each other, then go careening out onto the footpath.

My little art business was called Goblincore for a reason. If you’ve never seen Iliza Shlesinger’s stand up routine about being a party goblin, you’re missing out. Those weird little critters I drew, they were what lurked inside me, hidden down deep under a facade of normality. But when the two of us were drinking, the party goblins came out.

“So how the hell are you going to go back to normal peen after enjoying the delights of the G-spot Stimulator 3000?” Jack asked way too loud, spinning around in a circle, much to the bouncers’ amusement. “Especially when they’re attached to three guys who’re gonna lurve you forever.”

“Shut up, bitch. They don’t love me,” I said, giving her a shove, almost into oncoming traffic.

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