The Coffee Shop Stalker – Part 7

Flower Power
A short story by Jason Youngman – Part 7

Holly and Nicole sit one table over from Jonathan’s friends, Priscilla and Mini, in hopes of putting him on edge. They are intimately aware of his seductive techniques and have both fallen prey to his charms. But they also know that he doesn’t have any follow through. In other words he is unable to get it up. It wouldn’t be all that cool to just out and tell Jonathan’s friends at the next table the sad reality of his condition but they are keen to hint after it.

“Wasn’t that Professor Lowball?” asked Holly, with enough volume for others around her to hear. “It certainly was,” replied Nicole, “and it looks like he made another beeline for the washroom!” Their laughter rises up with a musical crescendo, reminding the bartender to play another song. The girls possess fiery personalities and they don’t mind asserting their colours.

“You don’t suppose he is trying to avoid us?” sniggered Holly. “Whatever the hell for,” exclaimed Nicole, “it’s not as though he has a soft spot for us!” They chuckle and momentarily turn their head towards Priscilla and Mini who are quietly listening.

Holly was the only girl to play hockey with the all boy’s hockey league in high school, so she’s used to checking people without any ramifications. She has no qualms about taking a piece out of Jonathan, just as he didn’t mind trying to take a piece of her. “Seriously though, Nicole, I’ll tell you what’s up with this creepy nerd. He doesn’t have any respect for women, and he thinks himself superior to everyone else. If you ask me, he should be required by law to wear a banner around his fawking head that reads exploiter and pervert.”

Nicole doesn’t hold the same degree of animosity towards the professor and doesn’t want to fuel her friend’s ill feelings, so she tries to make light of things by alluding to his erectile dysfunction. Laughter erupts into a bonfire and they continue to feed it with crude jokes. Both Priscilla and Mini are disgusted and make plans to leave. They walk to the washroom and knock on the door. There’s no answer so Mini walks in to find Jonathan rubbing himself against the sink. Perhaps this is what men typically do in washrooms. She pretends not to notice and makes an invitation instead. “We are headed back to Priscilla’s place. Would you like to come?”

It’s as though Jonathan’s personality has regressed into a 12 year old boy. All vigour has left his countenance and he can barely muster the courage to respond. “Yes of course,” replied Jonathan, who is absolutely puzzled at the turn of events. He assumed that Holly and Nicole put a hamper on his objective. “It’s a good thing that my emotions are well hidden,” Jonathan’s thought is nearly palpable, “or I’d be out of the game.”

Mini is no academic but she can read feelings. However she doesn’t care so much about the pathetic nature of this man-child that appears before her, as much as she needs him to give her a passing grade in math.

“Priscilla just so happens to have been developing a new psychotherapeutic technique which treats people who have sexual issues like yourself. Would you be comfortable in participating in a session with her?” her request is direct and to the point.

Jonathan is astounded and stammers for the right words, “What does it… consist of, and how do you know that… that I’m experiencing sexual issues?”

“Guys don’t usually rub their privates against public washroom appliances unless there is something major going on. As for Priscilla’s practice I am not sure, but you will have to be naked for it and get under a thin bed sheet, and you will not be allowed to touch her no matter what. Do you agree with these terms?” Mini asked without flinching or batting an eye lash.

Jonathan goes weak in the knees. His facade has been rolled away and his tawdry narrative exposed without warning. A moment passes by in slow motion before he agrees to the terms.

About Philosopher Muse

An explorer of volition and soul, a song under a night sky and a dream that forever yearns to be.
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