Bedroom Review by Abram Lynch

Laura straddled Jacob’s thigh and ground back and forth against his skin. She touched the tip of her tongue to the inner ridges of his ear, then flung her self backwards onto the mattress. “Goddamn,” she said, combing hair away from her eyes with one hand and squeezing his semi-erection with the other, “that was just what I needed.” Jacob turned his head and kissed her on the cheek. When he pulled away his lips made a wet popping sound and he turned back to a view of the ceiling. “It was incredible,” he said, “and sobering.”
    She sat up on an elbow. “Excuse me? I think you can do better than that.”
    ”Incredible and sobering,” he said, “and I’m sticking to it.”
    ”Oh no you don’t, not this time.” Laura leaned over his face and tickled his armpits. “No you don’t, oh no you don’t,” she said as Jacob struggled. He held his hands out between the two of them. “Okay, okay,” he said, “it was incredibly moving, a work of sobering importance. Just don’t tickle me anymore.” Laura was silent for a moment as Jacob crossed his arms. His elaboration failed.
     “You better come up with something better,” she said, “or I’m going to tickle you until you pee yourself.”
    He grabbed her hands and shifted his body so that he faced her completely. “Out of this dry season,” he said, “has come a fiercely enjoyable experience.” He rubbed his toes against her toes, leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.
    ”I’m listening, baby,” she said. “You’re doing just fine.”
    He cleared his throat. “It was harrowing, yet disturbing; a rip-snorting journey into the depths of pleasure and greatness…a true masterwork. You moved me as I have seldom been moved before.”
    ”Disturbing?” She said.
    He bit his lip. “Why, what’s wrong with that?”
    She fell back onto her pillow and turned away. “I don’t know, I guess that’s just not what I expected. Disturbing? I mean, I don’t know, it just sounds so… so bleak. Did I do something wrong?”
    He nestled his body against her and placed a hand on her knee. “No, no, just listen,” he said. “What I was trying to say is that your style is…well, that it’s a haunting example of rare and exquisite talent. It begs to be examined over and over again. Come on, you know what I meant.”
    ”But you said disturbing,” she said. “Imagine what that sounds like to me. Was there something I could’ve done differently that would’ve have made it seem, I don’t know, less disturbing? It sounds so icky. Did you think it was icky?”
    ”Icky? No, that’s not what I meant at all.”
    ”The word disturbing just sounds so harsh. And what about the whole dry season comment? I don’t get that.”
    ”Look at me,” he said. “I can’t talk to you about this if you’re not looking at me. Please turn around.”
    She began turning toward him, then decided she’d be more comfortable on her back. “Disturbing,” she said. “It sounds so awful.”
    He returned his hand to her knee. “Listen to me, Laura, just listen for a second. I misspoke, that’s all. When I said disturbing I was thinking of raw intensity. Disturbing wasn’t the right word, exactly. I just used it… I don’t know, I guess… I guess I just spoke too quickly. I was thinking more of like, you know, more about the things that stir the soul. The thing that I said was disturbing was actually, you know, not disturbing at all, but more of a thrilling testament to your skill and technique. There’s no better contemporary performer of pleasure than you, baby, no one.”
    Laura raised her hand to Jacob’s. “You really mean that?”
    ”Of course I do. You’re an original among imitators,” he said and kissed her shoulder, “a true superstar… a transcendent presence that blasts through the sludge of mediocrity.”
    ”You really think so?”
    He tugged on her leg.
    She ran her fingers against his neck. “You’re not just saying that?” She said, now dragging her hand along his chest.
    He pulled her closer. “It was the splendid result of the perfect mixture of technical know-how and guttural instinct…a seamless string of stinging truths.”
    She inched her hand toward his stomach, pulling at hair along the way. “But do you think it was—” she said just before they kissed. “I just want to know if you think it was—” and they kissed again.
    ”Yes, it was. You know it was.”
    ”But you don’t know what I was going to say.”
    ”Sure I do, and it was. It was the perfect addition to your body of work.”
    ”And you really don’t think it was disturbing?”
    ”If by disturbing,” he said, “you mean delightful and poignant, then yes, it was one of the most disturbing experiences I’ve ever had.”
    She slid her hand past his bellybutton, twirled his pubic hair and returned her tongue to the inner ridges of his ear. “You’re the only one who really gets me,” she whispered, and began stroking his deflated penis back to life.

About the author:

Abram Lynch is the author of Small Disasters, a collection of absurdist tales and contemporary fables. Mr. Lynch is also the former host of the Philadelphia reading series One Floor Up, as well as current host and founder of The Neo-Folklore Society’s Festivals of Modern Times. He currently lives in South Philadelphia with his wife and son.