Wet Willies as Appropriate Sublimation of Bitch-Slapping Impulse.

Well then! Chris' cousin certainly has self control! (See previous post)

I do not share his military composure. This I blame on being kicked out of the Air Force because of egg allergies. Yes, that really happened.

So, a story for those of you who, like me, would often like to slap the bitch, but who also realize that, no, you cannot slap the bitch.


It happened thus: I was in the middle of a particularly petty (and thus intense) skirmish with a rather unstable and cold-hearted/hot-tempered girlfriend, who will be known as Dove. Dove had the ability to drive me to shivering rage, sort of a new experience for me, temperamentwise.

"Whattayagunnado, hunh? Hit me? Hit me? Hunh?"

I stretched forth mine hand..

And the angels of Religious and Civil Morality called unto me out of heaven, saying:

They: "Benjamin, Benjamin!"
I:"Here am I!"
They: "Lay not thy backhand upon the bitch, neither do thou any slapping unto her."
I: "But she's killing me, guys! Look at that sneer on her face, arghagh!"
They: "Well, figure something out, but you can't hit girls, you know?"

I lowered my hand, and resting my chin upon my chest, I sighed.

Staring up at me from the floor, her hateful bird-stupid little face quivered in triumph.

"Nothin, you ain't gonna do shit¹," she turned away, to continue watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, the tenth episode of an all day marathon.

I sat down behind her.

Her too-small head, silhouetted by the glow of the television, formed the pupil of an eye of judgment: finding weakness, and disinterested.

I would get her attention.

Hitting, slapping, no.. Talking? Screw that, I needed something objective, something real. A noogie? An indian sunburn? No those leave marks, thus leaving me open to prosecution by law. I needed something whose mark would be internal..

And Eternal..

Memories of torments past came flooding back to me in an instant..

The wet willie²!?

Yes.

Never had I considered deploying the wet willie in anger. But, like Phil Collins said, "Tonight, tonight, tonight, oh-ohhhh."

I stuck one then the other pinky into my anger-thickened-spit-filled mouth, and left them there for a moment, as an assassin might fondle a bullet before finally loading it into the chamber.

I stood.

Simultaneity was key.. It was both or neither..

It was both.

And it was so.. so good.

Digging the spittle from her earlobes, she turned upon me, mouth open in animal rage.. only to shrink before the beatific radience of my smile.

She began slapping my legs, but feebly.
I had won the battle of the willies, she was broken.

I laughed, and I laughed.

I laughed the laughter of the gods.

---

¹Yes, she would really say things like that when she was angry. Her conflict resolution skills were informed almost entirely by Jerry Springer guests.

²The wet willie, for those of you who skipped the 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th grade, is a pretty simple maneuver (related to the dead leg and the elephant dick) accomplished by jamming a spit-slickened finger into either (or both!) of the victim's earholes.