“It’s a work of art,” Fee says solemnly. “Your guide to Scottish liberation.”
“Hang on—” The wine hits me with a bolt of clarity. I grab the chalk and add beneath theathletic sexsection:
Additional consideration: Request oral reciprocation
“Obviously,” Fee says, looking scandalized that I’d feel the need to specify something so fundamental.
Heat floods my cheeks. The truth is, I’ve never even been…attended todown there.
Steve the Shit once told me it “wasn’t his thing,” which in hindsight was code forI’m a selfish prick who thinks women’s pleasure is optional.
I spent months thinking my vagina was the problem, Googling “vaginal aromatherapy.” I briefly considered investing in a rose-petal steaming device.
The fact that I’ve just turned cunnilingus into a research project with bullet points probably explains why I’m twenty-five and my vagina’s still waiting for its first dinner guest.
“Right,” I say, trying to regain some composure. “I should probably add some actual work items too.”
I reach for the chalk again. Usually they’d be the only things on my list.
Make IRIS implementation a success (Actually important; probably should be higher on the list)
Prove to Patrick McLaren I’m a competent employee (Make him choke on that patronizing “Can you handle this?”)
I pause, then add one more thing.
Make Riri proud
“It’s silly, but…” My throat catches. It’s amazing how you can be half-drunk, halfway to horny, and still manage to trip over grief.
“It’s not silly at all,” Fee says firmly.
We step back to look at the board. There’s no KPIs or SMART targets. Not unless “number of licks” is officially a measurable outcome.
But Riri would approve. Especially item six.
