“doves don’t chirp, so i cant very well be yours or any one else’s chirping dove. now get off me!”
she was like this sometimes, would initiate erectus and then unceremoniously interrupt coitus. it was within her rights she told herself, no matter when or why. a woman’s body is her own. he’d just have to deal with it.

“i don’t care if your hard as the fucking blarney stone, we’re done.”
she had reasons, or so she told herself. she considered it a mental condition which the pharmaceutical industry had, uncharacteristically, not managed to medicate yet. she called it severe context anxiety. she reminded herself to write a letter to pfizer.
“but honey, c’mon! i mean…”
“forget it. playtime is over. get dressed.” she tossed his boxers in his general direction, not looking to see where they landed.
“what the fuck? what did i say?”
he had taken it in stride thus far. but he was beginning to get fed up. that was clear enough. he never swore. she never bothered to explain because she knew it sounded ridiculous. she just couldn’t help it. it was context anxiety and it was defiantly severe. she couldn’t even look at him.
“honey, please…”
he approached her, his pants not yet zipped, she could see the softening lump under his boxers. she felt guilty. how many times had she done this to him in the past year? the words still flashed in her mind, chirping dove, chirping dove. christ.
“what is the problem? you have to talk to me.”
the problem was simple, she was ultra sensitive during intimacy to anything cliche. music was never allowed because it almost always illicited one of these fits. an ounce of prevention. but there was nothing she could do to prevent dialogue that sounded like it was ripped off from some shitty b-movie script. chirping dove was beyond bad movie, more like bad theater in the round. it was too much.
“i feel sick, o.k.? i have diarrhea. my head hurts. whatever. you should go.”
“no, i’m gonna stay. i don’t want to take the train all the way back. it’s like a blizzard outside.”
but she knew coitus-interuptus had to be followed this time by a swift homo-ejectus.
“do you mind?”
she liked him a lot, didn’t love him really, but he was a good guy.
“honey?”
he loved her, she knew that. he put up with her shit, and when he kept his mouth shut he was a great lay. if she sent him out into the snow he might never come back, she knew that too. the lump in his boxers was long gone, his hair was messed up. he stood there, finally silent. she wondered if the trains even ran this late on the weekends.
“yeah, i mind.”