A three act tragicomic stage play about misogyny, sexual politics, and the misconceptions of postmodern romance.
NEIL AND MEGHAN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
The television is on, but the sound is off. Neil sits on the couch and Meghan sits on his lap, facing him, straddling him. She strokes his hair and they look at each other with bedroom eyes, but sort of sweet, not dirty. He moves his hands over her body as if he’s checking a sculpture to apply finishing touches. Neil kisses her softly and attempts to initiate intercourse. He compliments her.
NEIL: You smell good.
MEGHAN: I smell like the hospital.
NEIL: I promise you, you don’t. Your pheromones are giving me a boner.
MEGHAN: I’m sure it’s my pheromones. With this workday grease and hospital stink, it’s gotta be.
NEIL: Are you ovulating?
MEGHAN: Am I ovulating? Do you want me to be ovulating?
MEGHAN: I thought we were waiting until we were older to think about children.
NEIL: Why are you getting into this now?
MEGHAN: You asked me if I was ovulating.
NEIL: It was a joke. Because of the pheromones. You’re just arousing me with your stench. It’s biology.
MEGHAN: Who asks anybody if they’re ovulating who isn’t trying to have a child with them? You need to work on your pillow talk, dear.
NEIL: Okay. It was just my stupid humor. Sense of humor was one of the turn-ons you mentioned in your personal ad.
MEGHAN: God. You got me worked up.
NEIL: I’m trying to. That’s what all the kissing and touching was for.
MEGHAN: I’m not even ready to think about having a kid again. You know how much stress that put on me the last time we had this discussion.
NEIL: Well, we had to have this discussion. Which we aren’t having now. I was just cracking jokes. Science jokes.
MEGHAN: Don’t bring babies into this next time.
NEIL: Why are you turning this into a fight?
MEGHAN: I am not. You are.
NEIL: What do you call that?
MEGHAN: I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m just so hot for you right now. I get passionate in every area of my being.
NEIL: Even…the butt?
MEGHAN: You need to choose your battles.
NEIL: I meant…That’s what the touching was for.
MEGHAN: It was working. Keep at it.
He does. She kisses him.
MEGHAN: But, god, that’s scary. That huge head being pushed through my vagina. I’ve heard of women, like, tearing during birth. And then you poop and you pee in front of everyone. Oh no. Did I take my pill today? Oh, crap. I’m not ready for that. And my hips are so small, they’d probably have to do a c-section, and I’d prefer to go through life without any more scars than I already have.
MEGHAN: I’m sorry, I’ll stop…where were we?
She kisses his neck. He is unresponsive. She slides her hands down his stomach and finds his now flaccid penis.
MEGHAN: Where’d it go?
NEIL: It hid when you said the words “tearing” and “vagina” in the same sentence.
He lifts her off of him, stands up, and crosses into the bedroom.
MEGHAN: Technically they weren’t in the same sentence.
She takes off her pants.
MEGHAN: Come on, baby…come back here. Baby I need you right now!
He walks back into the doorway. She throws her panties, which hit him in the face. He catches them as they fall. She spreads her legs like she was posing for Hustler.
NEIL: Oh. Yeah. That helps. Now I just picture this huge head coming out of it.
He drops her panties and crosses to the kitchen.
Writing by Brock Rizy. Mature Audience.
Volatile™ and © Brock Rizy 2012