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Title: Love's A Funny Thing
Author: Pattyanne
snapkik@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS
characters belong to me.
Rating: NC-17

Summary: This may be the wierdest thing
I've done yet, and I have no idea whether
it'll work or not. Okay, here goes: Buffy
is a stand up comedian. Spike is the owner
of the comedy club where she's performing.



Part one:


"Anybody recognize this sound? Oooaggghh.
That is the sound of someone who has something really
gross in their mouth that they don't want to swallow."

Perched on a stool in the center of the small stage, Buffy
paused for the giggles in the audience to quiet down.

"You know what I mean....don't you, girls? Oral gratification,
as it's called by people who rarely get any, is a lot trickier
than the romance novels make it seem. The most em-
barrassing...the most FRUSTRATING thing...is being in
bed with a man who doesn't know what the hell he's
doing. A man that's just lousy at it. And you can't tell
them, either. Because you might damage their fragile
little psyches, and then they end up in a clock tower with
a sniper's rifle, and who needs that kind of guilt?"

A small burst of applause accompanied their laughter.

"There's nothing worse than trying to concentrate on
whatever fantasy you've got going, while the guy between
your legs is searching for the right spot with all the finesse
of a rodeo clown. Your clit is right there! YOU can find
it! Why can't they?"

She took a sip of water from a glass one of the waiters
handed her.

"They sure as hell don't have any trouble finding the
opening below it, do they? Shit, no. They've got THAT
calibrated like a blip on a radar screen."

Sighing regretfully, she waited for the laughter to die
down.

"But that's not enough, is it, girls? No. Men...listen to
me; we need you to find that button and push it for all
it's worth. Like you're ringing a doorbell.Leeeannn on it,
boys." Miming, she jabbed her thumb on an imaginary
doorbell several times, then pushed it hard. "And whatever
else you do, don't leave without giving us a chance to get
to the door! We could be on the other side of the house,
for god's sake. Ding-dong-ditch wasn't funny in junior high
school and it's not funny now, I don't care WHAT your
friends tell you!"

Buffy scanned the crowd, mentally choosing who she'd
be talking with later in her act.

"Unfortunately, for most guys, it's hit or miss. Sometimes
they find it, and sometimes they just can't. No matter how much
encouragement you give them; yeah, good, now down a little..no
back up...little bit more...I said a LITTLE bit more! Okay...sorry.
Over...over...over...over...it's not that big an area...no, now
you've gone TOO far over! "

Uncrossing, then recrossing her legs, she shook her head.

"Nope. They can't find it. You can lay there until judgment
day, and it won't matter. And after an hour, you just want to
get it over with. And, guys...you aren't helping matters by
lifting your head every two minutes and saying, "Well?"
Well, WHAT, you selfish bastard? Do I look 'well' to you?
Stop yapping, get back down there and get busy. I'll let you
know when I'm well!"

Looking up, she saw the owner of 'Laughingstock' leaning
against the back wall, his arms folded across his chest.

"And no matter how sub-par their performance is, they all
want to hear a chorus of moaning and groaning and sighing
and sobbing and squealing and 'oh-my-GOD!!!-ing'. And you'd
better by God scream long and loud. They want their friends
in the sports bar on the other side of town to hear you shriek
until your throat bleeds."

She demonstrated by starting a low moan, then gradually
increasing it in volume and pitch, changing to mimic the sound
of a police siren racing through city streets, then to an air raid
warning alarm, slowly letting it wind down.

"THEY want to hear, 'oh, baby...yeah, baby...you're the best,
honey...yeah...doing me so good...', but what YOU want to
say is 'ENOUGH ALREADY!' "

She took another quick peek towards the rear. He was still
there, and he was laughing.

"Cuz it gets uncomfortable after a while, right ladies? You've
been laying there for like...three days...your legs are starting
to cramp up...your muscles atrophy...not to mention the way
your skin feels. Oh, there's nothing worse than getting head
from a guy who hasn't shaved....and YOU have."

Another burst of laughter and applause rocked through the
club.

"That's tender skin down there, boys. Sandpapering it will
NOT get you the results you're hoping for."

Buffy waited out the laughter, trying not to stare at the
owner. Not an easy thing to do, as he was awfully easy on
the eyes.

"Now, men are lucky! No one has to go fumbling around
searching for THEIR sweet spot. It pretty much encompasses
the entire lower half of their bodies. You touch any guy, any
where above the knee...even just a casual pat to say 'Well,
good for YOU', and everything on them leaps to attention like
a trained seal.. Their crotches actually emit a high pitched beep,
telling you where to go. Meanwhile, they can't find a clit with
both hands and a road map."

William McAllister was an inch or so about average height,
and leanly built.

"And they're so impatient. I mean, there you are, you're trying
to make it good...going slowly...moving down...giving them all
the little kisses and touches you THINK they like...and the
next thing you know, they've got their hands on your shoulders,
pushing down hard enough to break your collar bone."

His face was beautifully made, all sharp edges and high
cheekbones.

"But it's even worse when they reach down and grab on to
your hair. Oh, man...you know that's it. You are going down,
and you'd best hustle it up before he gets carried away and
detaches it from your scalp."

His hair was a silky looking mass of loose curls, its dark
roots tipped blonde from a previous bleach job.

"Just try and explain THAT one at Supercuts!; Yeah, yeah,
I know it's on both sides. Never mind what happened, just
fix it!"

The man's eyes were dark blue, intense and sharp as the
rest of him.

"Then there are the guys with....control. God, I hate them.
They've got all the control in the world...except when it's
really needed. The same guys who can hold off an orgasm
until you have a case of temporomandibular joint dysfunction,
will thrust three times, climax, and collapse on you like a
sack of wet cement."

He was dressed all in black. Probably knew how devastating
he looked in it.

"We were talking about the nasty mouthful, right? I swear,
there are some guys who think they're doing you this huge
honor...taking their 'essence'. That's an actual term the
romance novels use to describe semen. 'Essence'. Like it's
a goddamn cologne."

She used a breathy voice, mocking a television commercial.

"Essence. Just a drop or two behind your ears...and no man
will ever...want to touch you again. Essence...by that slob
snoring on your pillow. Available at Macy's...out in the parking
lot, behind a dumpster."

Black silk shirt...black trousers...black necktie. Not a
cheery look, but it worked for him.

"Sometimes, I try to stop before the critical moment, but
that usually pisses them off and they whine about it for an
hour. And some guys try to sneak it past you. Don't even try
giving you the old 'heads up!' . No warning, no nothing...just
a sudden mouthful of something that tastes like salty egg
yolks, and you're trying to keep it away from your taste buds,
so you pull your tongue way into the back of your mouth."

God, he was sexy when he smiled. Smiling was important
to her, and it had been the first thing she'd noticed about him.

"So, THEN what do you do with it? Do you spit it out...do you
swallow it? What's the proper course of action?"

Holding one hand as though it was a piece of paper, she
pretended to write with the other, furrowing her brow thought-
fully. "Hmmm. Dear Miss Manners..."

Such nice, even white teeth he had.

"I don't know what to do. I tried to give it back once, but he
didn't want it either."

Her set was winding up. Jumping down from the stool, she
moved it to the rear of the stage.

"Here's an idea....spit it out in the palm of your hand and
wipe it on the sheets. Let HIM lay in the wet spot, for a
change."

Picking up her water glass, she finished it off.

"Two things. Boys...oral sex is a privilege, not a right. And
girls...oral sex is a right...not a privilege. Which brings us to
the men who don't want to reciprocate and you know who you
are."

She snapped the microphone back into its stand.

"You do them, then go to the bathroom to brush your teeth...be-
cause you have to or they won't kiss you...a minute later you
come back and there he is...sound asleep, like you'd been
gone for days. Just TRY and wake him up. You'd have a better
change of reanimating Elvis."

Placing her hands on her hips, she mimed glaring at an
imaginary bed.

"You know...suddenly that vibrator seems like a real smart
purchase, doesn't it? You're trying to wake this clown up and
he's whining "I'm tired. I can't just turn it off and on like a switch,
you know."

She shrugged. "So you say...'That's okay, honey. I can.' Click.
Bzzzzzzz..."

Blowing her audience a kiss, she thanked them and skipped
down from the stage, heading up the center aisle towards the
rear of the club, reveling in the applause.

Buffy stopped two feet from where Spike was standing. "How'd
I do, boss?"

He smiled that lovely smile again. "Sensational, luv," he said,
slipping one hand behind the back of her neck and leaning down
until she could feel his breath against her skin as he whispered,
"But now all I can think about is going down on you."



TBC.....

Please let me know what you think about
this one. It's different, I know, but does it
work?





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