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© 2019 Rachel Melvin. All rights reserved.  

How Bitches Are Made® and HBAM® are trademarks owned by Rachel Melvin. 


Episode 6 "The shit end of the stick"

Updated: Oct 17, 2019



I’m lucky to be able to call myself a “working” actor, especially since most of the year I’m not working at all. To most people, that might sound like heaven, but to anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves on unemployment, it can be a certain kind of hell. Before I started writing I used to crave something - anything - to take my mind off how utterly bored I’d become, which explains why I spent so much time with my friends and their children. And why I no longer need any other kind of birth control to keep me from having any of my own.

One day, I joined my friend Lauren for a trip to the park with her son Julian and daughter Abigail. It started like every other morning; Lauren trying to find an effective way to assert herself as the boss, and her kids reminding everyone but her that they were really the ones in charge. Now, I’ve made it a point to bite my lip in the presence of parents. Mostly because I’m not one so anything I say, regardless of right or wrong, has little to no credibility. And also because I live in Los Angeles, a city where children successfully sue their parents for a light spanking in the name of child abuse, and where I’m sure lecturing from a stranger is no doubt considered, in the very least, harassment.

The minute we pulled into a parking space at Pan Pacific park, Julian was out of the car and fashioning a stick as a light saber.

Lauren: Julian, stay on the sidewalk please!! Rachel, can you grab the diaper bag for me? It’s behind your seat.

Rachel: Sure.

While Lauren removed Abigail from the car seat behind her, I opened my door to retrieve the diaper bag as requested. Once in hand, I threw it over my shoulder closing the door behind me, and turned to where I assumed Julian would still be engaged in an epic battle with an invisible Darth Vader. He wasn’t. Instead, he’d traded in that stick - for the wood between his legs.

I watched as Julian directed a steady stream of piss onto the base of the sign displaying the park rules, in front of him. The restriction of public urination may not have been specified, but I was pretty sure it was a no no. Or, in LA, at least frowned upon.

Rachel: Um… should you be doing that?

Julian: Mom says if animals can go outside, so can I. Humans are animals, ya know.

He barely glanced over his shoulder as he casually shared this information with me. I couldn’t help but notice a hint of pride as he showed off an education even he himself seemed to know was impressive for his age. I took few steps back to disassociate. After all, I only lived just down the street.

Though I may have been concerned with other people’s judgement and opinions, I knew Lauren wasn’t, evident by the fact she still openly breast fed her son in public despite the fact he was old enough to ask for it. That’s why, once she set Abigail down on the grass beside her mid stream brother without any reaction whatsoever, I wasn’t particularly surprised. I was, however, shocked by what happened once her daughter tried to follow suit.

Lauren: Abigail, no! We do not take our clothes off in public.

Abigail: But - if animals can go outside, so can I?

Lauren: No, sweetie you cannot.

Abigail: Julian’s does it?

Lauren: That’s because Julian’s a boy, sweetie. You’re a girl. Girls have different rules. Come on, let’s find you a bathroom.

As mad as I was at my friend for instilling such a double standard in her children, I couldn’t help but notice; she was only teaching them the same lessons that had been bestowed upon her.

From the very beginning girls are treated differently. While one half of the world’s population has always been given free rein to whip their dicks out whenever and wherever they please, the other has always been hard pressed to cover it all up. And I think, that preverbal first seed is to blame for everything. While girls get the message, be ashamed of your body, apologize incessantly, the message boys receive is, the world is your oyster, bro. No wonder women are so fucked.

And speaking of fucked…

Zander Alexander was another actor I briefly dated in my early twenties. He was cute and aloof and hailed from a Southern state, which somehow automatically makes him charming. Like Billy, who actually came after Zander - literally and metaphorically - he reminded me of a super hero, without any real power at all, with the exception of the one he had over me, of course.

Despite the fact he reminded me of Clark Kent though, he was nothing more than a fuck toy, which should have been obvious given the fact his mattress lived on the floor and he walked around without a shirt on enough to make me question whether or not he even owned any. But, I too was aloof, which is a kind way to describe a sweet girl you’d otherwise call oblivious, if only you didn’t feel so sorry for her.

Naturally, I believed Zander was capable of being my husband one day. For no reason other than he was good looking and showed an interest in me. So, naturally I immediately started catering to his every need and doting on him like a 1950’s housewife. All with the hope he’d see a similar future in me, of course. But, judging by what happened the first time we slept together, it was clear he did not.

It started out like every other sexual encounter in your twenties. Cheap banter and speed stripping, immediately followed by some light foreplay before he motioned to go down on me. Now, call me old fashioned but I tend to think that having someone’s face down directly in your immediate puss, is a bit more intimate of a gesture than having their dick blindly poke around inside of you. That’s why I’m usually pretty uncomfortable having oral sex with someone I barely know. But don’t worry, I make sure to let each of them know, in the sexiest way possible, exactly why that is.

(SFX of a Zander kissing his way down Rachel’s body)

Rachel: You know what? Um… I’m sort of in between waxes right now. It’s not bad or anything, the hair’s not even thick enough to rip out of the follicle yet. But, I’m sorry if the situation is a little hairy. Normally I look like a prepubescent child.

Zander: Okay.

He goes to motion on her again

Rachel: Uh, pineapple’s not in season! It’s just it’s harder to find and then it’s more expensive when you do and since I don’t have a job I’m really trying to save money. I’m sorry. I just, I hope it tastes okay.

Zander: Okay.

Rachel: You know what? Why don’t I just go down on you, is that cool?

Zander: Fuck yeah it’s cool.

After he couldn’t take it anymore, Zander pulled me up onto his dick and we started to fuck. It was a pretty enjoyable experience for me at first…until we ended up at the theater. You see, shortly after I began riding him, his hand began riding up my thigh.

I didn’t think much of it at first, because hey, whenever the two parts are at play you tend lose track of your limbs, your body becomes a house band playing with instruments you didn’t even know made a sound, inexplicable and embarrassing words fly out of your mouth without your knowledge, people just get weird… but, this was different. His hand had a trajectory. A dedicated flight path set to a destination I didn’t even know existed at the time.

Typically, whenever you travel with a partner, you usually talk about where you’d like to go together first. I was not given that luxury. And I certainly hadn’t packed whatever I needed to be prepared for it either. That’s why, when Zander inserted his finger into my asshole and moved it around like a goddamn finger puppet, I had no idea how to react. Zander on the other hand, had seemingly rehearsed.

(SFX of Zander enjoying himself)

He was way too into the show to realize one his actor’s had stopped performing. I looked down at him, frozen in horror. What was going to happen when he pulled it back out? Wherever I had been in the process of orgasming, I was now completely distracted, panicking and desperately trying to remember whenever it was I last shat. The one thing I did know was that it was a lot more recent than whenever Zander had cut his nails last.

My eyes darted around the room frantic and afraid. But, naturally, the minute Zander opened his eyes and caught mine, I plastered on a fake smile and pretended to enjoy whatever it was he thought he was doing. God forbid I distract him. Though to be honest…I’m not too sure much would have.

(SFX of Zander climaxing)

He came seconds later and collapsed on the bed beside me, immediately reaching for a roll of toilet paper that was conveniently positioned beside him near the mattress on the floor. He ripped off a piece and wiped off his finger, before discarding it in my direction. I was mortified…and unsatisfied. But luckily, it seemed as though Zander was at least willing to remedy that.

Zander: Did you come?

Rachel: No.

Zander: That sucks.

Then again, maybe not.

Zander: I’m hungry. How about we go into the kitchen and you make me something to eat or something?

Rachel: Okay!

Zander: Okay, I’ll see you there.

Zander strolled out his bedroom butt naked and I stared after him, never wanting to cover myself up more. Nonetheless, I was desperate to keep him liking me, so I swallowed my discomfort and my words, and after flushing out my urinary tract in the bathroom, eagerly trotted off to meet him in the kitchen.

By the time I got there, Zander was still naked and eating a yogurt as if he were loading up on carbs after a strenuous workout. He was on the phone with the talent agent we both shared, and seemed casually relaxed in juxtaposition to the extreme enthusiasm I heard from her on the other end.

A few seconds later, he hung up the phone and extended his arms while moving toward me. At first I thought he was going to embrace me, but as it turned out, I was just standing in the way of the trash can. He tossed his empty yogurt container and used the spoon he was still holding to punctuate his words.

Zander: Check this out, you know the other week, how you spent all day helping me with that audition? Well, I booked it.

Rachel: Really?

Zander: Fucking really!

Rachel: That’s awesome!

Zander: I know, right? So, uh here’s the thing. I think we should probably stop seeing each other. I really wanna be single kinda going into this thing. You understand, right?

Rachel: Totally.

Zander: You are the fucking best.

Best, is the fucking worst.

The thing is, when boys are raised the opposite of girls, without an emphasis on the importance of following the rules or being liked, they’re unapologetically free to be selfish, do whatever they want, whenever they want to do it, and in any manner they chose. That’s why I have men waving to me from the next lane over on the 101, trying to get me to pass the time while traffic dies down, by sucking their dick on the side of the road. And why I politely decline with an apologetic wave, every time. Yup, every time. It’s also why I often found myself in so many sexual situations and make shift relationships like this one over the years.

It never occurred to me before that day at the park, just how much the way we raise our children ultimately effects the society we experience as adults. And I can’t help but wonder what our world might look like for women, if we were given that same level playing fields as little girls.




by Eleonore Pourriat