Salacious Stand Up: A Funny Lesbian Romance by Nicolette Dane (2016-06-22), p.1
Salacious Stand Up
A Funny Lesbian Romance
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An Excerpt From: Hotel Hollywood
An Excerpt From: Freestyle Flirting
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Copyright © 2016 Nicolette Dane
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
About the Author
Nicolette Dane landed in Chicago after studying writing in New York City. She flitted in and out of various jobs until she decided to choose herself and commit to writing full-time. Nico most enjoys writing about young sapphic love. Her stories are realistic scenarios of blossoming lesbian romance and voyeuristic tales meant to give you a bit of a peep show into the lives of sensual and complicated young women. Be sure to check out Nico’s Amazon Author Profile for more lesbian romance!
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“I mean, it’s like you’ve got to carry baby wipes with you in your purse,” I said, grinning under the spotlight as I swapped the microphone into my other hand. The audience of about a hundred laughed and clapped and one particularly loud and drunk woman hooted at me from the back.
“Because, God forbid, the guy’s got even one single clean towel in his house,” I said, met with more laughter. The drunk woman screamed “yeah!” at me, permeating the room with her desire to have her voice heard. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said to her. “I can tell you’re familiar with this scenario.”
“They’re gross!” she called out.
“What’s gross,” I continued. “Is when you don’t totally clean out your belly button, am I right?” I said, taking hold of the microphone stand and leaning against it. “You get up the next morning, fish your pinky in there, and it’s all crusted over.” Laughter. I loved the laughter. It made me feel wanted, it made me feel complete. I grinned out at the audience as I enjoyed their happiness.
“But don’t get me wrong,” I went on. “It’s better than using a condom.” Some clapping, some groaning. I loved when I could make people groan on command, almost as good as the laughter. Even better was when I got gasps out of an audience. Surprise is a difficult emotion to evoke. “No, no,” I said. “Look, I know it’s unsafe, or whatever, but I just don’t like the idea of a shrink-wrapped hunk of meat penetrating me, you know?” The audience returned to my favor, laughing along with me. Sometimes I found it difficult to hold it together on stage, my own jokes making me laugh. “If I wanted that I could certainly go the grocery store rather than the bar. Much cheaper,” I grinned, the audience responding with laughs and claps. “Just kidding, I don’t pay for my own drinks.”
“And guys,” I went on. “It’s gotta feel strange for you, too. Like you’re wearing snow-pants or something, right?” A man in the audience called something out but I couldn’t quite hear him. “What was that, sir?”
“Can’t feel anything!” the man shouted louder up at the stage.
“Are you sure that’s the condom’s fault, sir?” I said to rousing applause. “Maybe we should ask your girlfriend there if she can feel anything?” The man smiled sheepishly while his girlfriend laughed and clapped.
Looking off to the side of the stage, I could see Howie, the owner of the club, giving me the signal that my time was running out. I grinned at him and then turned my attention back to the audience.
“But seriously,” I said. “If I could leave you with some parting words of wisdom about sex, it would be this. It’s a disgusting, sick, and immoral act and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for participating in it. And when you go to Hell for having all that nasty sex, and believe me you’re all going to Hell for it, you better get in line behind me because the Devil has got one of the biggest cocks I’ve ever seen and… I’m game!” The audience roared and applauded, inspiring me to bow slightly to them, then standing up straight again to accept their approval.
“You guys have been great,” I said. “I’m Macy Maxwell. Goodnight!”
Replacing the microphone in the stand, I gave one final wave to the audience and walked off stage, passing Howie as I left. He smiled at me and gave a thumbs up, then climbed up onto the stage and slid toward the microphone.
“One more time for Macy Maxwell,” said Howie into the microphone, he himself raising his hands to clap along with the audience. “You can catch her here again tomorrow night.”
Slipping around the stage, I scurried through a hidden hallway that allowed performers to avoid walking through the audience. I could hear Howie announcing the next comic as I meandered, the little rubber heels of my leather flats tapping against the laminate floor and echoing off the narrow walls of the hall. My face was plastered with a wide smile, as I was both happy that my set was over and totally stoked by how great it had gone. There had been a few hiccups, a few jokes that still needed work, but my set was really coming into its own, the jokes were beginning to reliably work, and I was finally getting the positive reception I so desperately wanted.
I guess the one flaw in the plan was that I was a lesbian comic delivering straight sex jokes to an unwitting crowd. A closeted comic, you might say.
Exiting the hallway, I popped out onto the other side of the bar. The audience sat to one side of the bar, where the stage was, and the other side was more like a normal kind of bar. You know, pool table, dart boards, professional drunks. That sort of thing. I scooted up to the bar and mounted the barstool next to my friend Petra Cleary. Petra and I had met here at the Stand Up Affiliate about two years ago when we were both first getting started and we became fast friends. She was kind of a goofy looking girl but definitely cute. Pale, glasses, mousy hair. A lot of bad shit had happened in Petra’s life before she showed up in the stand up world and despite what a decent, kindhearted, and sweet woman she was, she stuck around comedy anyway.
“So?” I said, nudging Petra in the side. “How’d I do?”
“You’re really leaning heavy on the sex stuff,” she said, smiling at me as she fondled her beer. “You’re gonna get labeled the raunchy sex girl. And, you know, you don’t really have much experience with your subject matter.”
“But it works so well!” I protested. “Ugh! I know what you mean, though.”
“Whatever works,” said Petra. “You’re obviously doing well.”
“It’s just a nice dichotomy,” I said. “You know? Short, shrimpy girl like me going raunch,” I said. “They don’t expect it.”
“I’m on your team, Macy,” said Petra. “But you know what some of the other comics are going to say.”
“Eh, fuck ‘em,” I said, waving my hand flippantly. “I’m doing
“I got your back,” she said.
“Petra,” I cooed adoringly, wrapping my arm around Petra and leaning against her shoulder.
“Nice set, Macy,” said Ralph the bartender. “Bourbon?”
“You know it, Ralph,” I said. “Neat.” Ralph nodded to me and turned around to begin preparing my drink.
“I’m on in, like, forty-five,” said Petra. “I think I’m gonna do the one about my cat shitting liquid. ‘Poo me a solid,’” she said.
“It’s funny,” I said. “But I don’t think everyone gets it.”
“Yeah,” said Petra. “I think the laughs come from the fact that it’s a poop joke.”
“Everyone loves a good poop joke,” I said. Ralph slid my glass of bourbon in front me and smiled, immediately moving away to serve other patrons. I hoisted the glass up and took a drink.
“Could we do a writing session again soon?” said Petra. “I feel like I’m floundering a bit lately. I’ve just been in a funk.”
“You’re not thinking about your ex-wife again are you?” I said. “Forget that dumb strumpet.”
“She’s not a strumpet, Macy,” said Petra. “And so what if I’ve been thinking about her.”
“She’s gone, Petra,” I said, cradling my glass. “Poof! Disappeared! Gone! And you’re better without her. Besides, it’s been — what? — two years since she left you? Three by now?”
“So?” she said. “I can still be heartbroken.”
“You’re a good girl,” I said, smiling at my friend. “There are so many girls out there who would be lucky to have someone as awesome as you.” Reaching up, I rubbed my hand in her unkempt hair and peered into her blue eyes. Pulling my hand back, I looked at it and made a scrunched up face and then wiped my palm onto my jeans. Petra rolled her eyes.
“I just haven’t found anyone to replace her yet,” said Petra.
“And you never will if you keep dwelling on her,” I said. “You know what we should do?” I asked, looking around the bar, peeking through past the liquor bottles to look over at the audience. “We should get you laid tonight.”
“Thanks Macy,” she said. “But no thanks.”
“What? Why?” I said. “You’ll kill it up there on stage and then we’ll go scope some chick from the audience for you to woo.”
“Woo?” she said incredulously. “I’m not after her dowry.”
“Sorry,” I said. “We’ll go scope a chick to wet your dick on.”
“Again with the straight shit,” said Petra, shaking her head. “Not tonight, Macy. This would have been our anniversary.”
“Oh God,” I said. “What better way to get over your ex than by fucking some other tart on your anniversary?”
“Tart?” said Petra. “Who’s writing your material now, your grandmother? Are you going to try to find me some hussy next?”
“Hey bitches,” said Frank, saddling up next to us. Frank was another comic who frequented the Stand Up Affiliate. He was about a decade older than Petra and I, pushing forty or so, having started the game a bit later than some of us others. Frank was a burly guy, kind of squat, and spent his days hoisting decrepit old folks from their wheelchairs onto the toilet and then back into their wheelchairs.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, looking back at Frank. “No autographs.”
“I’ll autograph your lips with my dick,” said Frank. “On second thought, no,” he said. “I like my girls with a little meat on their bones. Not into flat-chested dykes that look like prepubescent boys.”
“That’s odd,” I said. “You always struck me as the kinda guy who was into little boys, Frank.”
“Men,” corrected Petra. “Frank is into old men. He likes to hold their dicks while they piss.”
“Nothing like getting paid to do what you love,” I said.
“Do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life,” added Petra.
“You two make a great team,” said Frank. “If only audiences could see what I see.”
“Please,” said Petra. “You saw how they reacted to Macy. She’s going to be playing bigger clubs before you know it while you’re stuck here massaging your dick.”
“And you’ll be sitting right next to me, babe,” said Frank, patting Petra on the shoulder. “Maybe I could get you to give my dick a couple tugs once you finish diddling yourself.”
“People!” I said. “You’ll both have plenty of time to touch each other’s ugly parts when I’m gone.” Grinning, I held up my wrist and looked down to it, making like I was wearing a watch. “Which shouldn’t be much longer now.”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” said Frank, smirking at me and softening. He reached out and touched my elbow delicately. “Good set, Macy.” Turning from us, Frank walked down the length of the bar and back toward the audience side.
“That dude’s such a cock,” said Petra.
“He’s a softy,” I said. “Just as damaged and deranged as the rest of us.”
“His stuff is too, ‘you know what really pisses me off’ for me,” said Petra. “You know what I mean?”
“That’s his schtick,” I said. “Angry blue-collar jerkbag.”
“And what’s my schtick?” asked Petra.
“Twee hipster know-it-all?” I said.
“Thanks Macy,” said Petra. “You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”
“Sarcastic twee hipster know-it-all,” I said.
“I get it,” she said. “Stop rubbing it in.”
“You know I love you, P,” I said, reaching over and rubbing my hand up and down her slender back.
“I’m so gonna bomb tonight,” she said. “I just know it.”
“Stop thinking about your ex,” I said. “And start thinking about entertaining those people. They want to laugh. Nobody comes here to watch a show with the idea that it’s gonna suck. Just give them what they want.”
“Easy for you to say,” said Petra. “You’re finding your voice. Even though it’s, like, a straight girl’s voice.”
“If the new stuff you’re working through doesn’t fly,” I said. “Just go back to your old tried and true jokes.”
“I know,” she said, finishing the last of her beer and setting the bottle down on the bar. “Maybe I should just give up my spot tonight.”
“I’ll take it!” I said. “I’m feeling so good, I could use another ten to go get real weird and dark.”
“Give me one of your ‘weird and dark’ jokes,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “You know what the best thing is about dating a guy with a blood fetish?”
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t tell me.” I just grinned at her in silence. “Fine, okay, tell me.”
“You never need to use tampons.”
“I’m getting a visual, Macy,” said Petra. “And I’m going to throw up.”
I smiled happily at Petra, satisfied with myself and my nasty joke. When you’re a woman in stand up comedy, it’s hard not to lean on the bawdy tropes of sexual and gross out humor. Many people don’t know this, but it’s really difficult to be a girl in a vocation dominated by guys. And the best defense mechanism to the inherent sexism is to take it one step further than the rest of them, get just a little more graphic, a little more putrid. It seems like that’s really the only way to get respect from the men. It’s even harder in the clubs when you’re a lesbian.
And look, I don’t blame them for it. I can’t pin the rampant misogyny on the individual comics. It just comes with the territory. It’s a scene that attracts outcast deviants with ego problems, broken people who’ve been wronged or hurt or held down, even if that’s all in their own heads. The secret that helps me sleep at night, the thing that puts a smile on my face and assists me in getting through any kind of pressure or insults I get from male comics, is that they wouldn’t even give a shit about me if I was unfunny.
But they know I’m funny. It pisses them off, it makes them say mean things sometimes, an
“Hey Petra,” said Ralph, coming up to us from behind the bar. “Just got word from Howie that you’re next up.”
“Oh shit,” said Petra. “Already?” She pushed her glasses up and offered a frown.
“Already,” said Ralph. “Just be glad you’re not going on two hours from now when the place clears out.”
“Yeah, I have a feeling I’ll be getting that slot eventually,” said Petra.
“Stop with the mopey bullshit,” I said, standing up and positioning myself behind Petra. I roughly massaged her shoulders. “You’ve got good material. You’re gonna kill.”
“Thanks Macy,” she said, swiveling on her stool and standing. “Will you take notes for me?”
“Sure thing, champ,” I said. I threaded my arms through Petra’s and moved in for a tight hug. Petra wrapped her arms over my shoulders and around my neck and we stood there for a moment in silence.
“I appreciate you, Macy,” she said. “Don’t forget about me when you get big.”
“No way,” I said, smiling, stepping back from our hug. “Thick as thieves.”
Petra smiled softly at me, nodded, and then began her walk toward the hidden hallway that lead up to the stage. She really was a good girl. A bit self-deprecating, sometimes a whiner, but I knew she had the confidence inside of her to be great at this. She just needed to get over that bitch ex of hers. I had to figure out how to help her.
I suppose you’re wondering about me. Who is this Macy Maxwell chick? Where did she come from? How is it that she’s taking the Chicago stand up comedy scene by storm? How could it be that everybody is so in love with her and she’s so damn beautiful? Well, it wasn’t always like this — just kidding, I’m awesome now, I’ve always been awesome, and I will forever be awesome.
Well, okay, I am a little nutty sometimes. I can admit it. And I suppose if you’re following me through this little story of mine then I will have to open up and be honest with you. It’s only fair. But pardon me if my ego takes over sometimes. It’s a hard thing to shake. Especially before and after I’m on stage. There’s something about getting up in front of a bunch of people and trying to make them laugh that gets me all juiced up. Stand up comedy is my life, my love life a close second. I guess that’s why I talk so much about sex and dating in my act, even if it’s the straight stuff. If there’s anything funny in my world, it’s the comedy of errors that is my love life. Sometimes I don’t know which came first. Do I do comedy because of my shitty love life, or is my love life shitty because I do comedy?