"I eat meat," I stated seriously.
"Ever have filet mignon?"
That was a loaded question, so I offered a loaded answer, "I've had steak that said it was filet mignon, but turned out to be regular rump roast."
His eyes were tearing with his laughter. "What'd you do?"
"Spit that crap out into a napkin and skipped out on the bill."
"Okay, okay. So what was so special about Trager? What did you love about him enough to want to marry him, and what did you hate about him?"
“I hated that I could really never talk to him. You know what he said?”
“Tell me,” he prompted.
“He kept saying that I was too timid sexually. Which wasn’t true. Okay, well maybe a little. I mean, there were so many things I wanted to do, you know?” I drank another bottle and wiped the back of my hand across my lips. “I was always too scared to tell Kevin the things I wanted. I tried, but he was so condescending. He had this horrifying vaginal imagery of what the person you’re supposed to marry should act like.”
“Did you just say horrifying vaginal imagery?”
“Yes. Horrifying vaginal imagery. Like he was scared of it.”
“You really have no filter, do you?” he laughed.
“Nope. Sorry. Want me to stop? Get out? The look on your face is kind of making me want to jump out of this speeding bullet right about now anyway.”
“No. I love it actually. Please keep going,” he laughed.
"I hated the way he always automatically lumped genders into tidy little stereotypical boxes. He was a man so he had to like sports. I was a woman so I had to wear make-up. He complained every day of our two-year relationship that I never wore make-up. I hardly ever wear make-up. Here's a secret for you, I never learned how to put that crap on my face. When I have to put on make-up for a special occasion, I end up making myself look like a clown on crack. A crackclown."
"You don't need any make-up," he said in a low voice.
"There are times I wanted to feel all girly and pretty, but he always seemed to complain about me. Everything I did, everything I was. I love sports and bands like Metallica. I’m independent. I don't need or want a man for money. I'm strong. I could drop you like a sack of shit with one swift punch to your throat. But with Kevin, I was never enough. I hated that I never felt comfortable in my own skin with him."
For a few moments, we stared at each other in silence. At some point during our conversation and laughter, we were catapulted into the sky, neither of us acknowledging leaving the ground.
"You didn't say one thing that you loved about him. Why were you going to marry him?"
"Yeah, see here's the thing...This is what I'm having trouble with internally. I seemed to have been living on autopilot. At some point, I pressed cruise control on myself. You know that spacey, zoned out state of mind you fall into when driving a car? And then all of a sudden you realize—holy crap, I'm driving a car! And you have no clue where your destination was and there's absolutely no recollection of ever getting in the damn car or having any consciousness of the last few miles you drove. The only thing I'm aware of is sobbing and singing at the top of my lungs to some sad song on the radio. It's like I woke up parked in front of a church wearing a bridal gown."
"How long were you together?" he asked.
"I was incarcerated for two years."
"Incarcerated? So now you feel free?"
"Yeah," I said, nodding my head.
He ran one of his hands through his hair. "I think you made your decision already, Lex."
"I don't know if it's because I'm getting really buzzed, but when you said that, in my head my brain just answered you with, but then that bitch wins."
He grabbed both my hands. Well, hello there strong sexy hands. I may or may not have said this aloud, then melted into a hot mess of boneless flesh.
"Listen to me. He chose to cheat on you, Lex; he didn't consider you at all when he made that choice. He was a selfish prick. He risked your health, your relationship, your future, all because he wanted a bit of strange pussy."
"Ass," I interrupted. "His dick was inserted into her ass."
"Let her have him. She wins? And what a fantastic kind of a prize is he, Lex?"
The plane bounced and I yelped. He continued talking as if careening through the sky at three hundred miles per hour was normal, so I sat back and listened. Note: he was still holding my hands.
"Trager is a piece of garbage. Not all the sugar frosting and colored sprinkles, chocolate pieces and coconut crumbles, can disguise a piece of garbage. It's still a load of garbage, babe. Let her win the garbage." Our heads knocked together. "Remember the lack of orgasms for the past six months. Let her take over chasing after them from him."
"Shiiiit, I told you about that, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did."
"Screw him," I whispered.
"Screw her," he shouted.
"Screw them," we both cheered.
I waved my hands and laughed. "Ah. No man understands the sexual needs of a woman anyway, maybe I should switch teams."
"I must admit pussy is the better choice," he rumbled.
"I talk shit, but I'm too scared to try anything. Again, one of the many things the idiot complained about. But, I've talked to plenty of my friends about this and we're all a little sexually scared. Maybe it gets better when you're with someone you trust completely, but I could never see me asking Kevin to play out one of my fantasies."
"Fantasies?" he asked.
It was just about then, right there, that moment—I realized just how drunk I was, and digging my own grave. What is it about liquor that makes your inhibitions just vanish? "Hell yeah, fantasies."
"Please explain," he leaned in closer, his shoulder touching mine.
"You see, Mr. Holt, during sex—we women, well, we're usually thinking about something other than the person we are having sex with."
"Like a movie star?" he asked, smiling.
"No, like dirty and nasty situations, maybe with a movie star, but it's the situation we truly fantasize about. Being dominated maybe, using toys, whatever it is, we're always fantasizing."
"Hmph. Why don't women tell the men about the fantasies? Maybe they share a few..." He handed me an armful of snacks and all but one fell on the floor near my feet. Still all flesh with melted bones; I couldn't hold a thing.
"Most women are too embarrassed about sex, so they lie. We are a group of unsatisfied liars. I mean God; I was brought up thinking that touching myself would send me to Hell. But let me tell you the truth about women. We want it all. We want to be completely and utterly cherished but at the same time treated like our inner whores. The secret is that we don't want to ever talk about it. We want you to just know. So not only are we liars, we're a bunch of crazy ass bitches. Most of us are just self-conscious about our bodies, about our feelings. And if we give words to our thoughts, what will our men think? Especially if we are wanting but are too terrified to try things.” I slapped my hands down on my little armrest to add more drama to my words. “And society doesn't help us with this; just think if women all over the world banned together and decided that they really felt comfortable in their own bodies and with their own thoughts, there would be a ton of various industries out of business."
"Most men are self-conscious too. Especially about our cocks," he laughed. "If we’re not worried about size, we’re worried about shape, or girth, or whatever. Guys think about their dicks a lot."
"You, Jameson Holt, are self-conscious about your penis?" I asked, smiling like a fool.
"Hell no," he said, staring straight at me, seeming to search for something in my eyes. Then slowly, his gaze made his way to my lips.