I say you’re lucky; I don’t think much about mine; I don’t like to compare and analyze. I hate it; just would rather not think of it, thank you sir. One Christmas I went hungry and I was alone and I thought – well, that’s a different story for later on in this text and it is really depressing. Promise.
I keep massaging her and asking do you like this and she says you bet and I move my hands down even more, I spread the cheeks of her ass, looking at the openings of both her ass and vagina; I rub a finger over her asshole, my finger to her cunt and ask if she likes that and she says you’re a nasty boy do you know that? do you know how naughty you are? and I tell her I do, moving mouth down, licking asshole, licking cunt lips, feeling myself getting hard, stroking my cock as I lick amp;suck, moving up, entering, Kathy gasping like film noir, and when we are done, when we are done fucking for the third time tonight, I see that there is no more wine; I want more to drink; so I get up, leave the bedroom. I go into the kitchen and open the fridge where I find a six-pack of beer. I open a beer, drink, turning to see Cynthia, Kathy’s roommate, sitting on the living room couch. She’s wearing a light lavender suit with black pumps and a white blouse, gold-rimmed glasses; she’s looking at me, I’m standing naked, my cock still half-hard, cock coated with the products of fuck, and I’m drinking a beer. I smile and say hello to her and she says hello back and I return to Kathy’s room.
I tell Kathy about it.
She says shit.
She says get dressed.
I put on jeans, shirt.
She slips on a long nightshirt.
We both go into the living room.
Cynthia is still on the couch, watching TV.
Kathy amp; I sit on the opposing loveseat.
Kathy says what are you watching?
Cynthia says nothing really; the news; something about the economy; always the economy and how it sucks. It does suck.
Kathy says sorry about Mike, he didn’t know you were here.
I drink beer.
Cynthia says I’m sick of all this economy bullshit. The recession. And all that bullshit.
Kathy says I said I was sorry about Mike.
Cynthia says sorry? why? I’m happy for you. You’ve been complaining lately about not getting any. I don’t know why you dumped him in the first place. You should keep him; keep him like a pet, like a dog with a wagging moist tongue.
Kathy says I mean about him walking out like that because we didn’t know you were here. I thought you were at work, I thought you had to work until nine or ten.
Cynthia says maybe I’m too quiet when I come in; I’ll make more noise in the future.
Kathy says he was embarrassed and she says to me isn’t that right, you?
I go yes.
Cynthia goes why?
Kathy goes you know.
Cynthia says you don’t think I’ve never seen a naked guy before? I’m glad for you, Kathy. But are you? Are you glad for yourself?
Kathy says sure.
Cynthia says he’s a good lover, right?
I drink beer.
Kathy says probably the best I… and she looks at me and adds but I don’t want to inflate his ego, you know.
Cynthia says you like him a lot; you kept saying to me, these past weeks, why did I dump him? I like him a lot. Why did I treat him like dirt?
Kathy says I said that?
Cynthia says you sure did.
I probably did.
So how did he wind up back here?
I asked him.
Oh.
We went out for a few drinks.
Well that does it every time.
Kathy says so I said to him why don’t we go back to my apartment?
And what did he say?
Kathy says he said sure.
I say that’s what I said. So what’s up, Cyn?
Cynthia says you want another beer there?
Sure.
Cynthia says plenty in the fridge, go help yourself.
I get up to go to the fridge and I say to Kathy do you want one? and she says no and Cynthia says she looks like she’s had enough and I ask Cynthia if she wants one and she says sure so I get two beers, one for me, one for her, and sit back down with them.
I say I feel funny.
Do they know what I mean?
I ask what’s on TV.
They both say:
The news.
Cynthia says the goddamn economy; the fucking economy.
Kathy says I thought you had to work until nine or ten.
Cynthia says I was at work. She says I heard you; the both of you; I could hear you in your room, Kathy; you cannot mistake those sounds; I knew.
I ask did you know it was me?
Cynthia says not until you came out buck nekkid; otherwise you were just an anonymous male sound.
I say you remembered me: my name amp;face.
Of course.
Kathy says why wouldn’t she recall you? It’s not like I have ten zillion men waltzing through here; it’s not like it’s been a generation since your last visit.
Cynthia leans over to the TV to change the channel, saying there must be something else on one of these stations other than news – a sitcom, cartoons, a sad love story.
I say it’s almost like when you go back home. You have memories of a place, a home – of furniture and the way things are situated; the way things smell. An – an overall feeling and/or sensation. You walk in and you know the surroundings, perhaps intimately, and yet you still feel like a stranger; like you do not belong; like you’re just passing through; not a traveler, but reduced to common tourist; for a moment, you actually become one of the fixtures.
Cynthia says I could hear you both and you both sounded – happy.
I say I feel at peace and I don’t know why; I seldom feel at peace.
Cynthia says I tried picturing what was going on in your room. I had these images. I tried to imagine the positions you were in.
Kathy says the last time I was on my stomach. We made it three times tonight and that last time was really nasty. He was rubbing my neck amp;back and it felt really good; I was just relaxed and we were talking about things like normal people do; but I was more into his hands and the things those hands were doing. He had his hands on my ass. He reached down to put his mouth there; his tongue was there. I felt a chill. I wanted him. I let him take me. As he touched me, as he screwed me, I closed my eyes and thought of a film that’s soft around the edges.
Cynthia says I can’t stand the stress anymore; work work work; that’s all I ever seem to do. People yell at me at work – everyone yells at me. CYNTHIA!!!! The customers, too. My boss. My boss’s boss. No one is satisfied. All for the buck, the mighty green buck. The necessity of currency. Look at those people on the news! Scrambling on the trading room floor, the Dow-Jones Industrial Average. People on Wall Street we will never meet having nervous breakdowns as they mess up our lives in ways they may never know. I think I would be happier if I had more control over situations.