thighs, so I
do. It’s blessedly warm in here.
“Where to?” The cabbie says.
Qasim leans forward to give the man an address,
keeping his voice down, probably trying to minimize my hearing it.
While they’re talking, I reach my drunken hand up the back of his
shirt, enjoying the feel of skin. Are those ribs? Holy shit he’s
skinny. What am I doing? The world spins. Now we’re moving and
Qasim turns towards me, his hand on my thigh. He’s squeezing it,
massaging it, sending tingles of pleasure up to my brain with those
long, pretty, brown fingers. I might be moaning. The cabbie checks
us out in the rearview. Is that embarrassment trying to crowd the
party? My experience of life is getting a little disjointed now.
I’m floating in a back seat sea of arms and legs. I close my eyes
for a second. When I open them Qasim is helping me out of the
cab.
“Maybe you’re too drunk for this.” He whispers,
disappointment on his face.
I stroke his hair. “I like you.” I whisper
back, but now I ruin it by snapping my head around to follow the
flight of a black, shadow bird that Qasim clearly can’t
see.
Qasim cocks an eyebrow. Man he has great
eyebrows! He shrugs, shakes his head, and draws me into his arms.
“I’ll cook you something; you should eat.”
I follow him up some steps I barely register,
and wait in the cold while he fumbles with his key. He supports my
weaving, drunk ass as I stumble into his apartment. We enter in the
kitchen, and he sits me down at the table. Wordlessly Qasim goes to
the fridge and opens the freezer compartment. He pulls out a box
and shows it to me. Cheese sticks!
“Awesome!” I say.
Qasim smiles, dumps some out onto a plate, and
sticks them in the microwave. He sits down next to me in the other
kitchen chair. We’re not touching now which seems lonely to me. I
reach for his knee.
“You don’t really... I mean...” he’s whispering
to hide the pitch of his voice. It’s irritating me.
“Hey!” I say firmly. “Stop that.” With
absolutely no grace, I stand up, move over, straddle the confused
guy and sit in his lap facing him. I run my hands through his hair.
“You don’t have to whisper.” I say.
He just looks at me with an expression like
‘yeah sure’.
“Really.” I slur. “So your voice is different.
So fucking what? If you had a low voice you’d be totally
intimidating, and I wouldn’t even be able to talk to
you.”
Qasim laughs but his hands are at his sides not
touching me.
Up with this, I will not put. I grab those
long, lovely hands and place them on my thighs. “You changed your mind?” I ask. “After you were worried I’d change
mine?”
For an answer, Qasim lifts my shirt and buries
his head in my boobs. I smile, that’s better. His voice comes out
muffled and squeaky. “I know I’m gonna regret this, but you seem
pretty cool, so I’m gonna say...” Here he pauses, brings his hands
in under my shirt and uses them to squeeze my breasts to his face.
I feel tongue and then the hot exhale of breath as he sighs. “We
should wait until you’re sober and see what you think
then.”
Vague memories of my sobriety filter up through
the fog. I sigh too, on purpose, and arch my back, shoving my boobs
into his face. Can’t let a statement, like the one Qasim just made,
go untested. His hands move down and squeeze my thighs. I wriggle
my hips forward, grinding. The microwave beeps. Food?
“Cheese sticks?” He squeaks through my
boobs.
I laugh. “Fuckin’ ay.” I say, grabbing his head
and smothering him for a second before I dismount, nearly falling
over the table in the process. He laughs with me as he gets up to
get the food. “Marinara?” I ask
“Nope, sorry.”
I could get to like his weird little voice, I
tell myself. I raise my arms to shoulder level, palms up. “So what
do you dip them in?”
Qasim snickers at the sight of me. “Ranch.” He
says. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell the guys we did it? It’s gonna
do. It’s blessedly warm in here.
“Where to?” The cabbie says.
Qasim leans forward to give the man an address,
keeping his voice down, probably trying to minimize my hearing it.
While they’re talking, I reach my drunken hand up the back of his
shirt, enjoying the feel of skin. Are those ribs? Holy shit he’s
skinny. What am I doing? The world spins. Now we’re moving and
Qasim turns towards me, his hand on my thigh. He’s squeezing it,
massaging it, sending tingles of pleasure up to my brain with those
long, pretty, brown fingers. I might be moaning. The cabbie checks
us out in the rearview. Is that embarrassment trying to crowd the
party? My experience of life is getting a little disjointed now.
I’m floating in a back seat sea of arms and legs. I close my eyes
for a second. When I open them Qasim is helping me out of the
cab.
“Maybe you’re too drunk for this.” He whispers,
disappointment on his face.
I stroke his hair. “I like you.” I whisper
back, but now I ruin it by snapping my head around to follow the
flight of a black, shadow bird that Qasim clearly can’t
see.
Qasim cocks an eyebrow. Man he has great
eyebrows! He shrugs, shakes his head, and draws me into his arms.
“I’ll cook you something; you should eat.”
I follow him up some steps I barely register,
and wait in the cold while he fumbles with his key. He supports my
weaving, drunk ass as I stumble into his apartment. We enter in the
kitchen, and he sits me down at the table. Wordlessly Qasim goes to
the fridge and opens the freezer compartment. He pulls out a box
and shows it to me. Cheese sticks!
“Awesome!” I say.
Qasim smiles, dumps some out onto a plate, and
sticks them in the microwave. He sits down next to me in the other
kitchen chair. We’re not touching now which seems lonely to me. I
reach for his knee.
“You don’t really... I mean...” he’s whispering
to hide the pitch of his voice. It’s irritating me.
“Hey!” I say firmly. “Stop that.” With
absolutely no grace, I stand up, move over, straddle the confused
guy and sit in his lap facing him. I run my hands through his hair.
“You don’t have to whisper.” I say.
He just looks at me with an expression like
‘yeah sure’.
“Really.” I slur. “So your voice is different.
So fucking what? If you had a low voice you’d be totally
intimidating, and I wouldn’t even be able to talk to
you.”
Qasim laughs but his hands are at his sides not
touching me.
Up with this, I will not put. I grab those
long, lovely hands and place them on my thighs. “You changed your mind?” I ask. “After you were worried I’d change
mine?”
For an answer, Qasim lifts my shirt and buries
his head in my boobs. I smile, that’s better. His voice comes out
muffled and squeaky. “I know I’m gonna regret this, but you seem
pretty cool, so I’m gonna say...” Here he pauses, brings his hands
in under my shirt and uses them to squeeze my breasts to his face.
I feel tongue and then the hot exhale of breath as he sighs. “We
should wait until you’re sober and see what you think
then.”
Vague memories of my sobriety filter up through
the fog. I sigh too, on purpose, and arch my back, shoving my boobs
into his face. Can’t let a statement, like the one Qasim just made,
go untested. His hands move down and squeeze my thighs. I wriggle
my hips forward, grinding. The microwave beeps. Food?
“Cheese sticks?” He squeaks through my
boobs.
I laugh. “Fuckin’ ay.” I say, grabbing his head
and smothering him for a second before I dismount, nearly falling
over the table in the process. He laughs with me as he gets up to
get the food. “Marinara?” I ask
“Nope, sorry.”
I could get to like his weird little voice, I
tell myself. I raise my arms to shoulder level, palms up. “So what
do you dip them in?”
Qasim snickers at the sight of me. “Ranch.” He
says. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell the guys we did it? It’s gonna
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