Teens.
He fixed her with his blue eyes and she froze, and her laughing fit completely cured.
"I had them in my bedroom,” he explained. “My sister's kids came over yesterday while their house carpet was being shampooed. I didn't want the little tikes stumbling across them. I'm not the best uncle, but I'm far better than that," he stated and took a deep breath. "Normally, these DVDs are exactly where you went to look for them. Two days ago, you would have found them. Tomorrow, you would have found them, as well."
"Dear mother of God," she whispered. "I can't know that about you."
"Just like I can't know that you like to hide little pieces of chocolate from yourself," he told her. "Or about the two steel balls in your purse, which would have been better if they were in your pussy for the ride or that you really detest SUVs. Or that you really love mother of pearl, but will not use it for any form of house decoration, because it reminds you of a trailer park in El Cajon where he tried to pay you forty-dollars for a blow job and slapped you around when you called him a fucking sicko ."
She reached for her double tequila and downed it in one gulp. Then, throwing back her bright blonde hair, she rose from the couch and began to pace the room, occasionally glancing at the two hilariously absurd DVDs like they were vipers.
Cole walked back into the kitchen and came out with the tequila bottle. "Three of these and you spend the night because --"
"You're a fucking lightweight," she finished, continuing to pace. "And if you think I'm leaving until we talk a whole lot more, you are crazier than I am after six."
Cole sat down, seeming much calmer now with no sign of bewilderment, and said, "Talk about what?"
"What? This!" she screamed, smacking at the DVDs.
"They were on sale, two bucks a piece," he told her.
"No, no, no, you are not going to play word games with me right now, Cole Porter! Why is this happening? How?" she pleaded.
"I have no idea, but now that I know I'm not whacking out over the close call I had today and that you are having the same experience, I'm alright with it for now. So, you know things about me. So what? I don't know everything about you and I doubt you have a complete insight into my closets and itinerary either."
"But why anything?" she asked, calming down a little, "You are right, by the way, about not knowing everything. I've been interested in your paintings, the ones on the wall, since I arrived and have no insight about them at all."
"My sister," Cole told her. "She does them part-time. I believe she's a major talent, but she won't make any leaps. She thinks of it as just a minor hobby."
"Katherine, two years younger," Nicole recited from a memory she didn’t possess.
"Yes," he nodded, "What color is her hair?"
Nicole thought about that and then shrugged, "No idea. Weird."
"So, there remains a treasure trove of things to indulge in with each other," he pointed out, but then added, "or has this freaked you to the point you would rather not go any further?"
Nicole searched his eyes and face, and then his hands. "I am freaked," she stated with an overly calm voice -- a voice controlled, and fiercely held in check. "Alright? Very fucking freaked. When did it start with you like this?" she asked Cole.
Cole told her about her kiss at the café, their first kiss, and the illusion it created in his head. He gave her details, including her hips and her preoccupation with finding new flaws or marks on her skin, and how he loved her stretch marks, but she would never believe him.
After describing the illusion he told her his decision about delving into that illusion and wanting it to be his final thoughts on this earth. He told her how that illusion felt like a life so complete; he was about to die a happy man.
She burst into tears again and fell into his arms, "Shit, Cole," she blubbered.
"I didn't
He fixed her with his blue eyes and she froze, and her laughing fit completely cured.
"I had them in my bedroom,” he explained. “My sister's kids came over yesterday while their house carpet was being shampooed. I didn't want the little tikes stumbling across them. I'm not the best uncle, but I'm far better than that," he stated and took a deep breath. "Normally, these DVDs are exactly where you went to look for them. Two days ago, you would have found them. Tomorrow, you would have found them, as well."
"Dear mother of God," she whispered. "I can't know that about you."
"Just like I can't know that you like to hide little pieces of chocolate from yourself," he told her. "Or about the two steel balls in your purse, which would have been better if they were in your pussy for the ride or that you really detest SUVs. Or that you really love mother of pearl, but will not use it for any form of house decoration, because it reminds you of a trailer park in El Cajon where he tried to pay you forty-dollars for a blow job and slapped you around when you called him a fucking sicko ."
She reached for her double tequila and downed it in one gulp. Then, throwing back her bright blonde hair, she rose from the couch and began to pace the room, occasionally glancing at the two hilariously absurd DVDs like they were vipers.
Cole walked back into the kitchen and came out with the tequila bottle. "Three of these and you spend the night because --"
"You're a fucking lightweight," she finished, continuing to pace. "And if you think I'm leaving until we talk a whole lot more, you are crazier than I am after six."
Cole sat down, seeming much calmer now with no sign of bewilderment, and said, "Talk about what?"
"What? This!" she screamed, smacking at the DVDs.
"They were on sale, two bucks a piece," he told her.
"No, no, no, you are not going to play word games with me right now, Cole Porter! Why is this happening? How?" she pleaded.
"I have no idea, but now that I know I'm not whacking out over the close call I had today and that you are having the same experience, I'm alright with it for now. So, you know things about me. So what? I don't know everything about you and I doubt you have a complete insight into my closets and itinerary either."
"But why anything?" she asked, calming down a little, "You are right, by the way, about not knowing everything. I've been interested in your paintings, the ones on the wall, since I arrived and have no insight about them at all."
"My sister," Cole told her. "She does them part-time. I believe she's a major talent, but she won't make any leaps. She thinks of it as just a minor hobby."
"Katherine, two years younger," Nicole recited from a memory she didn’t possess.
"Yes," he nodded, "What color is her hair?"
Nicole thought about that and then shrugged, "No idea. Weird."
"So, there remains a treasure trove of things to indulge in with each other," he pointed out, but then added, "or has this freaked you to the point you would rather not go any further?"
Nicole searched his eyes and face, and then his hands. "I am freaked," she stated with an overly calm voice -- a voice controlled, and fiercely held in check. "Alright? Very fucking freaked. When did it start with you like this?" she asked Cole.
Cole told her about her kiss at the café, their first kiss, and the illusion it created in his head. He gave her details, including her hips and her preoccupation with finding new flaws or marks on her skin, and how he loved her stretch marks, but she would never believe him.
After describing the illusion he told her his decision about delving into that illusion and wanting it to be his final thoughts on this earth. He told her how that illusion felt like a life so complete; he was about to die a happy man.
She burst into tears again and fell into his arms, "Shit, Cole," she blubbered.
"I didn't
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