her lip.
“I do need this break. I don’t want to go
home.”
There’s a sadness when she says it, and for some
unexplained reason, I kinda feel something I’m not sure of.
Sympathy? Is that what it’s called? I dismiss it
quickly. I stand up when I see her trying to zip up her suitcase
and lug it off the bed. When it hits the floor, I still her hand
with mine.
“Stop for a minute and listen. You should stay.
I think maybe we can come up with some kind of solution, so we can
both live here and enjoy the summer without being at each other’s
throats. I’m really trying here.”
I grab the suitcase from her and throw it back
on the bed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She’s so difficult. In less than twenty four
hours, I can tell.
“I’m trying to tell you let’s figure this out. I
work a few nights a week. You won’t have to see me. You don’t even
have to talk to me when you do see me. If we are on the beach,
ignore me. I can do it, if you can. It will be like we’re
strangers.”
She closes the closet door and turns back to me.
She’s quiet for a moment, almost like she’s thinking what she
should say next. “We are strangers.”
I laugh, and I’m thinking that yea, we are.
Strangers, who had sex. How funny is that? I never even thought
about something like that. People say it’s such an intimate thing,
and I’ve never thought of it that way. It’s always about how it
makes me feel. The pleasure of it, not the… what’s the word Porter
uses… intimacy? What a weird word.
It’s all about the pussy.
“Yea, I guess we are, in a way. Guess I didn’t
think of it that way even though we, you know… did the nasty.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Do you always have to
be so crude?”
What does she mean? That was crude for me to
say? Wow, we really are strangers then, because I can be a whole
hell of a lot cruder than that.
“No, baby, I’m not always that crude, but when
it comes to the ladies, I can be a bit… free with my words and
actions.” I wink at her.
She grabs the handle of the suitcase and tries
again to pull it off the bed.
Did I say something wrong?
“Wait, what are you doing? I thought I was
getting through to you?”
She’s quiet as she pulls the suitcase towards
the door. I get out of her way, and I’m about to just let her
go.
Then I think about Morty, and the thoughts of
him no longer being with me, and now I’m scared. Shit.
“What did I say this time?”
She stops before she gets to the door. She looks
so small with that big suitcase in her hands, so petite, so
fragile.
“I think I’ve told you at least a half dozen
times in the last few hours, not to call me baby. It’s insulting,
and it sounds like something only a male chauvinist pig with a
small mind would say.”
Not this again. What the fuck does she have
against guys calling her baby? This is so not worth it. I’ll ask
Porter for my money back and sleep in my car for the next ten
weeks. It’s all bullshit.
“You know what? Forget it. Letting you leave is
worth getting my dick chopped off for… well almost. Maybe I’ll run
away to Siberia. Eskimo chicks are hot,” I mumble.
She turns to me, confused, but amused.
“What in God’s name are you rattling off about?
You are the most vexatious person I have ever met.”
Is that English? The vocabulary on this girl is
unbelievable.
“Ok, so I have no idea what that means, but it
sounds like you are insulting me.”
She lets out a frustrated groan as her hand goes
to the knob of the door.
“Wait.” I make a sudden move for her hand to
stop her. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m doing it,
but I do. She stops, and I hear her let out an exaggerated
sigh.
“Willow said she would cut off my dick. I… I
mean penis and sell it to a seafood restaurant if I didn’t convince
you to stay. I really like my penis, and I’d like to keep it, so
please, let’s come to some kind of agreement, learn to get
“I do need this break. I don’t want to go
home.”
There’s a sadness when she says it, and for some
unexplained reason, I kinda feel something I’m not sure of.
Sympathy? Is that what it’s called? I dismiss it
quickly. I stand up when I see her trying to zip up her suitcase
and lug it off the bed. When it hits the floor, I still her hand
with mine.
“Stop for a minute and listen. You should stay.
I think maybe we can come up with some kind of solution, so we can
both live here and enjoy the summer without being at each other’s
throats. I’m really trying here.”
I grab the suitcase from her and throw it back
on the bed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She’s so difficult. In less than twenty four
hours, I can tell.
“I’m trying to tell you let’s figure this out. I
work a few nights a week. You won’t have to see me. You don’t even
have to talk to me when you do see me. If we are on the beach,
ignore me. I can do it, if you can. It will be like we’re
strangers.”
She closes the closet door and turns back to me.
She’s quiet for a moment, almost like she’s thinking what she
should say next. “We are strangers.”
I laugh, and I’m thinking that yea, we are.
Strangers, who had sex. How funny is that? I never even thought
about something like that. People say it’s such an intimate thing,
and I’ve never thought of it that way. It’s always about how it
makes me feel. The pleasure of it, not the… what’s the word Porter
uses… intimacy? What a weird word.
It’s all about the pussy.
“Yea, I guess we are, in a way. Guess I didn’t
think of it that way even though we, you know… did the nasty.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Do you always have to
be so crude?”
What does she mean? That was crude for me to
say? Wow, we really are strangers then, because I can be a whole
hell of a lot cruder than that.
“No, baby, I’m not always that crude, but when
it comes to the ladies, I can be a bit… free with my words and
actions.” I wink at her.
She grabs the handle of the suitcase and tries
again to pull it off the bed.
Did I say something wrong?
“Wait, what are you doing? I thought I was
getting through to you?”
She’s quiet as she pulls the suitcase towards
the door. I get out of her way, and I’m about to just let her
go.
Then I think about Morty, and the thoughts of
him no longer being with me, and now I’m scared. Shit.
“What did I say this time?”
She stops before she gets to the door. She looks
so small with that big suitcase in her hands, so petite, so
fragile.
“I think I’ve told you at least a half dozen
times in the last few hours, not to call me baby. It’s insulting,
and it sounds like something only a male chauvinist pig with a
small mind would say.”
Not this again. What the fuck does she have
against guys calling her baby? This is so not worth it. I’ll ask
Porter for my money back and sleep in my car for the next ten
weeks. It’s all bullshit.
“You know what? Forget it. Letting you leave is
worth getting my dick chopped off for… well almost. Maybe I’ll run
away to Siberia. Eskimo chicks are hot,” I mumble.
She turns to me, confused, but amused.
“What in God’s name are you rattling off about?
You are the most vexatious person I have ever met.”
Is that English? The vocabulary on this girl is
unbelievable.
“Ok, so I have no idea what that means, but it
sounds like you are insulting me.”
She lets out a frustrated groan as her hand goes
to the knob of the door.
“Wait.” I make a sudden move for her hand to
stop her. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m doing it,
but I do. She stops, and I hear her let out an exaggerated
sigh.
“Willow said she would cut off my dick. I… I
mean penis and sell it to a seafood restaurant if I didn’t convince
you to stay. I really like my penis, and I’d like to keep it, so
please, let’s come to some kind of agreement, learn to get
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