The telephone rang and she was happy. "He's here!," she thought. She answered and he was here, kind of. He was down the street trying to find her building, so she went downstairs and she stayed on the phone with him as she looked out for him. And then she saw him. He walked down the street looking just as sexy as he had the last time she'd seen him.
As soon as he saw her he hung up the phone, walked a little bit faster and gave her a hug and a kiss on the lips. She did not return his kiss, but she smiled and turned to lead him inside.
"Is the feast ready?," he asked.
"Feast?," she laughed. "It needs about twenty more minutes."
"Twenty more minutes?," he asked? "I'm hungry now. Do you have a little snack for me?"
"A snack? No. You're actually very brave to be eating my cooking." She looked back at him. He looked a little worried. "Are you a picky eater?"
"Depends what I'm eating."
"What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?"
He looked uninterested in silly questions. "Frog legs."
"What'd they taste like? Chicken?"
"No, salty."
"I don't like frogs," she joked. "I have a hard time just looking at them. I'm not sure I could eat them."
He shrugged. As they ascended the stairway he squeezed her butt and she giggled for his sake. "Fine," she thought. "I deserve that."
They got to her door and she told him they would have to be quiet. Her room mate was napping.
"Aw, bullshit," he said, "We could have gone to my place."
"It's not a big deal," she countered, "you just have to behave a little."
"Yeah, well I don't like to behave. I don't like dealing with bullshit," he said. "Especially when there's another outlet."
"Can't you please behave?," she asked coyly, "for me?"
He shrugged.
She opened the door and let him inside and immediately he made himself at home and walked to the kitchen.
"Would you like some wine?," she asked. She had set the table for them and the wine was waiting for him there.
"I'm not much for wine." She was a bit disappointed.
He looked at the stove and into the pot full of pasta sauce and sniffed, but did not comment. He looked in the fridge and asked her if she had any bread. No. She did not. She had given up bread, just like she had given up so many other things because she did not make enough money for everything she wanted. Besides, she was getting fat.
He went on to look into nearly every cabinet, opening and closing them as if he was a new inhabitant in her home. She went about getting water to boil pasta and pretending she was just comfortably going about her life with him there. Finally she said, "You're funny. Why are you going through my kitchen?"
"Because I'm hungry."
"Well, it's just twenty minutes," she answered.
He gave up the search of the kitchen and looked to the living room. "Who sleeps there?," he asked referring to the futon that was laid out as a bed next to another futon that was in couch position.
"Nobody. We just like it like that."
He went to the bed futon and laid down on his back using her stuffed turtle as a pillow. She stirred the pasta sauce, put the water to boil and excused herself for a second to go get the wine glass she had left in her room. She came back and sat near him, near his belly, and he put his hand on her thigh. "Sit properly," he said.
"What?," she asked. He patted his lower belly. "I can't sit there," she said, "I'd weigh you down."
He pushed her up, made her sit on his thighs and turn around so she straddled him. She moved down so that she sat between his legs. She did not want her room mate to come out and find them like this. He looked disappointed. He put his hands on her legs and they roamed down near her socks and he asked, "Are your legs still hairy?" She nodded, yes. He looked disappointed again. "Why don't you shave?," he asked.
"Well," she said, "because I'm not really wearing skirts very often and I wasn't expecting anyone to be touching them." He looked away and shook his head. "Is it really that bad?," she asked.
"Well, it's just a turn off. I mean like a girl with a full bush, that's just not cute." She was sad. She did not think it should be so necessary for a woman to not look like she was human.
"Some men like a full bush." He scoffed. "Well, they do."
"So let them."
"It's human," she insisted.
"Yeah," he retorted, "So's B.O., but that doesn't mean it's right." She frowned a little, and shrugged her small shoulders.
"Well, I'm sorry. Do I have to make sure I shave every time I ask you over, Your Majesty?" He shrugged.
She got up to stir the pasta sauce and to get away from him. When she came back she sat on the other futon. She still was not sure what to think. She thought he might be joking, so she said, "I'm going to sit here, since I'm too hairy to sit near you." He shrugged. "So, what's up?," she said.
"Not a damn thing," he answered. "Sad but true."
She thought for a moment. "He's serious," she concluded. So she asked him if he regretted that he had come. He propped himself up to sitting, put his elbows on his knees and shrugged.
"I'm serious," she said. "Do you regret you came here? Because if you do, you don't have to stay. It's okay." She was trying to be strong.
He looked down at the floor and then back up and nodded. "Okay, yeah, I'll go." She was surprised and yet, somehow, not.
He got up, got the jacket he'd draped on a chair when he came in and put it on.
"I just want to make sure I have this straight," she said. "You are leaving because I have hairy legs and that's too disappointing for you to stay."
"Well, yes."
"So, what did you expect? That you would come here and we would have sex and that's it?"
"No," he said, "You're on your period." She was.
"Okay, well, you can't just hang out here and have dinner and chill with me? That wasn't what you intended to do?"
"Well, sure," he said. "But if I'm hanging out with you, I'm going to want to touch you."
She nodded in understanding. He had not come here to see her like she thought he had. He had only come here to touch.
She got up, led him to the door and let him go. He said good-bye and she nodded and locked the dead bolts behind him. And she could hardly believe what had just happened. And just like that, something that was hardly born was crushed to death.
Looking back it's almost funny. If only I didn't need someone to love me for who I am, hair and farts and poop and blood and guts and all, it would be funny.
As soon as he saw her he hung up the phone, walked a little bit faster and gave her a hug and a kiss on the lips. She did not return his kiss, but she smiled and turned to lead him inside.
"Is the feast ready?," he asked.
"Feast?," she laughed. "It needs about twenty more minutes."
"Twenty more minutes?," he asked? "I'm hungry now. Do you have a little snack for me?"
"A snack? No. You're actually very brave to be eating my cooking." She looked back at him. He looked a little worried. "Are you a picky eater?"
"Depends what I'm eating."
"What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?"
He looked uninterested in silly questions. "Frog legs."
"What'd they taste like? Chicken?"
"No, salty."
"I don't like frogs," she joked. "I have a hard time just looking at them. I'm not sure I could eat them."
He shrugged. As they ascended the stairway he squeezed her butt and she giggled for his sake. "Fine," she thought. "I deserve that."
They got to her door and she told him they would have to be quiet. Her room mate was napping.
"Aw, bullshit," he said, "We could have gone to my place."
"It's not a big deal," she countered, "you just have to behave a little."
"Yeah, well I don't like to behave. I don't like dealing with bullshit," he said. "Especially when there's another outlet."
"Can't you please behave?," she asked coyly, "for me?"
He shrugged.
She opened the door and let him inside and immediately he made himself at home and walked to the kitchen.
"Would you like some wine?," she asked. She had set the table for them and the wine was waiting for him there.
"I'm not much for wine." She was a bit disappointed.
He looked at the stove and into the pot full of pasta sauce and sniffed, but did not comment. He looked in the fridge and asked her if she had any bread. No. She did not. She had given up bread, just like she had given up so many other things because she did not make enough money for everything she wanted. Besides, she was getting fat.
He went on to look into nearly every cabinet, opening and closing them as if he was a new inhabitant in her home. She went about getting water to boil pasta and pretending she was just comfortably going about her life with him there. Finally she said, "You're funny. Why are you going through my kitchen?"
"Because I'm hungry."
"Well, it's just twenty minutes," she answered.
He gave up the search of the kitchen and looked to the living room. "Who sleeps there?," he asked referring to the futon that was laid out as a bed next to another futon that was in couch position.
"Nobody. We just like it like that."
He went to the bed futon and laid down on his back using her stuffed turtle as a pillow. She stirred the pasta sauce, put the water to boil and excused herself for a second to go get the wine glass she had left in her room. She came back and sat near him, near his belly, and he put his hand on her thigh. "Sit properly," he said.
"What?," she asked. He patted his lower belly. "I can't sit there," she said, "I'd weigh you down."
He pushed her up, made her sit on his thighs and turn around so she straddled him. She moved down so that she sat between his legs. She did not want her room mate to come out and find them like this. He looked disappointed. He put his hands on her legs and they roamed down near her socks and he asked, "Are your legs still hairy?" She nodded, yes. He looked disappointed again. "Why don't you shave?," he asked.
"Well," she said, "because I'm not really wearing skirts very often and I wasn't expecting anyone to be touching them." He looked away and shook his head. "Is it really that bad?," she asked.
"Well, it's just a turn off. I mean like a girl with a full bush, that's just not cute." She was sad. She did not think it should be so necessary for a woman to not look like she was human.
"Some men like a full bush." He scoffed. "Well, they do."
"So let them."
"It's human," she insisted.
"Yeah," he retorted, "So's B.O., but that doesn't mean it's right." She frowned a little, and shrugged her small shoulders.
"Well, I'm sorry. Do I have to make sure I shave every time I ask you over, Your Majesty?" He shrugged.
She got up to stir the pasta sauce and to get away from him. When she came back she sat on the other futon. She still was not sure what to think. She thought he might be joking, so she said, "I'm going to sit here, since I'm too hairy to sit near you." He shrugged. "So, what's up?," she said.
"Not a damn thing," he answered. "Sad but true."
She thought for a moment. "He's serious," she concluded. So she asked him if he regretted that he had come. He propped himself up to sitting, put his elbows on his knees and shrugged.
"I'm serious," she said. "Do you regret you came here? Because if you do, you don't have to stay. It's okay." She was trying to be strong.
He looked down at the floor and then back up and nodded. "Okay, yeah, I'll go." She was surprised and yet, somehow, not.
He got up, got the jacket he'd draped on a chair when he came in and put it on.
"I just want to make sure I have this straight," she said. "You are leaving because I have hairy legs and that's too disappointing for you to stay."
"Well, yes."
"So, what did you expect? That you would come here and we would have sex and that's it?"
"No," he said, "You're on your period." She was.
"Okay, well, you can't just hang out here and have dinner and chill with me? That wasn't what you intended to do?"
"Well, sure," he said. "But if I'm hanging out with you, I'm going to want to touch you."
She nodded in understanding. He had not come here to see her like she thought he had. He had only come here to touch.
She got up, led him to the door and let him go. He said good-bye and she nodded and locked the dead bolts behind him. And she could hardly believe what had just happened. And just like that, something that was hardly born was crushed to death.
Looking back it's almost funny. If only I didn't need someone to love me for who I am, hair and farts and poop and blood and guts and all, it would be funny.