Alissa was playing with me like a science experiment.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve never seen one from a dark guy before. It’s usually pink.” She continued examining me as if David Attenborough were narrating.
“Well, take a look now. It’s getting late”
“Are you kicking me out?” She looked as surprised the last time or anytime I’ve kicked her out.
“No no. Not right away. But, you know, soon. Actually, wait … ”
If Alissa put on a shirt she would be the girl next door. Hair long enough to tickle her collarbone with a face straight out of a wheat field. She wasn’t supermodel thin, but attainable thin. Gym membership thin, willpower thin. Not cocaine thin or purge thin. I think she was Irish. In Canada, that’s code for looking like an English girl but with straight teeth and a proper set, big enough. Not cartoonish or absurd. A healthy handful. More than that is a waste. Besides, I’m not greedy and there are starving children in Africa.
“Where’s my clothes?” She snapped up her white panties. She never wears the comfortable panties when she comes over.
“In the dryer.”
“Thanks.” She tiptoed out of the room.
“Yeah, least I could do, it was kind of my fault.”
She pulled out a slim-legged pair of denim jeans and a white cotton shirt. Just how you’d expect a woman to dress for a movie, or the malt shoppe. A small Christian girl from a small Christian town. I’ve been to that town. I’ve met women from that town. Most were cock teases. She threw her shirt on and just like that, her wholesome disguise was complete. I sat up in bed and reached for my bathrobe, a big white fuzzy towel of a robe.
“Wait. I want to ask you something.”
“Oh, so I don’t have to leave yet?” She picked up her purse and gave a sharp glance my way. Not angry, more…offended. That’s fair.
It had been a half a year of the same surprise. She would come over after one or both of us went to the bar and struck out. We fooled around. I’d learn about a new kink that I either loved or hated. Then I’d kick her out.
I got out of bed and went to the living room and played XBOX. Queen and Country and sex and silence; ideology for the modern man.
She walked into the living room fully dressed.
“You don’t owe me an answer,” I said, “but I want to know something.”
That stain on her shirt was completely gone. I love that damned washing machine machine. It was worth every penny. My deployment exempted me from income tax, so I finally had the money for designer furniture and appliances.
Stop drifting, Rex. Don’t lose this thought. Don’t you fucking dare.
“Yes, the stain is gone,” she said.
“No, not that.”
“I’m not fucking Mike anymore.”
“Not that either. I know that. It’s that, the worse I treat you, the better you act.”
