The Crotch
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He'd never been with a white girl before. He'd never wanted to before. Hell, he'd been with the same woman for more than five years now. But something... something had changed. Was it him? Was it her? He didn't know. He didn't want to know. Tonight, he just wanted her.
It wasn't always like this. Five years of fidelity, of course there were good times. He'd just gotten out of a relationship when she walked through the door. Everyone that saw her wanted her. The kind of woman men turn to fists over, the kind that makes you turn off your civilized brain and show just how bestial the homo sapien still is. But she chose him. Him, and no other.
They didn't sleep that first night. Neither did the neighbours. They just had to accept that the sounds bursting from his room almost every night - the wild, the uncontrollable, the passionate - were there to stay. But for him, it wasn't about those long nights. It was about how every possible waking moment that they could share, they did. It was about how every thought when they were apart was about her. It was about how he felt himself steering - consciously, unconsciously, he didn't know and didn't care - every conversation with friends towards her. Upon her he laid every compliment, raised her as a tower whose top may reach unto heaven.
His friends? His friends hated her, and she them. "She's using your for your money," they said, "You work your ass off, and every single cent that isn't food or shelter goes right to her." "She's too jealous," they said, "Every time we want to do something, you say, 'No. Staying in with the girlfriend,' like you're the
ing Holy Grail and you can't leave the temple or an earthquake will happen or some shit." He always told them that they just didn't understand, that his relationship was... special. It was unique. It was meant to be. But who was he really trying to convince?
He thought back to the strip club a few weeks back. He didn't want to go, he was just out for a few drinks with his new coworkers. A few drinks later, and he's being driven out to some dive that seemed more at home in fiction than reality. "You could have called a cab," she said, but he told her that he didn't have his phone. "You could have asked the bartender," she said, but he told her he was drunk, and didn't think of it. The "d" word, that hated "d" word, that terrible admission, and he knew it was forfeit, he was forever guilty in her eyes.
And now, the new girl. "Her", he called her; they hadn't bothered with names. "Her", and so many more things. She was temptress and innocent, master and slave, Madonna and whore. She was Helen of Troy, she was Cleopatra, she was Jezebel risen from the pages. She was gleaming white skin, she was perfect curves, she was heat, burning heat; always the fire inside her threatening to overwhelm.
It didn't help that his Sony® Playstation™ 3 was sitting right beside the new girl, watching, judging. The Mana Knight picked up his Microsoft® Xbox™ 360 controller, selected Halo®: Reach from the dashboard, and loaded the game. "I am in blood," he thought, "stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er."
It wasn't always like this. Five years of fidelity, of course there were good times. He'd just gotten out of a relationship when she walked through the door. Everyone that saw her wanted her. The kind of woman men turn to fists over, the kind that makes you turn off your civilized brain and show just how bestial the homo sapien still is. But she chose him. Him, and no other.
They didn't sleep that first night. Neither did the neighbours. They just had to accept that the sounds bursting from his room almost every night - the wild, the uncontrollable, the passionate - were there to stay. But for him, it wasn't about those long nights. It was about how every possible waking moment that they could share, they did. It was about how every thought when they were apart was about her. It was about how he felt himself steering - consciously, unconsciously, he didn't know and didn't care - every conversation with friends towards her. Upon her he laid every compliment, raised her as a tower whose top may reach unto heaven.
His friends? His friends hated her, and she them. "She's using your for your money," they said, "You work your ass off, and every single cent that isn't food or shelter goes right to her." "She's too jealous," they said, "Every time we want to do something, you say, 'No. Staying in with the girlfriend,' like you're the
ing Holy Grail and you can't leave the temple or an earthquake will happen or some shit." He always told them that they just didn't understand, that his relationship was... special. It was unique. It was meant to be. But who was he really trying to convince?He thought back to the strip club a few weeks back. He didn't want to go, he was just out for a few drinks with his new coworkers. A few drinks later, and he's being driven out to some dive that seemed more at home in fiction than reality. "You could have called a cab," she said, but he told her that he didn't have his phone. "You could have asked the bartender," she said, but he told her he was drunk, and didn't think of it. The "d" word, that hated "d" word, that terrible admission, and he knew it was forfeit, he was forever guilty in her eyes.
And now, the new girl. "Her", he called her; they hadn't bothered with names. "Her", and so many more things. She was temptress and innocent, master and slave, Madonna and whore. She was Helen of Troy, she was Cleopatra, she was Jezebel risen from the pages. She was gleaming white skin, she was perfect curves, she was heat, burning heat; always the fire inside her threatening to overwhelm.
It didn't help that his Sony® Playstation™ 3 was sitting right beside the new girl, watching, judging. The Mana Knight picked up his Microsoft® Xbox™ 360 controller, selected Halo®: Reach from the dashboard, and loaded the game. "I am in blood," he thought, "stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er."
This turned out a lot less sexy than I had originally envisioned it. Happy my 10,000th post, buy Planescape Torment (It's $10.00, link to the GOG download is in my signature), play Tribes Ascend (it's free), cheer for the Habs and the Jets, don't vote for the Conservative Party, and pick Squirtle as your starter.
