Boy Child

Keith’s parents were some of the richest motherfuckers I’d ever met. They hosted their only son’s high school graduation party in a ballroom at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in downtown Denver. It looked like a wedding, just filled with a bunch of teenagers and old relatives that couldn’t take the noise.

I said hello to my best friend, my fellow graduate, then looked around the room for the last third of my crew.

Dante was hovering over the punch bowl when I approached him. It must have been spiked. We didn't get past "Sup" and a fist bump before I felt hands suddenly covering my eyes. 

“Guess who?” Kayla asked.

Her high-pitched squeal was easy to recognize. I moved her hands away from my face and caught the tail end of Dante holding back a laugh. Kayla was the most popular girl in school. She had long blonde hair and enough booty to make a black girl jealous. She had a perfect face, a tight body, a tolerable personality, good grades, was head cheerleader, blah, blah, blah. Every girl hated her and every guy wanted her, but she was mine. We had been a “couple” for about six months now. According to her warped logic, as long as she kept swiping Daddy’s credit card and supplying more than half of my wardrobe, my heart and my penis belonged to her and only her. Boys will be boys and fools will be fools.

I turned and faced her.

“Hey, baby,” I said, kissing her on the lips.

“Where’ve you been? I tried calling you after your party.”

“With Denise,” would have been the wrong thing to say so I settled for, “just busy, sorry.”

“It’s okay. At least you’re here now.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, assuming her usual octopus positioning when we were around other people. Sometimes I swore she’d pee on me when other girls were around just to prove a point. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” she said. She buried her face in my neck and it felt good. My neck was my spot. Information she knew.

“Gotta smell good for you, baby, always for you.”

“Ok, love birds,” Dante interrupted, “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Bye!” Kayla chirped, bubbly as ever.

As I gave Dante a head nod, I noticed a girl just beyond his left shoulder. She had long, wavy hair and wore a tight, black dress that made her look like sex on legs. My favorite style. Her eyes were on mine and she smiled, gave me a wink. I wondered how long she was watching. I made a mental note of her gaze but gave her no physical response. I looked back down at Kayla before she followed my wandering eye.

“You want to get out of here?” she asked.

“I just got here.”

The girl in black moved towards Kayla and me. She stopped and started talking to this guy that I think was in my photography class.

“But, I have a surprise for you,” Kayla whined.

I tried to focus on the girl in front of me but, as fine as she was, new pussy always looked better than old pussy. Kayla took my left hand with her right, looked around the room, checking our limited level of privacy and slid my hand down her pants. I felt her silky smooth skin and nothing else, no granny panties, no boy shorts, no nothing.

“I shaved her clean for you, daddy,” she said, trying to whisper seductively but eventually having to speak up because the music was so loud.

Fuck. That felt good. I let my hand linger there, enjoying the fact that we could be spotted at any moment. I curled my middle finger up inside of her, making her moan before I pulled my hand out of her pants and back into my pocket.

“Damn, baby,” I exhaled, halfway speaking to her, halfway to myself. I was torn. Kayla had skills to say the least. She would do anything I asked her to do in or out of the bedroom. A week ago I told her that I wondered what she felt like completely shaved and now here she was, smooth as silk. But she was getting too clingy. A girl who would do anything for you eventually would want everything from you. I needed her to know that her pussy didn’t control me, that I wasn’t going to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted like she did for me. Besides, the less affected I acted, the more she needed to please me.

“She feels good,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

I bent down to give her a kiss and the girl in the black dress caught my eye again. The dude from photography class was talking her ear off. She was clearly uninterested as she kept her eyes on me. I kissed Kayla but kept my eyes, unlike Kayla’s, open. I stared at the girl in the black dress as I sucked on Kayla’s tongue that was already in the back of my throat. She was standing only about ten feet away from us and I felt like she was the one I was kissing. The girl in the black dress stared at me, stared at me and bit her bottom lip. She was bold. Anyone who had any sense and a good pair of contact lenses could see what she was doing but I guess she didn’t care. The more I kissed Kayla the more the girl in the black dress bit her bottom lip, licked her top lip, and slid her fingers up and down the middle of her dress. Holy shit, she was turning me on.

“Ouch!” Kayla screamed.

My eyes darted back to the girl in front of me. She was repeatedly touching her lip and drawing back fingers smeared with blood.

“Darren! What the hell? You bit me!”  

Keith, who happened to be walking by, gave me a Please, no drama look. I gave him a head nod, letting him know I wouldn’t disrespect him like that.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Kayla, trying to calm her down.

I didn’t even notice I bit her, didn’t feel my jaw clenching, my teeth closing down on her thin lip. I was way too lost in thought.

The girl in the black dress licked her lips one last time, turned her back to me and started walking out of the room, leaving that guy from my photography class standing alone, still rambling. She reached the doorway that led to the hotel’s main lobby, pivoted to give me one last look, then left. My eyes were glued to her body and this time I couldn’t hide it.

Kayla finally stopped touching her lip when she realized I was no longer engaged in our situation, realized my ‘I’m sorry’ was nowhere near sincere, realized I was checking out another girl. Now both Kayla and I were staring towards the exit. With all of my might I tore my gaze away from my next potential conquest and looked down at a girl who was obsessed with me. She had tears in her eyes. She said nothing, just stared deep into my eyes for a moment and then walked away.

I wasn’t fazed.

I got what I wanted without having to try. Kayla knew she was not the apple of my eye, that she could be replaced. That’s how I needed it. No commitments. No strings. She ran over to her friends that wrapped her in a blanket of pity, hugging her, stroking her hair, telling her it was okay, telling her I was an asshole, and giving me looks of death.

Once again, I went unfazed.

I turned away from that bullshit and headed for the exit. I hated to leave my boy’s party so soon but opportunities like this didn’t come up all the time. Well, they did, but still, the girl was fine...

The Usual Booth

They sat in their usual booth at the usual place. Two booths down from where they sat on their first date. 

Tonight wasn't their second date or third or fourth. Well, at this point they weren't really dating anymore. 

He wanted attention and sex and a comfort blanket while he sorted through the emotional residue of his ex. 

He'd deny all of that, though. He was a nice guy after all. 

She wanted love and security and longevity and validation from an outside source as opposed to a mantra she repeated to herself every morning. 

She'd deny all of that, though. She was an independent woman after all. 

He smiled that smile that could move her to tears.

She moved her lips in that way that made it impossible for him to hear a word she said. 

They both tried to focus. 

She told herself before hand that she wouldn't bring it up. There'd be no talk of "What are we doing?" "Why am I here?" "What do you want from me?"

He told himself... Well, I'm not sure what he told himself. 

They ate and drank and joked with the waitress. 

He cracked jokes with that Will Smith charm.

She poured out her intellect and he drank every drop. 

He reached over the table and hovered his lips in front over hers. He killed her with anticipation. 

They kissed.

Again.

And again.

She knew there was nothing better. 

He wasn't quite sure. 

She missed being loved.

He teased her heart and she enjoyed the fatal stimulation. 

He wanted her but...

He wanted her but something...something she'd never really know. 

No matter how many times he explained it. 

She felt victim to karma. A seasoned heartbreaker herself. 

Alas.

He walked her to her car after she refused to "sit and talk" in his.

He asked to see her again. She broke her promise and asked him why...why not...why not me...why not so many things.

He spurted words but did not answer. 

They kissed again and said goodbye.

She kicked herself as she drove away and choked on the cliche caught in her throat. 

She said goodbye without him. She said goodbye for good until they'd meet again. 

The Farmhouse

The small crack in the window let in enough snow-covered air to cool down the humid kitchen. She had one loaf of bread in the oven and was kneading a second. He built this kitchen just for her. She baked in it every weekend just for him. 

She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear when she heard the front door. He was back with more firewood. More cool air from outside came in with him. He walked into the kitchen, stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She stopped her work, closed her eyes and inhaled him. He smelled like trees and snow and the deepest, darkest nights. 

The farmhouse was a soft yellow on the outside, with a kitchen of the same color. Those were her only requests all those years ago. The rest was up to him. He used a mix of oaks, maples and pines. He included a breakfast nook, a fireplace and a room just for her when she wanted to read. 

Twenty years had passed. Twenty Christmases. Forty birthdays. Fifty-two weekends of escape, even if only for dinner. This place was their own. No children. No friends or relatives. Just the two of them. 

He built it for her and she loved him in it, endlessly.

She put the second loaf in the oven while he hung up his coat. 

A fresh fire was lit and they snuggled in their established places by the fire. 

Her head nuzzled into his chest, in its usual position. She listened to his heartbeat and smelled his sweater that had hints of cedar and smoke. The heartbeat was slower than usual. She knew to treasure it. Knew it wouldn't last forever.

He ran his fingers through her hair. Inhaled its hints of coconut and lavender. He kissed her head, knowing he would not always have that chance. He studied each strand of her hair, wished he could memorize each one. Wished he could imprint each strand into his memory to keep with him until the end. He inhaled her again and pulled her in closer. 

The fire heated their bodies, stilled their minds as they lost themselves in the flames. The smell of fresh bread blended with the burning wood, surrounding them. They let the elements take over their senses, if only for a moment. 

This would be their last night by the fire. Their last trip to the farmhouse. Their last embrace. They held each other and fought to record the moment. To hold it tight and never forget. Each smell. Each sound. Each touch. He'd fight to hold on. She'd fight to never let go, to always remember. 

"I love you."

"Forever."

The Waiter

Imagine pure strength dipped in chocolate. His hands could crush me. And I would let them. His eyes pierced like the sun. I could never look for long. I longed for him to touch me. For his mass to cover me like an eclipse. No escape. I needed no escape. Just complete submission to his reign. In my mind, thick fingers graze my neck, lightly at first before he deepens his push digit by digit. My breath thins and I welcome it.  My body is his to take, gently, roughly, I give it to him. 

Imagine the sweetest song, composed just for you. Its rhythms matching the beat of your heart, its melodies humming the secrets no one knows. But he knows. He knows and he sings you to you, just for you. Others may hear but only you understand and he knows this. A secret between the two of you. He walks towards you and the harmonies grow louder between your thighs.

Imagine the face of an angel and the body of a god. Imagine the deepest, finest, richest mahogany rubbing against your wanting skin. He has no regard for the others in the room. He looks at only me. He leans over me, runs his massive hands through my hair and tugs. I do not flinch. I ask for more. He leans closer, pushes the table in front of me away. Stands over my body completely, his girth magnetic to my core. I do not flinch. I ask for more. He bends now, looks me square in the eyes, grabs my face when I instinctively attempt to look away. 

"Don't," he says. 

He kisses my cheek and I die. His inebriating scent gathers into a cloud that I mount and I float away. My eyes roll to the back of my head and he kisses my neck. My nipples awaken, hungry and jealous. He knows. He focuses on the buttons on my shirt. Undoes the top one slowly then rips the rest away in one aggressive swoop. I do not scream. I ask for more. 

I ask for more. 

"More?" he asks. 

"More," I beg. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, what is it you want more of?"

My eyes roll forward and open. 

"Excuse me?" I ask. 

"I haven't taken your order yet so what do you want more of? Do you need more water?"

"Um, ahem, yes, please, thank you."

He leaves me. He leaves me devastated and thirsty. Water, the last thing on my mind. 

My husband's deep sigh carries across the table but doesn't touch me. I don't let it touch me. 

"Do you think we can come to this restaurant just once without you drooling over the waiter?" he asks. 

"No, my love, probably not."

NotAPsycho.com

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“Hello, and welcome to NotAPsycho.com. We’ve already established that your future partner is not mentally unstable, not dangerous and will not harm you in any way. Would you like to proceed?” the automated, female voice asked.

“Yes,” she said, without stroking one key on the unnecessary board in front of her. She stared at the screen with wide eyes. She almost wished there was something to click so she could feel more proactive; but, she wouldn’t complain. There was nothing to complain about these days. She sat on her fidgety fingers and listened for the next prompt.

“Tell me a bit about yourself. What is your name?” the monotone voice continued.

“Olive.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Sex?”

“Female.”

“Sexual Orientation?”

“Bisexual.”

“Does your bisexual orientation extend to transgender women?”

“No.”

“Does your bisexual orientation extend to transgender men?”

“Yes.”

“Height?”

“Five feet, six inches.”

“Shoe size.”

“U.S. size seven, women’s.”

“Religion?”

“Buddhism.”

“Geographic location?”

“St. Louis, Missouri.”

“Occupation?”

“Computer Software Developer.”

“Chocolate or Vanilla?”

“Vanilla.”

“Which receives precedence, the peanut butter or the jelly?”

“The jelly.”

“Ethnicity?”

“Um, mixed?”

“Please specify.”

“Well, I’m…”

“Please refrain from using utterings like ‘Um’ and ‘Well’.”

“Half Irish, Half Kenyan.”

“An African American specifically known as ‘mixed’ referring to having one white parent and one black parent.”

“Yes.”

“Three favorite hobbies?”

“Tennis, Drawing, Watching Movies.”

“Allergies?”

“None.”

“Thank you, Olive. Now let’s talk about your desired preferences in a partner.”

“Alright.”

“Male or female?”

“No preference.”

“We are here to create your perfect match, ‘No preference’ is not an available option.”

“Male.”

“Cisgender or transgender?”

“Cisgender.”

“Religion?”

“No pref… um, oh shit, sorry, all religions may apply?”

“All religions. Again, please refrain from using utterings like ‘Um’.”

“Sorry.”

“We are here for you. There is never a need for you to apologize.”

“Understood.”

“Height preference?”

“Six feet tall.”

“Ethnicity?”

“African American.”

“Light-skinned or Dark-skinned?”

Olive hated that she had to pick. Again, she wouldn’t complain.

“Dark-skinned.”

“Mocha, chestnut or charcoal? Please refer to the examples on your screen.”

“Chestnut.”

“Lean, muscular or a perfect mix of the two?”

“Perfect mix.”

“Unique name or simple to pronounce?”

“Simple to pronounce.”

“We are calculating your perfect match. Please stand by.”

Olive watched the screen. Her fidgety fingers freed themselves from under her bottom and twirled through her hair.

The screen read, “Loading.”

Ten long seconds later a smiley face emoji appeared, written underneath: CONGRATULATIONS!

“Olive,” the voice returned, “Out of the options that will now appear on your screen, what is your ideal first date.”

She took a moment to read through her options.

“I would say, B. SIT ON THE COUCH IN OUR PAJAMAS AND WATCH MOVIES.”

“Olive, are your living quarters clean, currently?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Are you menstruating?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Would you like to meet your future partner?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. We do not like to waste time here at NotAPsycho.com.”

Olive looked around her small, studio apartment. She walked away from the screen in front of her and headed to the mirror in the bathroom. Did she look okay? Okay enough to meet her future partner? She grabbed her toothbrush and scurried around her cluttered counter in search for the paste. She found it under a hair bonnet and twisted the cap open as fast as she could.

As she brushed she heard the automated, female voice return, in what sounded like a louder volume.

“Olive? Olive are you still there?”

“Coming!” Olive struggled to return through frantic brush strokes.

She spit and rinsed. She ran to her closet, ripped off the old, tattered t-shirt she wore and short shorts covered in white paint, threw on a flowy, pink sundress and some deodorant and returned to her seat in front of the screen.

“Olive, is that you?” the voice asked.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“That wasn’t necessary, Olive.”

“What do you mean?”

“The clothes, the teeth brushing. There is no need to worry, your future partner accepts you just the way you are.”

“Sorry.”

“Olive.”

“Right. I understand.”

“Would you like to go on your first date now?”

“Yes, I would.”

“What is your exact address?”

“391 Sherman Street. Apartment 3F. St. Louis, Missouri 63199.”

“Please change into whatever pajamas you wore last night.”

Olive walked to her closet slowly and tried to steady her heart. She retrieved the tossed t-shirt and shorts and changed before returning to her seat.

 “Thank you, Olive.”

“Thank you.”

The screen went black and almost instantly there was a knock at the door.

He was six feet tall exactly with warm brown skin, a rich and even tone. He wore a white tank top that pronounced his acceptable physique and gray sweat pants. He flashed a surprising smile. Olive was surprised perfect teeth didn’t include an upcharge.

“Wow,” he said instantly.

“Excuse me?” Olivia asked.

“You’re perfect, more than I could have asked for. Sorry, I just, I, um, didn’t think this site would actually work.”

“The site is here for you. There is never a need for you to apologize.”

They laughed together.

“That’s right. I forgot,” he said.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Please.”

Olive closed the door behind him and caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled like Irish Spring soap and Old Spice deodorant.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Olive. You?”

“David.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, David.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

“What’s that?” Olive asked, gesturing to a DVD case in David’s hand.

“The Bridges of Madison County,” he said, holding up the movie. “I thought we could watch it tonight, if that’s alright with you?”

“It’s my favorite.”

He smiled that perfect smile.

“Good, I’m glad.”

For a process that was so smoothly orchestrated, Olive felt nervous. The butterflies bombarded her stomach but she didn’t mind. She welcomed the reminder that she was alive.

“Would you like some popcorn?” she asked her guest that was undoubtedly not mentally unstable, dangerous or a harm to her in any way.

“Sounds great, I’ll put the DVD in while it pops.”

“Thank you.”

Olive and David sat on the couch with no inches between them. He put his arm around her and she rested her bent knee on his thigh.

The butterflies persisted but after a little red wine, the flutters succumbed.

After the movie David looked deep into Olive’s eyes.

“I’m glad I’m here,” he said. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Olive smiled and bit her bottom lip, a physical warning to her tear ducts to keep in control.

“I’m glad it’s you too, so very glad,” she said.

They moved to her bed and climbed under her covers.

He lied behind her and scooped her close.

She was safe and warm.

He told her about his parents, his sisters and his nephew.

She told him about her boring job, her dashed dreams of being a tennis star and her desire to travel more.

He promised he’d take her wherever she wanted to go.

Eventually, they drifted off to sleep, staying in each other’s arms, separating only when he needed to stretch his arm. Then they would separate but somehow always managing to find each other again. They both slept soundly, dreaming peaceful dreams neither would remember in the morning.

The first date was a success, like they always were once two individuals were ready. Tomorrow, they would worry about the future, but for tonight, they would rest.

Cherry Dream

Everything about her was welcoming. Looking at her smelled like Thanksgiving dinner. Touching her tasted like warm apple pie. I graze her breasts timidly, my hands slipped under her shirt, while my own body is bare. Her satin blouse feels like my mother’s. I think they have the same perfume as well. Her long rustic hair curls past her shoulders, settling around her breasts, helping me tickle her nipples. She looks at me with love and concern in her eyes. She loves me and is concerned about me. No one else loves me. No one else cares about me or for me.

The sunlight coming through the window kisses her hair so gently it nearly makes me cry. I want to be that sun. She touches my cheek and smiles. She touches my neck and smiles. I flinch and then calm. Her love is overwhelmingly unexpected but too good not to accept.

Now she is naked. Her freckled cream body presented before my smooth brown skin. I want them to touch but it is difficult to move. Maybe I’d take her to the blue light with me. The blue light is where I’m going when I die. We can’t go now because the blue light is dark and her light is too bright for it. It dawns on me that she won’t be able to come with me when I die.  I can’t worry about it. That thought is too heavy. The sunlight intensifies from a kiss on her hair to nearly engulfing her. I focus on one freckle and it is all I can see, the rest of her body just shining a perfect light. The light that comes through the classroom window after an educational film viewing in elementary school on a crisp fall day or the light that’s there when your mother finally comes to pick you up. It’s fleeting but the most intense. A powerful punch before it says goodbye.

 I try to focus on more than one freckle at a time. The sun softens and allows it. Her light lets me in, lets me view most of her. She rubs her hands up and down my arms and her light begins to spread. I feel its warmth travel behind me, on my back, on my backside. It’s not as bright on my skin, though. That’s not possible. I belong to the blue. I’m happy about that but I’m still enjoying her light, its warmth. She holds my hands; her fingers are thin and sensual. I get strong enough to move closer. I look at her stomach and smile. Her breasts lie in the upper corners of my eyes and steal my attention instantly, pink nipples. My tongue goes to them. One lick and I can’t help but cry. She strokes my hair and I descend to my knees. I rest my face onto her waist, nuzzle my nose and smell the skin on her hip bone. It’s warmer than the rest of her body. I wrap my arms around her, resting myself on the cool of her backside.

The winds between her legs begin to blow. They are surprisingly blue, light blue, but still, we are more alike than I thought. She strokes my hair and I am comforted. My ear travels to her belly and I hear the rush. It is coming. I look up to her, a tear diving down my cheek. She whispers, “Go on.” Her legs spread and the winds pick up. There is a single drop and she gasps. I can’t let any more escape; I have to catch it. I place my widely parted lips, plump and ready on her opening and close my eyes, for only a moment. Her light is too beautiful to resist. There is a slight vibration and the blood pours into my mouth, down my throat. I gulp as swiftly as I can, anxious not to miss any. Two streams escape from the corners of my mouth, mixing with my tears. I hate it but still; it’s a small price to pay for the glistening red river feeding my soul: smooth and creamy, salty and fresh. I drink and she loves me. She loves me and cares for me. 

From the Blaxploitation Files: Me and Foxy Brown

So it's our first date. He takes me to a movie. Who doesn't take me to a movie these days, right? We met in sociology class and really connected on this deeper level, you know? It was groovy. I was hoping we could have some dinner or maybe go to the museum or something but... he takes me to a movie. I'm getting pretty damn sick of all these dates and all these movies with people beating the hell outta each other. We went to go see Foxy Brown. My sister said it was righteous so, why not. I've finished my paper so I have nothing else to do. Besides, the brotha is fine!

So I'm ready to go, I got my new cardigan sweater on and the hippest bell bottoms I could find. You know, sophisticated but funky! When he saw the way i was dressed I guess he thought it was a little too sophisticated. He took one look at my sweater and said, "Baby, don't you know we're going to see Foxy Brown!?! You gotta show a little sumthin. sumthin!" I almost smacked him upside the head and shut the door but I'm a lady so I politely said, "Look here, Baby, I am a lady and I dress like one. AND I know I look good!" He responded with an, "Excuuuuuse me, Miss Thang!" We get to the movies and this brotha is on thin ice, okay! I make him buy me two large popcorns, two boxes of candy and a large soda that I did NOT plan on sharing, thank you very much!

I followed him in the theater and the lights went down. I don't know how long it was into the movie before I saw Pam Grier's breasts for the first time. She revealed these two beautiful, brown mountains of flesh and the entire male audience cheered. Some women cheered, some laughed at their dates, some hit their dates, and some closed their eyes. I was stuck in my chair, completely mesmerized. Every time they showed her tits I couldn't help but think about my own! I felt like the entire audience was staring right through my blouse and fondling me with their eyes even though they were all facing the other direction, looking at Foxy. As the movie went on I swear to you I felt my breasts grow into these larger than life mounds that began to cover my face, began to cover my date's face and oh how he loved it! He started fondling my breasts, sucking on my breasts after he would suck the straw in his soda. It was unbelievable! I was appalled by everyone starting at my boobs and this "you know what" sucking on them! I was so appalled because I started to like it!

I popped out of my trance. I looked around and all was normal in the theater. The audience was cheering because some white woman just received her white boyfriend's dick in a pickle jar. I looked down at my chest. I didn't want to, but, I did. My boobs were back to their normal B-cup. I looked at my date who was staring at me like I had 10 heads. He asked if I was alright and I just said, "Of course, why do you ask?" He said i as all sweaty and breathing really hard. I looked at him, carefully, and my heart began to race. I kissed him slowly and I could almost feel my boobs growing again! I told him I was ready to go home, if you know what I mean. When he asked me if I was sure I said, "Don't let the cardigan fool you. I am an erotic beast!" He took my hand and we left.

I don't know what it is about Foxy Brown but that movie introduced me to a more confident, sexual side of myself. It also introduced me to my husband. Every year on our anniversary we watch Foxy Brown before we go to bed.

A Knock at the Door

She knocked on the door with a quiet yet fervent panic. If Ryan had been in the bedroom instead of the living room, he probably would have missed her. 

He sat up, hoping the unexpected visitor would realize this was not the apartment they were looking for and go away. It'd been two days since he'd left the apartment. In his state, he had no strength to even open the door. But it came again, the rapid while subdued knocking. 

Ryan groaned as he rolled off of the couch and shuffled to the old door's peep hole. There was a woman standing there. Her hair was messy and her cheek was marked a bright red. She looked up and down the hallway before knocking again. 

Without any further investigation, Ryan knew she was in trouble. He reached for the doorknob but paused. Did he want to invite trouble into his home? He turned and looked at the small, cluttered and downright dirty apartment behind him. He caught his reflection in a small, cloudy mirror that hung alone on the opposite side of the room. His five o'clock shadow was reaching damn near nine thirty. The hair on his head matched the frantic state of whomever this was at his door. He was a mess, a mess with nothing to lose. 

He swung the door open but she was gone. Taking a hesitant step out, he looked to his right and spotted her, hand raised to his next door neighbor's door. Mr. Jenkins was a crotchety old man, never liked to be disturbed. 

"You alright?" Ryan asked her. 

She was startled but took no time to hesitate. As quickly as possible, she moved away from Mr. Jenkins' door and made her way inside of Ryan's apartment. He moved quickly to the side to make room for her in his space. 

"Are you alright?" he asked again.

"Please, close the door," Jessica whispered. 

Ryan obliged. 

"Please, lock it."

He obliged again, without hesitation.

Jessica uncrossed her trembling arms and moved towards the peep hole, practically pushing Ryan out of the way. Her eye searching the hallway frantically as far as it could reach. She didn't see him. He hadn't found her. 

Jessica's heartbeat slowed just a tad. It was close to steady but not quite there. 

"Thank you," she whispered in a quiet fright. She couldn't look at Ryan. She was scared and ashamed. All she could say was, "Thank you."

"Is someone after you?" Ryan asked. "Should I call the police?"

"Please, no police. The police won't help me."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"He's one of them."

Ryan's eyes widened. He searched his apartment for answers and found nothing. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I just..I just ran. I'll go. I'm sorry."

Jessica made a move for the door but Ryan stopped her, holding her hand in his own. She pulled away instantly.

He eyed her face.

"Did he do that to you?"

Jessica lowered her head in shame. 

"Did he?"

She nodded.

"Come, move away from the door."

"He's going to come looking for me."

"I'll keep you safe. Don't worry about him," Ryan assured with unrecognizable confidence. 

"You can't protect me. I shouldn't have come here. What am I doing? I have to go apologize."

"Stop it," Ryan said with a strength that startled not only Jessica.

"You can't leave now," he continued, "We both know what will happen if you do."

She shuddered at the thought. 

"Please, come sit."

Barely able to lift her eyes to meet his strong gaze, Jessica took a seat on the couch. 

"Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"No, thank you."

"It's really no trouble. I was going to make soup."

"Alright, soup then."

As instantly as the first knock that night, there was another, only this one wasn't a quiet panic but a forceful rage. Loud and belligerent, it did not cease. 

Jessica jumped up from the couch, panicked tears rushing down her face. Before she could crumble, Ryan was by her side. He put one hand around her waist, leaned in close and whispered securely in her ear, "I've got you."

His touch made her feel petrified and protected all at once. 

"Go into the bedroom," he whispered again.

Without a word, she went.

Ryan moved towards the door, heart suddenly racing, as Jessica moved out of sight.

The knocking grew in volume. Ryan opened the door, just wanting the noise to stop. 

"Where is she?" he asked straight away, clearly drunk and disheveled. 

"I'm sorry?" Ryan asked, fixating his best poker face across his deceitful facade. 

"My wife, is she here? I thought I saw her come this way."

"Sorry, man. It's only me here, don't get many visitors."

The man stared at Ryan. Ryan stared back, unwavering in the face while the pace of his heart tripled, matching the pace of the heartbeat he could almost hear coming from his occupied bedroom. 

The man stared for one moment more before speaking. 

"Thanks anyway," he said, suspiciously. 

"No problem," Ryan replied, shortly.

He closed the door, his hand remaining on the knob. 

Ryan held his breath. 

Jessica held hers.

Ryan peaked out the peep hole to an empty hallway. 

Slowly, he locked the door, put the deadbolt in place and backed away. 

He moved to his bedroom where he found her seated on the corner of his bed. 

He sat beside her, careful not to startle her. She wept. 

Ryan put his hand around Jessica's shoulders. 

Again, she felt oddly petrified and simultaneously protected. 

"You're safe," he said. "You're safe now."

A Dream

The leaves fell to my face and disintegrated before me. That’s how I knew it was a dream. No matter how much he tried to assure me that he was real, I knew it wasn’t real. I looked deep in his eyes and told myself to remember, knowing it wouldn’t last forever.

I was in my high school. There was an escalator and the bottom and top floors were filled with thousands of people, almost like a stadium. The first sign it was a dream. I went to a large high school but not that large, no schools are that large.

There was a drink in my hand and I couldn’t seem to hold onto the ice tea or lemonade or water or whatever it was and proceed up the escalator at the same time. I had no balance. Awkwardly, I held the cup and tried to sip from the plastic straw while gripping the ascending escalator railing with both hands. I crouched over the side, cup and railing in hands and tried to stand up straight and balance myself. I couldn’t. The top was approaching. I saw two boys that I did actually go to high school with descending casually next to me.They were beautiful, even more beautiful in this world.

I reached the top, nervously. How would I get off of this difficult ride? I stumbled, as I surely knew I would. Stumbling was a common occurrence in my dreams, usually in heels. There were no heels this time but a lack of balance all the same.

My body dropped slowly to the ground as the escalator spit me out onto the top floor of the school. Still gripping that damn cup that I just couldn’t seem to let go of, I let my body fall.

Then, he was there. I had a feeling he would be, simply because this was a highly embarrassing moment. That’s always when they appear, isn’t it?

Suddenly, my high school was no longer my high school. It was my college and the top floor of the high school was now one of the grassy fields filled with trees that covered my college campus. We were outside.

He took my hand and helped me up with a smile. I hated how beautiful his smile was. It was his smile that let me know it was a dream. I hated that beauty because I knew it would flee, when I least expected it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him as we walked through the field.

“I knew you’d be here so I came,” he responded shyly, uncomfortable revealing that truth.

It was hard to believe him. Things that made me blush were always hard to believe.

We walked more and the sensation hit me even stronger. I was fully aware that this was a dream. How strongly you usually don’t know your dreams are fiction is how factually I knew that this would all disappear, that he would disappear. Instead of being sad I instantly told myself to just enjoy it while it lasts.

He knew what I was thinking. I didn’t have to tell him.

“You’re not dreaming. I’m real,” he said, smiling that beautiful, artificial smile, trying his best to reassure me.

His blonde hair was long and scruffy. It settled around his ears and framed his tan face nicely. He looked a bit dirty in his red shirt with white writing that advertised whatever company he worked for. The sleeves were cut off and I could tell he was working hard in the hot sun somewhere before coming to see me. His jeans and boots harbored some specks of color; maybe he was a painter.

In his left hand he held his motorcycle helmet but I didn’t see his bike.

Taking my advice I wrapped both of my arms around his right arm and nestled my face right below his shoulder. The sun glistened on his skin. I inhaled his scent and told myself to remember. Again he heard my thoughts and told me not to worry.

The despair in knowing the dream was a dream became too much weight for me to carry. Letting go of his arm, I dropped to the grassy ground, the sadness shrouding my body with me unable to stop it.

His simulated smile grew into a chuckle as he joined me on the ground, humoring what he perceived to be my dramatic folly.

My face was inches from the ground; the sadness was too heavy and almost pushed my entire head through the grass and dirt. It was too heavy. He stroked my hair and rescued me. I told myself to remember as my head gained some strength. I turned over and lied on my back. The heaviness was easier to bear that way.

He lied down on his back beside me and held my hand. I tried not to cry, tried to focus, tried to remember, store the thoughts for later memories while I was awake.

“What are we doing?” he asked, indulging in the silly fun of this “dream” adventure.

“We’re in the sky now. We’re lying in the sky and looking down on the ground, except, it’s not ground but water. We’re staring at the sea.”

The smiling face turned away from mine and looked up with me as I rolled to my side in order to see what he saw. The waves rippled slowly as a stranded man in a lifeboat washed past our line of sight. This is how I knew for sure that we were indeed in the sky, looking down at the sea. The waves kept passing and I wondered if he could see them, wondered if the sights were the same for him even though it was my dream alone.

“Okay,” he said.

He squeezed my hand and stroked my skin with his thumb.

I told myself to remember as I watched the waves roll by.

Again he read my thoughts and told me not to worry.

I told myself to remember. 

Breaking Up With William

“You realize you’re crazy, right?”

“Why am I crazy? Just because I’m fabricating outrageous stories for a chance to connect with the man I’m desperately in love with?”

“Please tell me that’s rhetorical.”

 “The stories aren’t even that outrageous. They’re things that could totally be happening to me.”

“Yeah, but they’re not.”

“But they could.”

“But they’re not.”

“I know they’re not, but…”

“You, an intern, are asking Devin, the Head of the entire Marketing Department, for relationship advice on this ‘whirlwind love affair’ you’re having with all of these ups and downs, twists and turns, where you’re over the moon one day and distraught the next because Devin is the ‘only man you know that can give you the guy’s perspective on exactly what you should do’ except Devin doesn’t know, and will probably never know, that your torrid love affair with ‘William’ doesn’t exactly exist because William himself doesn’t actually exist.  And this all seems like a perfectly logical plan on how to get a guy to notice you?”

“Of course!”

“Are you insane?”

“It’s innovative dating. A girl’s got to have an angle.”

“It’s not innovative. It’s tired and trite. You’re trying to get a guy to like you by making him feel jealous and threatened by what in actuality amounts merely to an imaginary friend. You’re trying to play this ‘angle’ where you treat Devin like he’s nothing more than a gay best friend or a shoulder to cry on, naturally making him fall in love with you and wish with all of his might that you pined away after him like you do with William. Men, women, everyone, they’ve been doing this shit for years but they never stop to think about what happens when the truth comes out and you’re seen as nothing more than a pathetic liar who’s actually not valuable at all because it’s actually YOU that’s delivering those flowers to your desk at work and giving yourself those hickies that you desperately ‘try to hide’ and then not only does he only see you as a friend, or you know, JUST THE INTERN, which was the case all along because your stupid plan was never working, he will NOW see you as a stalkerish, deranged pest that’s so childish and desperate for a date that he couldn’t possibly speak to you ever again…like ever, for the safety of himself and his future family. I mean, how is he supposed to explain the psycho stalker girl from his past to his future wife? Ain't nobody got time for that!”

“Um, harsh!”

“Well, it’s true!”

“Look, listen to me, alright. Just listen. This can work. My plan is solid, completely tight. I’ve been talking to Devin about all of my issues with William for weeks now but this is the next step. It’s the most important step.”

“What is the most important step?”

“Don’t be facetious. I’m being serious.”

“Apologies. The important step.”

“William and I are breaking up this weekend.”

“That’s the step?”

“Yes, the most important step. I’ll come in to work on Monday, run straight into Devin’s office and dive deep into every heartbreaking detail of my break up with William. His face will light up. He’ll think, ‘Here’s my chance. She’s so sad. She’s like a cute little puppy. She’s vulnerable. She’s single!’ and then boom, BOOM! He’ll practically pounce on me right then and there but he won’t; he won’t because he’s a gentleman and respects me. Instead, he’ll be coy. He’ll act as if he’s taking pity on me, really feeling sorry for my sorrows…”

“Oh, there will definitely be sorrow.”

“…and he’ll sigh deeply and pause. In his mind he’ll keep reminding himself not to smile too wide, not to allow his pulsing love to reveal itself on his face. He’ll have so many emotions to control! He’ll be so incredibly nervous because he’s about to do it. He’s finally about to make his move. It will be glorious. He’ll look up at me and say, ‘Ok, look, I’ve been there. It hurts. Breakups are just awful, I mean, the absolute worst.’ He’ll grow in courage and in undesirable urge to touch me. He’ll take my hand and say, ‘Why don’t you let me buy you a drink. You look like you could use a drink. You look like a beautiful girl that was dumped by an absolute jerk and could use a drink.’”

“No.”

“No?”

“Make it so you’re the one that broke up with William. Don’t be too pathetic.”

“You’re right. He’ll take my hand and say, ‘You know what, you were always too good for William. Good for you for finally taking action and dumping that loser. You shouldn’t even be upset by this breakup. You should be celebrating. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take you out for a drink. That’s right, a celebratory drink because damn it, you deserve it.’ My eyes will light up and I’ll sniffle away my fake tears and give him that smile, you know the one. I’ll say, ‘You know what? You’re right. This was a great idea. Breaking up with William is the smartest thing I’ve done all year and it’s already October! I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Sir. Let’s get a drink.’ And that’s when he’ll smile, you know the one, and he’ll think, ‘Got her,’ without even realizing I, I in fact, I am the one that just got him. It will be glorious!”

“Damn it.”

“What?”

“You just might be right.”

“I mean, duh!”

“It’s still totally pathetic but I can’t help but fully support your crazy. You got this.”

‘I mean, duh!”

        *****

“Well, how did it go? Did he buy it!?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“See, I knew that bitch was crazy.”