“I feel fine I guess,” I answered. She was in the habit of asking questions at inconvenient times. I had lately begun to grow tired of it. “How about you?”
“No, I don’t mean right now. I mean in general,” she looked up and caught my eyes. There was a fire there I hadn't noticed before. She paused, keeping eye contact. “What’s it like to be so frigging gay?”
I scoffed. “What?”
“You know what I mean.” She looked back at her fingernails. “I know you have the hunger.”
I laughed, not understanding what she was saying. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The hunger. You know… the hunger for male genitalia.” She smiled.
“Baby, you lost me.”
“Okay.” She nodded in a mock gesture of understanding. “That’s what I figured. Forget it.”
“No, wait!” I said. She had pushed me and now I was going to push back. “You can’t just say something like that and expect nothing to happen.”
She put down the cuticle thingy and picked up a large black mug, steaming with freshly poured coffee. She took long deliberate sips, slurping up the hot liquid. Sometimes she was in another world. She was never emotional, never argued, and simply agreed with anything anyone said. I have a quiet integrity, she would always say. Quiet integrity my ass. She just liked to push buttons. She liked to say things just to piss me off. She was on and off with it. One day she’d be a pretty little princess, eager to please. But some days, she was this; the venom spitting lap-bitch of Hades himself.
“Why do you always do shit like that?” I asked. The anger began to boil in my veins.
“Like what?” She said, nonchalantly. That’s so like her. “I just asked what it was like.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” My voice climbed. “You can’t just say something completely outrageous and then clam up whenever you’re confronted about it.”
She smiled with that coy little, who me?, smile. I hate that smile. I love that smile. Sometimes I wish she would die. Sometimes, when it’s late at night and I have trouble falling asleep, I sit awake and stare at her, and every now and then I wonder what it would be like to take a pillow and hold it over her face until she stopped fighting. Come to think of it, I’m not really sure she would fight it. She’d just lay there, not moving; not even the twitch of a muscle. I’d hold the pillow over her face until I was sure she was dead, and when I’d pull it off, there it would be...that coy little smile. GOD! I hate her!
“I hate you,” I said, trying hard to suppress the smile building at the corners of my mouth. “And I wish you would die.”
She laughed. Her taught belly expanded and contracted like a bellows as she let out the wildest guffaw I’ve ever heard. When the sound hit my ears, my thighs twitched and I had to take deep breaths to stop myself from jumping on her and taking her like the animal she was.
The smile was growing and I had to purse my lips to keep the wildfire smile from spreading to my entire face.
“I really want to strangle you.”
Another primal burst of laughter, “Ditto baby.” She blew a kiss and winked. “Ditto.”
I finally stood up, grabbed her by the wrist and led her to the bedroom. She laughed the entire way. She laughed until her laughter became moans and her moans became screams and her screams became laughter again. I don’t know what you’d call it. Making love? I’m not sure. Screwing? That’s a little too raunchy. Intercourse? Too clinical. I guess if there was an amalgam of all three terms, that’s what it would be.
But whatever you want to call it, there was fire. There was passion. And there was most definitely a connection. I suppose that’s all I can ask for in this world - just a little connection. I’m thankful for that.
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