Delirium's Nomad

“That’s my boy.”
“Which one is he Norma?”
“The cute one laying next to that girl.”
“But he’s black”
“I know, my son Dean married a Black woman and became Jewish.”
“Jewish, oh, that’s too bad guess he’s not coming here.”
“Barbara.”
“Just kidding. He’s cute, he looks nothing like you though.”
“I don’t know, I think I had dreadlocks just like his when I was young.”
Her spirit lightened as she watched Jordan roll over caressing the girl, a smile as an eye poking out of his eyelid caught his hand moving over her curves. The Earth’s rotation allowing the sun to start peering through the window.
“And he never knew you?”
“Nope, I died before he was born, my George says he was a good kid, always nice. Not around much though. Family never warmed up to him being black and Dean turnin Jewish. But he is beautiful none the less.”
Jordan allowed a smile to peek out of his face as he slowly rose from the bed; one hand rustling his head the other scratching his ass.
Dolores soul brightened even more, “ha ha, he does that every morning.”

The last thing I remembered was the light coloring beautiful shades of blue. The chlorine singeing my nostrils as they struggled for air. Sinking further down, the back of my father turning from body to distorted colors of bright white and pink.

It really did move in slow motion, the milliseconds drifting in a timelessness away as you accept the inability to grab life from the water.

My father wanted to know why. Why I had drifted to the deep end. Why I had gotten out of my floating tube. But through broken coughs and gasps for breath I could only mutter that I did not know.

Four year olds aren’t suicidal, but there is a strange curiosity that allows you to do things you know you will regret. The temptation to step off a high bridge, step into rapids or traffic. Maybe that is what spurred people to create bungee jumping or white water rapids, the reclaiming of child innocence even about things we should be afraid of. That as we age, we become more aware of consequences.

The last thing I remember about almost drowning in a hotel pool in Mexico is that I didn’t seem to care.

Sweat dripped between the curves of his breasts and rounded the corner of his stomach getting stuck in between the suction being created by the meeting of these two bodies. Her mouth let out a moan of appreciation for the moment he had just brought. He groaned his thank you as her body grabbed him in a perfectly placed squeeze yearning for his finish.

The smile they shared came not from the ecstasy they just gave each other but a deeper place of comfort and it showed beyond the depth of their shared gaze and giggles on their mouths.

The glow was unmistakable and seemed to bind their bodies together. As they tried to wrench them a part their bodies voiced their displeasure in a loud squeak as the sweat that molded them together was forced apart.

To assuage the discontent in her body she quickly climbed back toward him laying her head on his pillow chest and arm draped around his man made teddy bear stomach.

The profound smile in her eyes couldn’t be removed even by the pleasured exhaustion he had caused.

“Seriously you are amazing.”
“It’s the love machine” He rubbed his stomach pleasingly.
“I never thought it could be this good.”
“What I didn’t look like a pure pleasure ride?” Even as she punched him, the same smile, the one out of her control stayed firm.
“Nice.” They both laughed.
“So what do I do that is so amazing?”
“I mean you didn’t stop you just kept coming and then so did I.”
“Well you are so inspiring, that thing you do with your hips… amazing.”
“I am glad you liked it.” She looked up, but didn’t need to tell him she loved him, she simply tilted her head toward him with her unmovable grin; her body communicated the love emanating it from all over. He squeezed her, his body teletyping its thank you through his arms bringing her closer. She relaxed back into his chest and buried her body in his arm wiggling a little bit to really fit in. Her bodies smile was reflected even more on the lengthening of the corners of her mouth. She closed her eyes to profoundly appreciate the rhythm of his stomach’s movement.

He watched her arm move up and down as his ample stomach filled and deflated. She interrupted the peaceful beauty of their bodies dancing in this rhythm moving her hand underneath his stomach and bouncing it up and down like a fake doubled “D” breast. Not letting his clear movement of dissatisfaction deter her she stuck her finger into his belly button. His fatness not made enough of an uncomfortable joke she moved passed his pleas to stop and blew on his stomach, letting the extra skin that encased his stomach flutter under her lips.

The shaming with her actions was punctuated with an uncomfortable proclamation so beyond his understanding it was hard for him to respond beyond the tears of disappointment and self-pity that were wanting in his ducts. “I think your stomach is sexy, why don’t you let me play with it more?”

“I am not sexy with this thing. I could be sexy for other reasons, but my stomach is just a sign of my laziness, inability to control my mouth, and clearly slovenly soul, or so society tells me.”
“You aren’t any of those things, you are intelligent, thoughtful, athletic, big AND beautiful.”
“But how can I be beautiful with this thing? Don’t you sometimes wish I was skinnier? Wish I lost weight… had a six pack?”
“If you want to lose weight or exercise more that’s fine with me, we can just have more sex just don’t lose your stomach in the process. I love your stomach too much; he gives me so much pleasure.”
“My stomach?” An unexpected shock could not be disguised in his question, while normally faining surprise this was one of those rarest of moments that actually did jolt him.

“Yeah it rubs against my clit or sits right on top when you thrust it feels surprisingly doubly amazing.”
He allowed himself to start living this thought, such a concept never leaking into his consciousness nor on the lips of one of his past lovers. Even though his consciousness wanted to disbelieve something so ridiculous, he smiled allowing it to be true.

“What about me, am I beautiful?”
“I mean look you are not…” He took the moment to say what he really meant. “I have no delusions that I am Brad Pitt. But I always hoped that someone would see me and love me for who I am, not who I appear to be.” He looked down to let his eyes describe his next point. “I may not be Brad Pitt and you may not be as societal defined hot as Angelina Jolie, but we are definitely just as beautiful.”
“So you are ok that I will never be skinny, never look good in a bikini.”
“As long as you keep looking this good naked and feel this good next to my skin and continue to just be the person you are, there will never be anyone as beautiful as you. I don’t care what society says as long as I have you in my arms I will never again be without true beauty.”
The warmth their souls’ exhaled was being shown in the dark comfort of their eyes, “I hope my eyes reflect your truth, because I have never felt so seen as when you look at me.”

The moment still fills him with a radiance that never allows him to question the truth of that moment even as it has seemingly been proven false.

She looked over with a forced smile; that smile that tries to hide how much happier she is but doesn’t want to hurt him with the conceit of that thought. Thinner and less pretty she put her head into the properly muscular shoulder of the man without any interesting distinction. His claim to fame was clearly the ordinary handsomeness he displayed. Just as easily as he could be an Abercrombie & Finch model he could be forgotten; his lips elongating to the corners of his slight dimples with all the depth he could muster and yet clearly lacking any true depth behind it.

The cold infrastructure that underpinned this new couple’s exchange, defined their embrace of these now societally sanctioned beauties.

He smiled his clearly fake smile and turned to walk away. He wished he could see his toes as he looked down for comfort. He wanted to see that they would carry him to his next step and the one after that. Instead he saw the same stagnant view he always saw when he looked down. He gave his stomach a momentary rub and trusted his feet to take him on. The warmth of their moment was now fading out of his stomach and being forced back to the recesses of his abdomen.

I don’t believe that things happen for a reason, or that there is a purpose to life. But sometimes a series of events conspires to define your life. Not fitting into a grandiose plan for the universe or to serve some spiritual being, but rather a moment that defines the life of a person that History will surely forget.

“You’re a mother fucker.”
You would be surprised how often I hear that.
“You’re a stupid motherfucker, it’s like I mean nothing to you… well don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

I was mid argument, or at least mid being yelled at. One coping mechanism I developed after years of grade school teachers yelling about my impending ruin if I didn’t listen, was the ability to tune out the world while still appearing like I was paying attention.

I barely noticed the apple coloring that was starting to define her cheeks. My mind had wandered to familiar mantra. Just give up it’s not worth the trouble. Give up, why bother trying to salvage this at this point. There was a long time that my, “can’t do” attitude used to bum me out, but slowly I’ve begun to accept that I just don’t care. Missed potential, self-sabotage call it what you will; it certainly was not a unique coping mechanism. But it’s not like I cared enough to change it.

Not even the tear stained face before me could muster enough emotional fortitude to want to change the dimensions of how I interact in relationships. It wasn’t that I was feeling bad for myself, quite the contrary, I just didn’t care, not enough about myself or the woman in front of me.

A knock, saved by a knock the irony brought a snide smile to my face. Normally the bane of my existence, I often turned off my lights, lock my door, and take the phone off the hook just to avoid the knock. R.A.’s or Resident Assistants were supposed to be available at all times, I could have taught a seminar in avoiding ever having to assist my residents. Even nights like tonight when I am on duty, I would pretend I wasn’t there just to avoid having to deal with these spoiled freshmen’s whims. Irony never misses an opportunity to rear her sadistic humor.

“I took a bottle of pills and I don’t know what to do.”
“Ok come in, Beth can you leave?” It’s amazing the world could be crashing around me, but my indifference finally has a purpose, calm amongst the storm the cliché goes.
“Relax take a seat, I’m going to call 911 for help.”
“I’m sorry, Beth.” Here is my resident, pale with fear, shaking while in the midst of a suicide attempt and yet she calmly walks into the room and apologizes for interrupting the fight she had to hear from the hallway. If only people realized the strength they have. I find that some of the people who seem the most weak and feeble often possess the most internal strength made stronger by their perseverance over their daily mental assault of self-loathing and self-deprecation. It’s easy to appear strong when you are never troubled by thought. Try making it through the day when your mind tells you to give up on life because you’re not worth it.

“Hello 911, Yes I have an emergency.”
“Yes she took a bunch of pills…. Yeah she’s here now.” I tried to give her one of those comforting smiles, but it just came off convoluted and forced. Her face reflected my nervousness. It was like being on a date that was going south.
“It’ll be ok; emergency will be here any moment.”
“I am sorry to…”
“Please you did me a favor, I am sure you could hear the argument when you knocked.”
The forced laugh eased the moment, “I hope it wasn’t too serious.’
“It was.”
“Well I hope you didn’t do anything bad.”
“Why do people automatically assume it is the guy who does something wrong.”
“I didn’t assume that, it just didn’t sound like you were the one doing the yelling.” No matter what the situation, my default is always to make a joke. The smile we shared was not just because it was funny; I could sense an understanding, knowledge that we had the same coping mechanism.
“I don’t know why I did it; I just swallowed and regretted it.”
“You’re not suicidal, if you wanted to do it you could have, you saved yourself, I am just glad I was here to help.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You’re stronger then I am, I want to give up so many times but I am to scared, I think I am more scared to die then I am to live, that’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

My shrink would be so proud. I am a control freak, I always control who knows what about me and the impression I give. But here without even thinking, I let my guard down, gave up information I myself was just discovering. Out of my subconscious and into her memory, it had never happened before.
“You?”
“I know it’s my deep dark secret, don’t tell anyone.”
“Six years of therapy you?”
“One semester, but many years to look forward to. I will have to get a job to support my therapy habit.”
Another shared smile.
“I have to apologize I’m going to say something cliché,”
She gave one of those smiles we give to show acceptance while still expressing concern for what is about to be said “Yes.”
“Depression is very lonely, and I don’t expect you will ever feel accompanied, but if you let me we can share some misery some time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”

One of the many rules conveyed over and over again during R.A. training is the importance that our university’s possible liability trumps any concerns or feelings you may have with the residents you are entrusted to look after. We were not allowed to accompany any of our residents to the hospital and discouraged from visiting them once they are there. So helplessly I watched as hurried EMTs asked stupid meaningless questions, strapped her into a bed on wheels and whisked her off to a hospital.

What does a person do after they watch someone else calmly try to commit suicide? Do you feel happiness they decided not to do it, sadness they thought about it, comfort they came to you? Is it right to think about them naked? I felt all of these things, concern, wonder, frustration that I had to spend the night watching over pampered drunk rich kids who probably wouldn’t do poor people like myself a favor by ending themselves one by one. But off went one of my residents, whom by rule I had to care about BUT only so much. And who by wanting to accompany to the hospital and make sure she was ok I had apparently overstepped the RA – resident relationship.

I forced myself to tear, then smiled. At least that fight with Beth was over. I hid in my room the rest of the night. Lights off, door locked, sitting in welcomed solitude.

I am never open. In truth every argument with the Beth’s of my past were really just my inability to commit, masqueraded as “relationship problems.” My problem is common and yet most women seem unable to see it, emotionally I always have one foot out of the door. I don’t trust them, and every time I have been proven right. I don’t think it is a self-fulfilling prophecy because the Beth’s never seemed to notice I am emotionally unavailable. My greatest gift has been the ability to mask feelings. My ability was matched with an extensive knowledge of people, specifically women. I knew what to say, how to act, what to do, I could be the perfect loving boyfriend and never get close enough to actually love.

“Sex”
“What?”
“Sex, it’s what we have in common.”
“What do you mean?”
“We both use sex to find happiness, hide our ugliness, and masque our inability to connect with people.”
“First off I don’t have a problem connecting, I just don’t trust people enough to try, and secondly I am fat, not ugly, I think I have a quite cute face, and my cute butt is the only thing that allows me to even get laid, which hardly ever happens.”
“Please and I am too ugly to be a stripper, let alone get paid to have sex, but truth be told both our reputations precede us.”

Like I cared about the university’s liability, I was always “in trouble” for some sort of policy, or caring too much about my residents. When my shift was over the next morning I illegally took a cab voucher and hoofed it to the hospital. I am not nearly as cold as I pretend to be. And while I keep a safe emotional distance from everyone, people do touch me. Seeing her in that state I needed to know she was ok. So I stayed, all the morning and through the next night until the hospital kicked me out. Apparently we didn’t look like family, no matter how many times she claimed I was adopted or a step-brother.

“Well I have been lucky no doubt, but it’s not like I have lots of women, just the right type so I am not bored.”
“What type is that.”?
“Please I am male, I don’t think I should discuss that perversion.”
“Please I am a stripper, do you think there is a perversion I haven’t heard of?”
“Fair enough, but I am your R.A. and I am drawing the line.”
“Fine, but I promise you this, as long as it isn’t bug squashing or little boys, I am sure you couldn’t freak ME out.”

Women who are comfortable with their sexuality, ok no person is comfortable with their sexuality, but women who aren’t afraid to be sexual- to embrace their sexuality – attract men. Everyone knows girls that weren’t necessarily attractive, yet their energy just engrossed men like a bug to a bright light. In High School they were degraded by being called sluts, in college they are just popular. To me they were my weakness. But it wasn’t just their sexuality; ok it was mostly their sexuality, but the baggage they came with, that made it easier. I could manipulate it, I am the master at making women feel special, and these women who are objectified and vilified by their gender are especially in need of positive reinforcement. And while I was focusing my energy and our time on their ego, I never had to be involved emotionally. They never notice that I am never in the picture. The relationship ultimately is entirely about them, and occasionally me getting off.

“Shouldn’t you be telling me to look for love and Mr. Right or something like that?”
“Please I respect you to much for that bullshit. What I have learned in dating, it is that eventually you run out of things to talk about, yourself, politics, religion, the world, eventually there is not much more to say, in the end I’d rather have lasting sex then a lasting conversation.”
“So just pretty legs, not a pretty mind.”
“No no those fade too, just the perfect sex life and enough conversation to fill those moments when you’re not having or thinking about sex.”
“Still sounds pretty ambitious.”
“That’s why I keep trying.”
We shared another knowing smile. It was nice; I normally do not even allow myself to get close enough to share genuine moments like that.
“Thank you so much for the other night, I don’t know what I would have done if you were not there.”
“Please, you wanted help, I just happen to be the appointed liaison for that, you would have found someone else. You saved yourself.”
“No, it was you.”

The ability to listen, it seems so simple, and yet we are so self-obsessed most people never really do it. I am equally self-obsessed, but I’ve learned listening is the number one defense against having to open up. My friendships are defined by people coming to me to talk out their problems, sharing intimate feelings and ideas, yet never even thinking about reciprocating. I sometimes think I should just charge.

Listening is so simple, if dorky men across the world realized their place was as emotional steward, and manipulate it, they all could get laid too. For all intensive purposes I should never get laid. In the movies I would play the lovable fat guy, always there to give advice and a shoulder to cry on while the protagonist works out the relationship with her prince charming. And yet I have been able to fool so many women out of their pants thinking maybe I was their prince charming. If I learned anything from the copious hours of John Hughes it is simply that women will sleep with you, if you allow them to no longer be ignored. Smart, attentive to their needs, make them laugh, isn’t that what they are supposed to look for anyway?

Ultimately they would realize they weren’t attracted to me and I would get the “it’s not you it’s me” speech. I had more female friends then a Tampax commercial (you know when being that time of the month makes women want to get together and have a pillow fight because they are using that feminine product).

The strangest thing about people is that once you show an interest in what they have to say they just open up. People are quick to trust, I suspect it’s because so few people are willing to go so long just listening to them, allowing them to get things off their chest.

In fairness there was a genuiness to her words. I actually felt like she needed me that night to survive. And while this boosted the ego, it was also scary. I had made a career of being there for people, but never enough to have a real emotional attachment, just enough to make it seem like I was there. Let’s face it I’m fucked up; who in their right mind would pick me as their crutch to stop suicide. But there she stood with her brown eyes looking into me, frightening me.

Depression is not sadness. People can have periods of sadness. But depression is the absence of happiness. It is a black hole for hope. There is nothing around you except more depression and that loneliness can never truly be breached. Happiness is fleeting and eventually the only comfort is the depression itself. It is predictable and you can count on it. More than you can count on any person, any deity. Depression is familial and strangely comforting. And so here I am constantly finding ways to be reconnected with my depression regardless of the situation.

It was this fundamental understanding that we shared. People smile at one another all the time. We smile at an interview to impress a potential boss, on a date, and in my case anytime I am around people. A smile can mask any emotion because people never question it. But every once in a while you can catch a real smile, not expressing happiness but understanding. It was that moment while she was laying there that the smile communicated the understanding of sadness. Our eyes met not in a romantic moment where time stops but mirroring the deep sorrow that was hidden from public scrutiny in our consciousness, and it was a moment I had never shared before.

She was released the next morning and I soon had another knock at my door.
“What are you doing today?”
“Besides waking up?”
“Yeah, what are you doing today?’
“Going to temple.”
“Temple?”
“Yeah its Saturday day, day of prayer for us Jews, it is where we go.”
“Can I go with you?”
“You want to go with me to temple?… But you’re not Jewish… Why?”
I hate asking questions that have obvious answers and yet I am often unable to stop. I don’t know if it is a character flaw, but it bugs the shit out of me.
“Cause I don’t want to leave you.”
“Look I am your R.A. and…”
“I don’t want to have sex with you, I just like your company and right now it’s comforting.”

My other character flaw is that I can’t say no to a woman when I think I might get laid. Even when we shouldn’t be having sex, the perpetual desire to possibly be laid again by someone new always wins out. I guess I am more male then I would like to admit, the penis seems to always get its way while the rest of me has spent a lifetime dealing with the consequences.

I also liked her company. I mean she was scary, but I felt safe, there was no bullshit, no emotional games that seem to go along with dating someone with estrogen. And so even though my brain and the picture of having to have a “private discussion” with my boss on proper resident R.A. behavior, I told her to get dressed and meet me in 20 minutes.

Men have to wear an undershirt, a shirt, coat, pants, socks, underwear, a belt, and a tie; it takes longer then you think to put together. What women have to put on is one to two pieces of clothing, in this case the bra was provided by the dress, and knowing her she wasn’t wearing underwear, and yet men always seem to take less time to get ready. For as long as I live, I will just never understand. An hour later we were off, I having eaten all sorts of snacks after having to abandon plans for a big breakfast, and her thoughts of anorexia after having to deny my offer of a breakfast bar.

My mother always felt alienated in our Jewish community. Many members of our temple sincerely brought us into their homes and opened their hearts. A gift that could never truly be repaid. But converts have an uncomfortable place in the Jewish community that is defined by its familial lineages. Something that makes little sense. As a black woman that chose the religion, she had a fervor and love for the religion that many born into the tradition could learn from. The fresh eyes, and novice appreciation is needed in a religion that too often judges character on the superficial understanding of its traditions.

I appreciated her fresh eyes on my Judaism. “Hebrew is really beautiful.” A thought I must confess never even entered my mind. She asked insightful questions, Jews would never have the guts to ask “Why are you Jewish? Why do you go to temple when you don’t even believe there is a purpose to life?” But what I really appreciated was simply when she touched my hand as the Rabbi gave his weekly speech.

Services are often just an unconsciousness of thought. I go because the time centered on G-d comforted me. But in truth I had long ceased feeling a deep spiritual connection to the service, in parts for sure, but in whole it was time for my mind to wonder. But with her the prayers were fresh, through her senses; they felt beautiful.

“So what are we doing now?”
“Are you serious, you’re not sick of me yet?” I had to fight the urge to ask for some alone time. While my conscious mind was screaming to be alone, I knew I would do nothing but think about hanging out with her.
“Time with you is comforting.”
“It always is in the beginning, don’t worry that stupid sensation will fade soon.”
“I am sure it will, but for now I might as well enjoy it.”

People have their ideas of romantic moments, a sunset walk on the beach, a candlelit dinner, a curled up evening in front of a fire. For me there was nothing more romantic than a woman in a sports jersey, well except a woman in a sports jersey yelling at the screen while watching the game. I was fighting the thoughts of seeing her naked. I had to be out of my mind, sure I liked her, but I liked everyone who showed an interest in me. It’s my insatiable need to get laid. If there is a possibility of sex, I can find endearing qualities in a Republican.

I pulled on her to sit down after she exploded in expletives at the referees call. She gave little resistance falling right into my lap.

I am a Cancer, our infatuations are quick, deep, and fleeting. But it felt different when she fell back into my lap and started caressing my arm. I was overcome by the moment and leaned in. That moment when you first lean in, first let your guard down is the one that is so scary. That split second can test the hearts of the strongest person. What if they don’t return your lean in? It’s an ultimate rejection that cannot be undone, and for me a pain never forgotten.

But she closed her eyes and met my lips. It sucked, who has good first kisses really? Nervous she would not return the lean in, worried the kiss will suck, pressure to perform and neither has kissed each other before. Styles often clash and you fuddle to find your rhythm.

Anyone who says they had a magical first kiss is lying. After that, it can be a wonderful experience. And for a woman who clearly knew what she was doing, the second and third kiss made my feet tingle in a way only girls are allowed to croon about.

There was not a fairy tale ending. I am still one foot out the door waiting to bolt. She strips to make herself feel better about herself. Her self-worth is crap, another lifetime wouldn’t cure it. But she makes me want to try harder, for the first time in my life I allow myself to have moments where I am not leaving. And most importantly, we have amazing sex; to-die-for sex. I don’t believe most men really have fetishes, we have getting laid, and if a woman wants to try something different we are all for it. I am extremely glad I get laid and she has lots of kinks that make that experience even more fun. But beyond that we fit, it’s a perfect fit. For the first time my penis is satisfied with what it has in front of it.

“With you I don’t want to die.”

I knew what she meant, for the first time in a long time, I had some fight in me. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I am still the scared little boy not wanting to come out from the corner of the room. Love is such a stupid word for it. With her, the hopelessness faded a little quicker.

Even as she walked passed my eyes couldn’t waver. Fixed on the unconventional beauty my gaze transfixed. A smile claimed the contours of her body and hugged her in a knowing comfort. Her hair cut short playing perfect frame for this captivating face which although colored with a red birthmark, far from detracting from her beauty it added to its character and simply punctuated her exquisite features. It became the star atop this glistening creature. Passing this remarkable character galvanized the sputtering in my stomach.

Her clothes do not reveal any mid body marks or insinuate any ease of access. But her beauty still mesmerizes the consciousness immediately. Her incisive eyes cutting to my brain.

Where did she come from? Do we go to school together? Will I see her ever again? Why did she wear that outfit? What does it say about her? Her upbringing? Does her voice compliment her form or eerily put it off? What keeps her interested when she sits at a desk and looks blankly? The thoughts that captivate her in the moments on a toilet? Does she like politics? Writing? Art? What are her passions? Do thoughts keep her up at night? Wonder what she looks like naked?

Tap on shoulder

“Do I know you?”
“umm… uuuhhh… I don’t think so.”
“You looked at me like you did.”
“I think maybe I hoped I did.”
That smile again
“Lunch?”
“huh?”
“Are you going to grab lunch?”
“I could be.” Class can wait.

“Why did you smile at me like that?”
“Because I have never seen anybody so beautiful.”
“You have to be kidding, you have to have said that before.”
“Me.. never, I would never have the guts, I am just… hopeful at seeing you.”

Having never done anything like it, the shock of her naked body echoed the morning sun tipping into view.

An afternoon breeze on the beach as a final kiss and a stomp on a cloth covered glass with bare feet to seal an eternal liaison.

Her screaming is interrupted by an answering call of a milk chocolaty child coming from between the legs of the vanilla creamed goddess. The sun permeates the room even as evaporates to the night. The sun’s fading glory highlighting how even through the shrieks of pain she exudes a true beauty that few could posses at such a moment.

And yet it is matched by the wrinkled smile still exuding the comfort of times now past, a small child on her lap she looks over, true love still radiating through those eyes not aged by life. The moon cooling the air as she smiled filled with the love of the years.

But she simply walked by. The thought saturates the stomach who has refused to let her go. And yet my brain turns me back around to continue walking to school.

“excuse me.”
“Oh oh… I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention… of you dropped… let me get…”
“I GOT IT.”

A tattoo on her back, lacey underwear pops out of the back of her jeans. She smiles a knowing glance. She shifts her red hair off her brow with one quick flick of her hand; an alluring move, that most certainly wins. A sparkle in another region takes over the brains consciousness.

“I wonder why she has that tattoo? Does it really say anything about her? Her upbringing? Did the smile mean anything? Is she interesting? Does she study politics? Medicine? Wonder what she looks like naked

[Screen shot Picture CNN beneath with person on top faded out]

“Please kill me. I have lost my wife, my unborn son. All the people who have professed to love me are now using my misery and this case to make a quick buck. The prosecutor has exploited my human mistakes for self-promotion. These 12 people, my peers, have proven humanities infinite ability to be manipulated.

“While G-d is the final arbitrator and thankfully knows the truth of my innocence, these 12 members have set themselves above the dominion and decided to take away my life he gave.

“We like to believe we have moved past the days of Gladiators sacrificed for our enjoyment. But countless Television shows and personalities have fained compassion and understanding while they devoted 2 minutes of biased talking heads to my human tragedy for ratings.

“Here I am a man accused of a murder I did not commit, before I get into a courtroom convicted for ratings. Made to be a dark vicious murderer for TV movies, a sick manipulator for book deals, worse a heartless philanderer for prosecutorial advancement. But I must confess relief. With out the talking asses on TV and familial exploitation, I may never have gotten relief from this world. Instead of agonizing over police incompetence and trying to move on, my life can quickly be extinguished and my soul take comfort with my departed family.

“I ask the judge today to sentence me to state assisted suicide. I have guards stand outside my door 24 hours a day making sure I do not do it myself. How else will you all make money? But it is a blessing with your help my soul can be delivered and I do not even have to pull the trigger. Please hurry, I have a meeting to get to.”

Suddenly Stanley was torn from his sleep, mercilessly his body had knowingly awoken. Stanley rolled over, “6:58” he always wondered how his body could awaken just before his alarm, he wanted those two minutes back, for them to never end.

Sleep, could it be called sleep? He knows he spent 8 hours in bed his eyes closed, and a certain level of consciousness that was not what people would call “awake.” Yet his eyes and body ached as if he had just crawled into bed 2 hours earlier after spending the night wasting his monthly paycheck at a bar. Stanley needed just 4 more hours for his body to feel rested, yet knowing he had to move his legs to the floor and body to the shower for he certainly would never get that well needed time.

Stanley rubbed his eyes, crust still in them from the nights sleep. He could fee the sleep in his eyes try to assure his eyes and body back to bed. Still red, he continued to rub.

“eeeeeeeeeeehhhhh,” there was nothing more wrenching nor horrible to his senses then this sound. Even though his body had already resigned itself to the unfortunate knowledge that its rest was over, its half conscious state was so unmercifully awoken by the mechanical alarm, whose horrific sound was incomparable to the natural world. Even a fly buzzing just outside the ear unable to be detracted from constant swats was not as unnerving as his 1987 Sony Clock Radio.

“Are you getting up now?” she asked.
He looked over at the voice reviving a memory of what had occurred the night before.

“Yeah Baby, I have to go take a shower, do you want to come with me?”
“No, I am going back to bed if that is ok if I stay, I don’t have class for a while…”
“Yeah no problem…”
“No, I am sorry, I will get up make breakfast for you or something.”
“No don’t be ridiculous, stay in bed..”
“But I…”
“No no, my body would never forgive me if I allowed you to get up when at least someone could be still sleeping…”

Stanley heard the shower still running, he assumed his roommate was still in there….He reached into the back of his boxers and gave his butt the familiar morning scratch, as if to say wake up ass, its time to look beautiful.

How did he go from waking up after noon when his body was ready, days full, nights unending until 3 or 4 o’clock to this horrible monotony of alarm clocks and breakfast with the Today Show. Stanley longed for the time when he had to plan to get up for special events on the Today Show and would surely go back to bed when they were finished. Who created this system of unending days in front of a computer sucked away by unimportant monotonous job and a boss who needed to take away his small enjoyments such as music during lunch to make herself feel like her job was important.

Every morning seemed precious; he woke up, made it to another day. The way the wind played with the hair on his arm, the way the morning dew soaked the front of his brown Birkenstock sandals, the way the warmth would some times be eroded by the cool breeze of morning, or envelope his senses so muggy it would make it hard to breath. The way the summer morning smelled so alike, yet slightly different bringing its own individual pleasure. A scent he was convinced that despite the best efforts (and his continued financial support of Pier One’s labors) could never be properly canned into a bottle or scented candle.

It was this very feeling of summer mornings that were the very reason he dreaded them so much. While the beauty of the day continued, he was like a jailed prisoner. Occasionally getting let out for twenty minute runs or errands whatever you called them. He knew at the end of his walk awaited steps to a subway, and then a bus and then a building that imprisoned him all day. A reality that struck him every time fellow commuters quickly passed to much in a rush to make it to their desks to notice the morning beauty.

He cherished the summer days, and that was why it was so hard to get up, to go and waist days, hours, seconds, in front of a computer in the pursuit of so much meaninglessness. Sure if he wanted to he could convince himself of the significance and how his actions and job affected so many people.

But truth be told, his decision to step out into the world to walk that next block, would affect the outcome of numerous people’s existences, he didn’t need the pretense of a job to understand the importance of his existence at that moment.

It was this awareness that made him so sad, and made him so surprised that the world could go on, while so many moments spent toward meaningless endeavors were wasted. History is something that happened to other people, he and the people that whisked by him every morning would soon be forgotten unimportant in the history of humanity.

By the end of the walk Stanley would remind himself that he was a young man, going through many of the growing pains so often described in books about post-college angst and trying to find his way in the world. To be sure Stanley did not have a claim of originality when it came to these feelings, never-the-less it did not make this realization less numbing… nor did the knowledge that the question has been asked so many times before, comfort him.

He was drawn to the sky, captivated by the intertwined blues and whites painting the morning. Wind picked up, lifting his spirits in the current. It was natures hug, the warm breeze letting him know it would be ok.

“Excuse me,” his shoulder was jerked forward by a Kate Spade purse that had just rammed into his side pushing him out of the way. Regaining composure after being lurched forward he noticed the long pointy black shoes whose likeness to a witches could not be avoided.

“All you need is the broom.” She looked back for a second furrowing her brow to which he laughed. His revenge was in the knowledge that they would be on the same subway train that wasn’t going to come for another four and half minutes.

With so many people Stanly figured that their awareness of each other would rise. But instead the rugged individualism that characterizes too many urban commuters took over.

Just the other day he had seen two commuters try to use the same ticketing machine from opposite ends, completely unaware of the other trying to do the same thing. And inevitably when the machine did not respond they did not look up to see their human counterpart across from them, rather they checked to see if their technologically advanced cardboard was working correctly when the visual diagnosis was quickly completed, they moved to the next machine.

In a few minutes, his individuality would be raped, stuffed into a box and carried off to his cell. He understood why people were so frustrated, so stressed, mad at the whole thing.

The day before last, Stanley had been trying to make a train home, as had countless people who were in front and behind him on the escalator, As the trains came every ten minutes, sure it was unimportant that he made that one, but after a long day at work, everyone wanted to just get home. But there stood four obnoxious girls, rich with clothing, so much so that 90 degree weather warranted a layer of cardigan sweater to cover their apparently freezing shoulders and back (this of course did not stop them from wearing almost nothing above their knees, nor showing as much of their chests and stomachs as decently possible…) There they stood unmoving, unapologetically blocking both rows on the escalator as the subway train came and went.

This was not a judgment (ok so it was a judgment) these girls could have been nice women, but at that moment their clear inability to care about the needs of countless people behind them seemed the type of wrong that warranted a good vocal abuse… of course he like all the other commuters bit their tongue. Stanley’s blood pressure took hours to finally cool back down.

The whole process robbed him of his cool accepting demeanor and turned him into a commuting Nazi, who’s only concern sadly was getting to and fro as quickly as possible, he wondered what would happen after 10 years of this? Probably end up with the same lifeless look he was now accustomed to viewing while riding the public transportation.

His day was wrought with the meaningless of thought that plagued to many of his friends, and it seemed especially so with his coworkers.

“You’re late.” Candy loved to point this out loud enough so his immediate boss could here.

“I know the metro was running late and…”

“My mother and I think that the reason you are late is because you think that when you get to the bus you are already here.”

“I know when I am on the bus, I am not here, the bus comes when it comes, I have to wait for it.”

“Why don’t you leave earlier?” You could tell the 8 minutes that separated his entrance from 9, was really bothering her. Something about this just made him snap, here stood Candy so proud of her self-aggrandizing as if there were a morality in being in at 9. All of those people convinced of the importance of their employment that they would run him over as he made his way every morning. He had to breathe to keep from strangling her (as if he could get his hands around her neck) she flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“If I had a job, I would have a problem being late EVERY morning.”

“You do have job,” Stanley retorted… “And its just 8 minutes, if I left 15 minutes earlier I would still get here at the same time, I would have to leave 30 minutes earlier just so I could get here on time… ITS JUST 8 MINUTES, I am sorry that your life is so negatively affected by this.”

“I just think you should be on time.”

“You know if you were in a different country this would not even be an issue, maybe you should travel see the world, that would give you some perspective so you would realize that it is 8 MINUTES. Every day it is the same thing, it is just 8 minutes… see the world, find out what is important and why you are ridiculous… you know you would figure you would have more sense seeing as you are from the south..”

“I am from TEXAS, and we can be on time for work in the south.” Stanley loved the way people from Texas would say that as if you should be impressed.

“It’s not as if you are NEVER late for work.”

“You have NEVER beaten me to work.” Candy raised her voice again so his boss could hear her.

“Why do you have to exaggerate something you know not to be true just so you can sound better at my expense,” Stanley knew he had her nailed. But even the satisfaction of beating her at her own game could not subside all the anger he had at that moment.

How does he do this everyday, buck up they say, this is life… Wow, life huh? The thought instantly cloaked Stanley in a feeling of emptiness. What is the alternative, is there some magical world that awaits Stanley that is so much better? Stanley loved to romanticize what he didn’t know or experience… Yet he knew.

Stanley was certain that other existences were similarly as meaningless…

He was young what does he know… Stanley hoped nothing because to be right, was a much more depressing reality.

StanleyCS35: “so this 75 year old millionaire led a double life with 2 families, children with both and everything… for like YEARS…they only lived 20 miles apart in Albuquerque, NM and even served on the same head board for their children’s rich private school…”

It was never to early to avoid work. Feeling especially annoyed at having to be crammed inside on such a day, Stanley began his work avoidance routine earlier than usual. Having caught up on all the news not worth knowing he was now sharing this wonderful story with a friend who was equally eager to avoid work by talking on Instant Messenger.

FlyShorty410: “I know…I read that”

StanleyCS35: “That’s fucked up man”

FlyShorty410: “Isn’t that crazy!!!!”

StanleyCS35: “although impressive…very impressive.” He repeated in his best Darth Vader voice as he waited for FlyShorty410 to reply.

FlyShorty410: “I thought that was crazy that he could lead that kind of double life, and the only reason they found out is because he married the other woman only 2 weeks after the other wife’s death.”

FlyShorty410: “I know…that’s what you want, right?” Stanley could here his ex in his head. The cynical voice were she slowed her words as they came out making it a point to add a certain disdain at the end of the sentence.

StanleyCS35: “Oh yes, I secretly converted to Mormonism in hopes years ago, and just waiting to move to Salt Lake when they finally make it legal again…”

StanleyCS35: “No, I just want lots of women around the country carrying my children. I don’t want the responsibility of a family, let alone TWO.”

FlyShorty410: “LOL” (laughs to self) “True true”

StanleyCS35: “That’s a lot of stress on a man”

FlyShorty410: “No kidding, but it helps to have TONS of money”

StanleyCS35: “Yeah, still really amazing. SAMANTHA… lets make babies”

FlyShorty410: “Nice, I think we have been down this road. Sucks for the children though, can you imagine being lied to like that?”

StanleyCS35: “I think at first I would be shocked, upset… then like YOU GO DAD”

FlyShorty410: “Very nice, he would have taught you well…. I would’ve been pissed.”

StanleyCS35: “Oh no, I would be like, I have so much to learn from you father if only I had known”

FlyShorty410: “Sick”

The timing of the article had felt of cosmic purpose. He had never been a cheater, a “serial monogamist” or “serial dater” his boss had described him. But there was that urge, that primal desire to have that type of choice, to be here or there, never getting stale. It was like permanently having two mistresses, and not just as lovers, but as families. The joy of difference all the time, it was an intriguing thought. But the stress of always worrying about being found out was tiresome. The families had the same lives so close in proximity to each other, serving on the committee for at the same school.

Did he never attend parent-teacher conferences? Go to social events with them? To the movies, for G-d’s sake, I mean somewhere where his double identity might be discovered? The best part was that he was in Albuquerque’s social elite, so his wife that died was in the news and in the fashionable circles?

Stanley’s mind tried to wrap itself around the depth of deception such a double life might take; “simple amazing” he thought. It’s hard enough to be happy and satisfy one woman at a time but two families? Maybe that was the beauty, all the time away from business, he never had to really deal with the life and work of a family… Sure a little, but he always had a foot out the door, a fall back, never having to truly let himself fall into the relationships. “Sick?”

Again the cosmos reared their ugly head. The mistress, the second girlfriend Joy called.

“We on for tonight?”
“Yeah what do you want to do?”
“Just come over and hang out.” Her one track mind was part of her appeal. Joy had a certain intoxicating salaciousness about her. There was nothing striking, nothing disproportionately out of place that made her alluring. No, she had a simple sensuality that art has always struggled to properly capture and throughout history had drawn simple men like him into trouble. Everything about her was sexual, and embracing her gift, she was only really about sex.

Instantly Stanley heard Fiona Apple in the forefront of his brain, “Heaven help me for the way I am.” Even though Joy was droning on, his attention was diverted from the phone conversation. There she was a few feet from his head, watching over him and his computer with that smile. Eyes wide with excitement, her short brown hair ruffled in all of its glory, he had captured Cecelia’s laughing in one of those small beautiful moments not often accurately depicted in an 8×10.

His stomach reminded him of his self-conscious displeasure for the current situation. Punching him from the inside. “Sick”

Luckily he was relieved of that tension and struck with an equally familiar and awful feeling. He knew that march, those sounds of feet walking together in that manner. It was amazing, when Stanley was going to get yelled at he knew, he could sense it like a bad bowel movement. In she walked with the certain, I am going to belittle you for nothing march. As if her smug entrance was not enough, the look on her face was sure to tell him how much of an idiot and disappointment he was for forgetting a vowel, or making one little correctable mistake.

“What is this, why would you do that?”
“Do what?”
“This, This”
“Oh, that is how you told me to do it”
“No I didn’t I would never do that”
“Yeah you did just last week see, it’s how we did it, it’s even in the survey.”
“Oh my g-d, I can’t believe you did that, now that’s in there”
“But you said,”
“Well do it right this time. Like this, without the question mark.”

Last week it was with the question marks, this week without question marks. Stanley wanted to know what type of person got off belittling employees because they did/didn’t have a correct question mark?

“Question mark this, ass.” At least that is what his brain said, he remained quiet stead-fastly focused on the screen trying to repair the irreparable harm of 4 question marks when they could be periods (even though they were indeed questions, I guess that just a pesky detail not to get in the way of the daily self-esteem boost his boss gets from the anal-retentive belittling)

“And this what is this? This is not correct”
“Yeah it hasn’t been correct since we got it, it didn’t work last week and still doesn’t I don’t know what to do about it, the data we were sent is wrong.”
“Fix it,”
“Actually I was going to recall all those people and ask them personally what they meant just to make sure we got the right answer, then I am going to pay for the surgery to removed the stick that is firmly up your ass and put it over your mouth that way I can ignore you easily instead of having to tune you out while you get yourself off at my expense,” but again his better sense stifled this response and instead muttered a “I will see what I can do.”

Was there a moment Stanley enjoyed more then this tit for tat, this anal-retentive anger that could only be reserved for precious things as question marks.

“You have made so many mistakes; do you even look at your work?”
“I’m sorres sir, I try betta nest time, please sirs don’t beat ma,” so many things he always wanted to say, but still he kept it in.
Instead, “I will fix it.”

This is what happens to a good person when they get power. No one to work for always being brow bitten by a similarly soon to be cardiac-arrest level of anal retentiveness, she was like a child whose parents beat them. Once she finally got promoted to the level of having her own employee, she employed the same technique of belittling and self-aggrandizing criticism of mundane work that leaves the employee feeling needlessly demeaned and the boss artificially inflated.

Stanley came to her office to drop off the new pile of papers for her to criticize

“What would you do if I would not catch all these mistakes; I don’t think you look over these that closely”

“I actually think the world would keep spinning,” He could see the air in little balloon go out. He plopped the report on her desk and left, feeling of pleasure rising in his chest.

The only thing left to do was fulfill his hourly portion of holding on to a sliver of sanity by walking outside. But the heat meant that any clear thought would quickly be wiped away.

No matter how much he tried to distract himself mentally, the white pants with black thong were too much of a distraction. It wasn’t that Stanley had a fetish for these things, but his maleness would take a hold of him in an instant drawing his attention and head toward the panty-lines or underwear, giving him a usually stirring of emotion in the nether regions. How could he not be attracted or at least look? Isn’t that why they created that clothing to attract men like him? Well not like HIM per-say.

He was sure that the women who wore these tantalizing pieces were not picturing his chubby likeness when deciding to wear such eye focusing clothing. Never the less it didn’t stop his mind from wondering what it would be like to be with them. If he had a fetish for anything it was with exhilaration of the senses that being with a woman could bring. The smell the room fills with during a sultry sexual escapade, the sound a woman truly enjoying the experience, the feel of a woman’s skin as she slithered beneath him, their taste as a woman became more and more excited on his tongue. The whole experience was so intoxicating a good man he presumed himself to be was constantly making bad decisions because of it.

Seeing these women walk by enjoying the summer with their wardrobes was too much to concentrate on, he may need to stop into the bathroom for a few minutes before he was ready to go back to his desk and do nothing.

For now, his focus returned to food, pizza or Chinese from the mall food court. Walking through the scenic riverside pathway he put on his IPOD to drown out his thoughts. It proved to be a mistake as the sound of Fiona Apples, “Sleep To Dream” echoed from his to the pit of his soul.

The emptiness of his existence struck without the feeling to care what he was putting in his mouth he sat with a pizza in front of him. No part of Stanley’s day was easy, he could think of several instances during the day that he could list as the worst, but the free time to think of his direction seemed to resonate most with the despair he felt toward the world. Stanley tried to dismiss the feeling as sappiness, many people just working in this mall had it much worse why should he mourn so much for his position.

The dying of a dream while working in his chosen field, the feeling of being alone while spending his nights with two women, It was amazing how a simple song could plunge him into an abyss of despair, that for those few minutes depths seem endless. He wasn’t sure if it would make it worse or better but he decided to brave the chance watching the scantly clad Georgetown students might make him feel better.

He had become one of those men, one of those men who takes a pit stop in the bathroom for use other than their intended bodily function relievers. There he sat hoping no one came in and no one noticed the dirty magazine in his pocket when he left, it was one of those guilt ridden activities that had become essential to surviving the day. A little pick me up after the images of the women in summer garb singed the brain with the real decision making in his crotch.

Not wanting to finish the 30 minutes of work he had to pace out through out the day he decided to call Cecelia, apparently she had not gotten the memo that he was horny.

“I mean we will have the cutest kids, I just love Black babies.”
“Yes, well interracial kids are always the best looking if I may say so myself.”
“I know I will have to convert, but I think I will be ready by then.” Always an awkward conversation, not because he did not think his religion important, but rather how he could impose it on the woman when he was unsure he even wanted to marry her.
“You know I support whatever you decide to do.”
“It’s just what do you think we will do, how will we travel together, where will we be? How will we get back to Malawi?”
“I’ve never been to Malawi.” Suddenly he wasn’t as excited as he was during his lunch walk.
“I know but it’s like a home to me and so you, I miss it so much, I don’t think you understand how much I miss it.”
Things were always worse for her. Not really, but for Cecelia, Stanley who was so stout on the outside, she could not fathom the depth of emotion she had toward life could be understood by Stanley. Although different Stanley found a way to torment himself much more than Celelia could ever imagine and the resolute smile he put out to the world was simple a mechanism of coping otherwise he might spend all day crying were he to have to face it in the openly.

“I have some idea, I know its tough but we will find a way to incorporate it into our lives.”

“How?” If Stanley had that answer he probably could find a way to have just one girlfriend to please him.

“I don’t know, it will work itself out, just graduate first and we will figure it out from there.” Fear that he would be stuck in this job deadened his backbone; he had to sit on the stoop outside work.

“Do you love me?” It turned out to be a good decision.

“Huh… What do you mean? Of course I love you.” Sometimes he was unsure and Cecelia could feel it.

“I think your lunch hour was over 20 minutes ago.” For once Candy’s obnoxious demeanor had done Stanley some good.
“Ceces I have to go, I love you I will talk to you later tonight. You coming by?”
“No late class.” He knew that, that is why he had plans with Joy later that night. “I love you to baby, I will talk to you later.”

JoytoTheWorld49: I can’t wait to lick you later tonite
StanleyCS35: I can’t wait to see you either.

“Stanley what are you up to?” His boss knew it was not work, but he kept up the pretense just for her.
“Just finishing the survey for tomorrow.” It would take him 5 minutes and it had to last him 3 more hours until quitting time.
“Since you keep messing up I want to see it before I go.”
“Ok, 5 minutes.”
“It should have been done already, why are you so slow? I have hoped you would have taken to this already and be asking for more work so we could take on more clients.” Stanley couldn’t possibly think of a reason to request more boring work, and more headache from his boss, it seemed even odder that she was unable to grasp this obvious reality. Who asks for more water torture while strapped to the machine?

JoytoTheWorld49: Where is my big black penis?

It’s like she knew the perfect time to write this. The disgusted look on my bosses face as she took the few steps back to her desk to loudly stomp off and scowl said it all.

“Just stop goofing off and get it down.”

StanleyCS35: Possibly in the unemployment line my boss saw that.

“You know I make more than you now do you know why that is?” Candy couldn’t wait to squeeze some more self congratulations out of this latest dust up.
“Because your lips are bigger and more round making them better at kissing ass?”
“Why do you have to be such an asshole, G-d you think you are so much better than everyone.”
“No I just KNOW I am better than you.”
“Well it’s cause I worker harder than you I am always working.”
“Yeah that certainly makes me the fool.”

StanleyCS35: What time do I get to see you naked tonight?

Having handed off the last of his work just before 2 o’clock it was time to pretend to still have more to do. No one really believed Stanley was still doing work, but the pretense was better than confrontation.

Candy moved in again hoping to successfully take Stanley down a peg. Surely his lack of morality in the face of all his moralizing would shame him in front of the office. Stanley admired her spirit to keep on fighting even if it was in vain. What she just couldn’t comprehend is that he just didn’t give a shit about what Candy or his boss thought of him.

“How many girlfriends do you have NOW?” Candy started in again, she knew he wasn’t working.
“Besides your mother and sister?”
“G-d you such an asshole.”
“And yet the women love me.”

JoytoTheWorld49: In time for our BET Slow Jamz

StanleyCS35: That late, can’t you come sooner so we can have rest and do it again by then?

JoytoTheWorld49: Well I will be there as soon as I can, I can’t wait to get you inside me.

StanleyCS35: So you just using me for the sex? Not that I am against that.

JoytoTheWorld49: Cause you are the perfect man

St: Perfect Man?

JoytoTheWorld49: Yeah you are an original Metrosexual, without all the male beauty products.

St: Damn I thought I was an O.G. (slang for Original Gangster) what do you mean?

JoytoTheWorld49: Well you are what is popular to look for right now, a straight man who is like a gay guy… knows women, good with colors, can cook.

St. Really I thought that was just being a liberated feminist

JoytoTheWorld49: Today we call it metrosexualism

St. I like to think I don’t come from it from that perspective, I do it because it makes me happy and as a feminist. I am also sensitive, into women’s desires, respectful and for those reasons I don’t want to limit myself to cliché male/female stereotypes. I just thought it was being a liberated nice guy who wants to be able to like football and ironing.

JoytoTheWorld49: Sure if you wanted to throw logic into the whole thing, I just like to think of you as my big black metrosexual.

St. Thanks

JoytoTheWorld49: I mean really you are like being with a Lesbian, cause you are a woman who likes woman. You even like to eat women out.

St: Especially you. But a lesbian you think? I don’t think I would make a good woman I like my penis to much.

JoytoTheWorld49: Well sure who doesn’t but it is ironic that you like your penis and seem to hate people who also have them

St: What do you mean?

JoytoTheWorld49: Well you don’t really have any male friends

St. My roommate

JoytoTheWorld49: And Besides him? Well and Evan and you guys have been friends since High School and he is the only one I know of. Why do you not like boys?

St: I don’t know to be honest I think men are boring.

JoytoTheWorld49: Really? Why?

St: Men are easy and straight forward. Women are always fun what with the estrogen and all.

JoytoTheWorld49: lol how very un-feminist of you.

St: I know. I will apologize to Susan B. Anthony later ( look up) I mean women are more complicated, with depth of thought and feelings and willing to share that depth with me. Men we can only really talk about politics and sports or music or games or something like that. I am as progressive thinking man I still feel uncomfortable talking with a guy about anything other then the superficial.

JoytoTheWorld49: Yeah man on man don’t really talk about these things.

St: Sure we do with women, not with other men can you imagine? No sex, no relationship stuff, no emotions whatsoever.

JoytoTheWorld49: Really, I thought that is all men talk about.

St: No it is all we think about, men don’t talk about sex with each other

JoytoTheWorld49: You saying men don’t talk about sex? I know that’s not true.

St: I mean we talk about obnoxious things like how good that ass looked or how big our friend’s girlfriend’s hooters are. But we don’t actually talk about their sex lives. I remember the longest conversation I ever had about sex with a guy. Evan was like I had sex and I said really. He goes it was nice. That’s it that’s the longest.

JoytoTheWorld49: LOL yeah women can get graphic we talk about it all.

St: Don’t I know it.

JoytoTheWorld49: Personally I always liked hanging out with boys. So much simpler none of that bullshit that other women get into. No games, none of that stuff, I think I would have made a good boy.

St: I am glad your not that’s for sure. You look good as a girl

JoytoTheWorld49: yeah what do you like

St: I will tell you tonight while I am looking at them up-close.

JoytoTheWorld49: Good I have to go, but I will see you later and stay hard for I can’t wait to have my way with you.

St. Please as if you could push me around at midget size

JoytoTheWorld49: Hey pack a lot of punch in this small frame as you well know

St. That you do, see ya soon

JoytoTheWorld49: Later

After all this typing over instant messenger it was hard to continue the kabuki performance about working, but Stanley put his headphones down and continued to pretend as he streamed NPR through his computer.

It seemed that a day could not go by with Stanley not dreaming of other employment. Stanley listened to an NPR report about the increase desire of people to switch jobs, to do what they want, yet when they do it, find that it is not all that they had thought or hoped it might be, was this Stanley’s problem? Was there really a job out there for him? This seemed to be a theme with Stanley, a burning desire for something different, but was it really better? Or just post college-grad angst? Could he be happy anywhere?

Stanley felt like he had life ADD, directionless and broken at such a young age it seemed impossible to think about the future. Just out of college Stanley was the oldest 22 year old of anyone he knew. The weight of life came crashing around him as he stared at the walls of hope that were failing to inspire happiness.

He had a good job, a great girlfriend, a hot fuck buddy, nice job and apartment. Was there more he was missing or was he always going to be plagued with the certainty that someone else’s life, another job was always better.

Somehow his boss was able to pull him out of his impending dive from the top of the roof.

“I am leaving early, Jared has an appointment with the doctor. This is passable though be ready for tomorrow.” With each arm she put into her jacket Stanley’s spirit rose a little bit more.

“It’s about time your big black dick got here, get undressed and get in me.”

“Do sweet talk all the men that come here?”

But that was the irony of all of Joy’s talk and swagger, as he was pulling off his shirt Joy reached for the lights. Joy talked a lot about sex, but she seemed to be scared of it. Cecelia was reserved and inexperienced and yet when it came to her sexuality she was willing to try anything and sexually curious in an almost off putting way for Stanley. He expected the saint outside to be the same inside. And here Joy, a woman who got him with her suggestive sexual promiscuity was so uncomfortable with sex it could almost be boring.

There was one advantage Joy would always have over Cecelia that kept him coming back. As he entered her felt her muscles tighten on his penis he nearly came. The tight fit squeezed more ecstasy from his body than he could imagine with someone so uncomfortable with the act.

He moaned with pleasure and started kissing Joy’s favorite place on her neck hoping to get a response from her. She smiled, wiggled and gave a little grunt of pleasure to let him know he was on the right track.

“Don’t come, I am so close.”
“Ok”
“Oh g-d, don’t move,” It was the weirdest orgasm he had ever encountered. Stanley had to stop so that she could let go. But in a way it was the most enjoyable and endearing. There was no faking this, it was sweet, honest, intimate and strangely the most sexy. It brought a true smile to his face and he brought his arms beneath her and held her tight.
“Don’t stop your not done.” He cherished the moment before turning her over.
“Baby I’m close.”
“Oh g-d cum.”
“Can I cum on your back?” She stopped meeting his thrusts abruptly.
“You know I don’t like you cumming on me.”
“I can’t finish inside either you aren’t on anything.”
“Finish over there.” She pointed to the usual box of tissues. It was the worst part of being with her.

“We must be the only people who actually WATCH BET’s (uplate, smooth nights)”
“I know but that cause we don’t waste time with all that talking beforehand nonsense.”
“It is nice to talk once I am relaxed.”
“Do you want to have sex again?”
“Sure.” He rolled on top of her started working his way down her tiny body with his lips. She moaned and grabbed his head as he enjoyed her small breasts. He went to his favorite part past the stomach to right before her pubic hair started. But she grabbed his ears.
“Don’t”
“but I love the way you taste, I want to.”
“But then I can’t kiss you until after sex when you wash and brush your teeth.” He begrudgingly came back up as she grabbed his penis to go back inside.

“I never thought I would enjoy watching the Golden Girls after sex.”
“But they are wonderful I am glad you stayed.” Even as the perfection of the feeling he had as this tiny figure was engulfed in his arms he knew it had to stop. Two women were two too many. He looked over and smiled. She was perfect and he knew he would let her go soon, maybe make her want to break up. His actions made his stomach turn, he couldn’t keep this up, but what if he was making the wrong choice. “Sick” he thought.