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Fucking Around

 

 

 

“What are you doing?” she asks in that lazy drawl of hers I like so much. It feels like – her voice feels like she’s softly drawing nails across my naked chest.

 

I like it.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” I retort, injecting some impatience in my voice.

 

“I know,” she answers. “That’s not what I wanted to ask. I mean, what are you writing?”

 

My head dances from left to write as I shake it. “Nothing serious. I’m just fucking around.”

 

Even though I’m not looking at her – my focus is on the words unraveling on the page in front of me – I feel it the moment she goes still. She’s about to ask one of those annoying and absolutely irrelevant questions women ask in times like this.

 

I continue punching the keyboard and wait.

 

“Is that…is that what we’re doing – fucking around?”

 

I laugh; a short and harsh sound. “Not really. I haven’t fucked you – yet.”

 

The confusion she’s struggling with is a presence – a palpable enough presence even from across the room. I wait patiently till she opens her mouth – and then I say, “You’re trying to decide which to go with – offense or intrigue. Fair enough – but don’t deny yourself the pleasure of knowing just because you’re conscious of political correctness. It’s a waste of time.”

 

Now I lift my eyes to her face.

 

She sighs, swings her legs off the table and straightens her dress. “I’m curious as to why you haven’t…you know…” her voice trails off.

 

“Fucked you?” I ask, hoping the mischievousness I feel is reflected in my grin.

 

“Must you say it that way? Aren’t there other words for it?”

 

“It is what it is.” I rise slightly – and allow a mask of indifference settle on my face. “As to why I haven’t – “ she tenses and I smile. “…why I haven’t touched you, there’s a reason.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. There always is with you.”

 

“Well,” I continue like I didn’t hear her, “the thing is, I don’t like you enough to want to wake up beside you yet, and I like you too much to want to let you go so quickly. I’m getting to know you; taking the time to find if there’s more to you than those boobs that always look like they’re talking to me. If there is, well…” I lift my shoulders and drop them. “If there isn’t, well…” I repeat the action.

 

She walks up to me and leans a round hip against the table. “They did tell me you think too much. They told me you make mountains out of molehills and see signs where there’s nothing to see. What does all that thinking and analysis do for you?”

 

I drag my eyes off a thigh that is getting lighter the higher I go and frown at my screen. “Hmm. Remember Joseph? I’m sure Potiphar’s wife said the same thing to him – ‘What’s the big deal? My husband will never know!’ “

 

“We all know how that worked out for him, don’t we? Took his childish ass to jail!”

 

“What would have happened if he had slept with his boss’ wife?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing na! What would have happened?”

 

“Exactly. Nothing. He would never have gone to jail. He probably would have never had the dream interpretation skill, would have never become Prime Minister. And the famine would have come – and Egypt would have been just as devastated as the rest of the world.”

 

“You’re so full of yourself, aren’t you?”

 

I shrug. “I can make space for you if you like,” I say.

 

She looks like she wants to run and stay and slap me – all at the same time. Finally, she settles for hugging herself. “I really hate you,” she says.

 

“Isn’t that why you like me?” I retort with a smile.

 

“What makes you think I like you?”

 

I nod. “Well then, maybe ‘like’ is too strong a word. Whatever it is sha, it’s why you’re here – even though you know I’m an arrogant prick. That’s why you cannot leave even though you really don’t like the way I talk to you. See, in spite of your experience concerning men you haven’t met one quite like me – “

 

“Who says?” she interrupts.

 

“Hush,” I say gently. “As I was saying – I’m something new. Something you’re not used to. And that is the attraction I have for you. At the moment, I’m simply something you can’t figure out. I intrigue and confuse you. So you hang around, hoping to see something that will explain me, or you’ll become bored or I’ll revert to type and behave in a more familiar way – whichever comes first. But you’re starting to be unsettled because it’s not quite working out the way you expected. The deeper you go the more you like what you see – and the more you like, the more confused you get. You cannot help yourself – you’re bothered to find you’re a kiss-and-a-half away from falling for me completely.”

 

She doesn’t answer, engrossed in staring at the Kilowog action figure standing on my desk.

 

IMD0707201645

 

 

“You women are confused sha o,” I start. “You complain that men think with their dicks, and when you meet one who actually thinks with his brain you don’t know what to do with him.” I spread my arms. “How’s that for confusion?”

 

“It’s not that – it’s not confusion.” She sighs and purses beautiful lips. “See, we’re – women are used to men with agendas. We’re used to men offering us sex, and the ones that may be the exception to the rule don’t talk so it’s easier to assume they also want the same thing, they’re just too shy to admit it. Because of that, we know how to deal with men. We decide if we want it to or how it fits into our agenda. So imagine having to fight men off all your life – and then meeting one that just wants to keep his distance.” She inhales, and then looks at me with soft eyes. “How’s that for confusing?”

 

Leaning back in my chair, I frown. I cannot think of a response to that. “That’s – that’s a good point,” I admit grudgingly.

 

She smiles as she pushes the beads around her left wrist distractedly, and then the beaded wrist gets lost in her unruly mass of hair; hair I just want my fingers to get lost in. And she’s smiling – at me. It’s a smile I like better the more I see it. I want to touch her mouth so bad – it’s an urge that startles me – and I put my hands under my armpit.

 

It shames me that, for all my philosophizing I actually want her.

 

“Have you finished the story?” she asks softly.

 

“No,” I answer irritably. “Well yes, it’s done.”

 

She turns the laptop her way and starts to read, her lips moving gently – almost imperceptibly. My glance happens to shift downwards and I find myself looking down her blouse.

 

Oh Lord.

 

Quickly, I find some new holes to examine in my ceiling.

 

“That’s it? What am I supposed to make of this?” She pushes the laptop back to me and places hands on her hips, mouth in a pout.

 

“Well, I did tell you I was just – “

 

“Fucking around,” she says along with me. Her hair bounces as she shakes her head, but I’m pleased to see she’s still smiling.

 

“Exactly,” I finish.

 

 

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10 responses

  1. For all the philosophizing, Bros still is like all men. Maybe a more refined version.

    Lovely story. I love the dialogue

    July 7, 2016 at 11:38 pm

  2. imotolab2014

    imagine oo

    July 8, 2016 at 1:23 pm

  3. All hail the fuckeruper

    Nice one here… crazy dialogue. I loveet!

    July 8, 2016 at 3:01 pm

  4. It’s hard to find a writer who makes words dance on the page like this. The dialogue is the sweetest part of this whole piece, walahi. I like. Very much. You are an inspiration.

    July 9, 2016 at 8:00 am

  5. Wow, I love the subtle banter! It glued me right from the start. Lovely piece here

    July 9, 2016 at 8:21 am

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