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Authors: Mark Henry
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knees, gripped the thigh of my dislocated leg in one hand and the back of my knee with the other and popped that fucker right back in place. In another minute, he had me on my feet and bearing a little weight.
“Good as new,” he said.
I took a few steps and although it was a little sore, didn’t seem any worse for wear. Except for a dark blue stain that ran from my crotch clear around to my asshole. Oh, the joys of death.
I threw my arms around Scott’s neck and gave him a big old sloppy frencher. “You, my gorgeous love slave, are certainly handy. You’ll have to tell me how you learned to do that trick.”
“You mean the one with my tongue?”
“Uh…no. But since you went there.” My mood changing in an instant. “What’s up with going shifty on me?”
“I don’t know. I just really lost it tonight.”
“Well. We’re going to have to put a moratorium on shower sex. How did we even end up on the floor like that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You slipped,” a woman’s voice said.
My head nearly spun off, jerking toward the sound.
Wendy’s head jutted from a crack in the door to the separate water closet. She teetered forward on the edge of the toilet seat, a vexed grin plastered on her face, and a suitcase at her feet.
“What the fuck?” Scott covered his man bits and scurried from the room, leaving a track of wet footprints and an echo of curse words bouncing off the tumbled marble.
“Wow. Scott’s got a real case of winter body, huh?”
“What?” I hobbled over to the towel warmer and snatched one off.
“You know. Pasty. His hair pops against his white skin like a pencil sketch.”
Now, it doesn’t matter that Wendy’s statement was true. Scott could certainly use a tan, but I’m willing to overlook it considering I’d be like the albino being a pigment judger. “What the hell are you doing here, Wendy? I mean other than being a voyeur and pissing off my boyfriend.”
“I’m going with you to your reality show gig. I gotta break me off a piece of Johnny Birch.”
I gestured to the suitcase. “You act like it’s tomorrow or something.”
“It’s not?”
“Is it?”
“You don’t know?”
“I haven’t even talked to Karkaroff about any of it, though I’m certain in her mind it’s a done deal.”
“Well, I just like to be prepared.” She patted the suitcase and then her forehead, indicating some level of brilliance I wasn’t aware of.
“You’re not going, Wendy.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
“Oh, no?”
“Stop that! You can’t just keep asking questions and think that’ll discombobulate me enough to agree to your crazy plot to screw a wood nymph. Now come here and help me into the bedroom, I’m still a bit wobbly.”
“A super-famous and wealthy wood nymph,” she corrected, slipping her arm under mine and bracing my weight through the door.
Scott, crammed into his jeans and a tee, busied himself packing spare underwear into his overnight bag. He clomped around the room, snatching his things off the dresser, his face broadcasting his fury.
“So you’re not staying?” I asked and shooed Wendy off to the living room. She lingered at the door a bit.
“Get out, Wendy.” Scott spat the words like venom.
She scurried away, shutting the door behind her. I imagined her running for a glass to magnify our voices through the door. As it turned out, amplification wouldn’t be necessary.
“And no, I’m not staying. In fact, I’m leaving.” His eyes bugged, daring me to say something.
“Okay.” The word lilted at the end, the beginnings of anger stirring. “Care to tell me why?” 22
“How’s this? You don’t value what we have.”
“How do you figure?”
Scott stepped around the bed, confronting me directly, using his hands a lot, like wolves do. “You insulate yourself with social engagements. You’re so busy being a persona, even when we’re alone, you’re still ‘on.’ Or available!” He pointed toward the living room.
“Good as new,” he said.
I took a few steps and although it was a little sore, didn’t seem any worse for wear. Except for a dark blue stain that ran from my crotch clear around to my asshole. Oh, the joys of death.
I threw my arms around Scott’s neck and gave him a big old sloppy frencher. “You, my gorgeous love slave, are certainly handy. You’ll have to tell me how you learned to do that trick.”
“You mean the one with my tongue?”
“Uh…no. But since you went there.” My mood changing in an instant. “What’s up with going shifty on me?”
“I don’t know. I just really lost it tonight.”
“Well. We’re going to have to put a moratorium on shower sex. How did we even end up on the floor like that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You slipped,” a woman’s voice said.
My head nearly spun off, jerking toward the sound.
Wendy’s head jutted from a crack in the door to the separate water closet. She teetered forward on the edge of the toilet seat, a vexed grin plastered on her face, and a suitcase at her feet.
“What the fuck?” Scott covered his man bits and scurried from the room, leaving a track of wet footprints and an echo of curse words bouncing off the tumbled marble.
“Wow. Scott’s got a real case of winter body, huh?”
“What?” I hobbled over to the towel warmer and snatched one off.
“You know. Pasty. His hair pops against his white skin like a pencil sketch.”
Now, it doesn’t matter that Wendy’s statement was true. Scott could certainly use a tan, but I’m willing to overlook it considering I’d be like the albino being a pigment judger. “What the hell are you doing here, Wendy? I mean other than being a voyeur and pissing off my boyfriend.”
“I’m going with you to your reality show gig. I gotta break me off a piece of Johnny Birch.”
I gestured to the suitcase. “You act like it’s tomorrow or something.”
“It’s not?”
“Is it?”
“You don’t know?”
“I haven’t even talked to Karkaroff about any of it, though I’m certain in her mind it’s a done deal.”
“Well, I just like to be prepared.” She patted the suitcase and then her forehead, indicating some level of brilliance I wasn’t aware of.
“You’re not going, Wendy.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
“Oh, no?”
“Stop that! You can’t just keep asking questions and think that’ll discombobulate me enough to agree to your crazy plot to screw a wood nymph. Now come here and help me into the bedroom, I’m still a bit wobbly.”
“A super-famous and wealthy wood nymph,” she corrected, slipping her arm under mine and bracing my weight through the door.
Scott, crammed into his jeans and a tee, busied himself packing spare underwear into his overnight bag. He clomped around the room, snatching his things off the dresser, his face broadcasting his fury.
“So you’re not staying?” I asked and shooed Wendy off to the living room. She lingered at the door a bit.
“Get out, Wendy.” Scott spat the words like venom.
She scurried away, shutting the door behind her. I imagined her running for a glass to magnify our voices through the door. As it turned out, amplification wouldn’t be necessary.
“And no, I’m not staying. In fact, I’m leaving.” His eyes bugged, daring me to say something.
“Okay.” The word lilted at the end, the beginnings of anger stirring. “Care to tell me why?” 22
“How’s this? You don’t value what we have.”
“How do you figure?”
Scott stepped around the bed, confronting me directly, using his hands a lot, like wolves do. “You insulate yourself with social engagements. You’re so busy being a persona, even when we’re alone, you’re still ‘on.’ Or available!” He pointed toward the living room.
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