The Rendezvous

She whispers in my ear, Oh John.
I ask her who’s John, the alcohol still slurring my words.
That was the name you gave to the bartender.
Hmm, I grunt, keeping my attention focused on her breasts.
What’s with the fake names? Are you scared of me? she asks, her fingers reaching between my legs, making me feel both wanted and vulnerable.
I wouldn’t be naked in your arms if I were scared, I tell her .
I ask her if she wants me to call her Amy. She giggles and asks, Is that the name I used tonight?
I don’t know, I say, but I always wanted to sleep with an Amy.

She suddenly gets up and lights a smoke. She says, I am craving for ice cream.
I make a face. Put out your cigarette before you burn the place down and does it have to be ice cream? Why can’t we just eat more nachos with spicy salsa instead of that sweet poison?
Lactose intolerant? she asks, tossing a pillow at my head.
High fructose corn syrup, I say, my words muffled from under the pillow.
All you fucking health freaks should be wiped from the face of this planet, she declares.

She climbs on top of me and playfully pushes the pillow down on my face. I push my groin against hers.
Mmm, erotic asphyxiation, I mumble, a little turned on.
She pushes the pillow down harder on my face.
You are hurting me, I say. She doesn’t stop, so I push her off me. What the fuck? I ask her.
She runs a finger down her neck. Haven’t you ever fantasized of choking me, baby?

I should probably leave, I say.
Stay, she pleads,  I don’t want to wait a whole week to see you again.
Ash falls from the lit end of her cigarette onto the bed and I imagine the room engulfed in flames, the two of us lying in bed, choking each other.
I haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower yet, I mumble.
What? She is thrown off by the sudden non sequitur. You are leaving to go see the Eiffel Tower?

I tell her we should cool off for a bit. I tell her maybe I shouldn’t be here next week, so we won’t keep getting on each other’s nerves.
Don’t be so dramatic, she says
You wouldn’t know drama if it came and slapped you with a ten pound hammer, I tell her.
She pretends to look around the room. I wish I had a ten pound hammer to slap you with, she says.

As I slip into my boxers she says, I know your name, you know. I looked at your license.
I look at her and sigh.
Now you do want me choke me, she says.
I shake my head. I ask her if she really wants me to stay. She nods her head.
I tell her I have a lot to lose.
Me too, she says. You know that.
I look at the cigarette in her hand and raise my eyebrows. She puts it out in the ashtray and raises the sheets and pats the bed under it, inviting me. I stand for a long time staring at her, weighing my next move.


About fictionfuture

An experiment in minimalist fiction View all posts by fictionfuture

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