A coy smile spreads her lips as if some epiphany coalesces in her consciousness. Some light turns on as she reaches out to pinch my cheeks. My actions, or words or emotions remind her of my fathers suspicion that I am a very sensitive person in denial about being gay. Somehow I confirm this for her. Where once I pumped my ego with the description of stud, she deflates me completely by describing me as a nice guy. Again, with the nice guy thing. The last thing I desire is to be called a nice guy. It’s tantamount to describing a woman as having a nice personality. Who needs that? Worse is her new nickname for me; Mr. Sensitive. Mr. Sensitive is the guy forever locked in the friendship zone. She may as well describe me as a wussy nice guy virgin who needed to man up.
I collapse on the bed covering my eyes with my arms and stomping my feet into the mattress in as an adult manner as I can muster for this particular moment. Disbelief is too weak a word to adequately describe the anger and embarrassment at his allegations. What did I expect? My father is a complete dick.
In the ‘more information no son need know about his father’, she tells me he’s not hurting in that area before entertaining the idea that size may also not be genetic. I tune out about the time she mentions needing extra lube before he could penetrate her.
What is innocent trash talk to her feels too close to the rubbing of my fathers’ degenerate advice. Kim and I never engaged in trash talk as I respected Kim too much for such patronizing wordplay. Kim is a sweet wonderful person which is most of our problem though I am quite disinterested in explaining the apparent contradiction to her. The look on her face told me my new nickname now tattooed to her impression of me.
I didn’t have to explain the apparent contradiction being made aware that my father thinks a great deal on Kim. My blood boils. Of all the bastardly things I expect from my father, hitting on my girlfriend is beyond the pale. His very actions may have placed Kim in the impossible position of breaking up with me to run far away from my fathers unsolicited advances. The poor girl. Did my father really think he could seduce Kim into being number 98?
The absoluteness in this woman’s’ voice as she calms me is reassuring. Kim did not break up with me because of my father hitting on her. Despite my impression of him, he really isn’t the kind of man to fuck his sons girlfriend. He has boundaries. At least I can keep the memory of her unadulterated from his promiscuous Viagra fueled libido.
The absoluteness in her voice then turned deadpan recalling all bets were off after Kim did break up with me. As if that fact is some conciliation to the idea of my father hitting on Kim. But no. It is not my father making advances on Kim. Kim seduced my father.
Kim is number 97. Kim dumped me so she could sex-up my father. Kim volunteered and actively sought being number 97. Noisy little fuckers is how she describes the interaction of the love of my life with the man who helped give me life from his loins. Those same loins now making Kim feel like a real woman.
As if this information is not enough, she lets me in on a secret. Seems Kim makes her feel like a real woman as well. Saying this while chuckling to herself is not helpful.
Everything previously swollen, including my ego, goes limp.
Kim dumped me so she could fuck my father and feel like a real woman. Well, the issue must be hers because I just proved my sexual abilities. Obviously, Kim is going through some strange experimental phase in her life, so our breakup could not be my fault.
Confirming my sexual prowess she asks for more. She comes back for seconds of me. I knew it. I knew I was good. Fuck Kim. Fuck my father. I am a real man. I even make her repeat herself as I wanted her to beg a bit. Suddenly there are options. It makes no difference to her if we talk, fuck, eat, or shit. Whatever I want to do to run out the clock.
Run out the clock? Those four words strike me in a very specific way. I try to deny them. Consider any other possible meaning to them. Perhaps she is a football fan, or maybe she is on some dinner break from work. I thought she liked me. She seduced me. This is special; a once in a lifetime chance encounter. The reason for my good fortune becomes obvious. She’s a prostitute, although she prefers being thought of as a paid stranger with benefits. Amazing benefits to be sure, but we didn’t agree to remuneration for a benefits package. There was never any mention of exchanging anything but fluids.
My father pre-paid for this. Gave her a good tip, too.
Too be continued…
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