Complications, Mr. Angry points out, occur when the thought recurs not once but several times.
I found myself wondering about the five o’clock shadow, for the fifth time that day. I’ve always been a practical woman and back then, a sensible little girl. Whenever it was time to write Santa a letter, I never asked for snow, a treasure chest, or a million dollars like my siblings did. I asked for fifty bucks, and two day’ furlough from house chores.
My reaction to the five o’clock shadow was no different. Because I believe ghosts leave only after you ask them to, I messaged him on Skype. “Okay, let’s go see a movie.”
We went. He was pretty sweet. He bought me popcorn and all the junkfood I wanted. He offered me his jacket and held my hand. We were acting like young lovers. Not wanting to complicate an already complicated situation, I told him, “I’m not here to fall in love.”
He let go of my hand.
The next morning, we chatted and agreed to meet for lunch. What I want, I told him, is an orgasm. I don’t want to fall in love. I just want to find release. My hands are efficient, but I’m getting tired of this do-it-yourself business.
I can give you that, he replied. Is that’s all you want?
All right. Meet me tomorrow. I won’t be gentle. You’ll come so many times you’ll need help walking.
I won’t be gentle. I’ll make sure you won’t ever forget my name. He went into lurid detail, telling me how well he multi-tasks. I’ll ram you from behind while my fingers play with your vulva, and when you’re oozing with cum and you’re thrashing wildly, I’ll eat you. All of you.
Sounds fun. Let’s start with lunch, then eat our way into another meal.
Okay, I’ll see you in an hour.
I showered so quickly I arrived five minutes early. I waited thirty minutes more before calling him up. I’m running late, he said. Give me two hours more.
Okay, I said, even though inside, I was a conflicted and conflicting mass. I trudged to the office, figuring I’d get some work done while I wait for him. But my imagination and the anticipation proved too much. It wasn’t long before I abandoned all pretence of work altogether and propped my legs widely on my table. There, in the dark and to the gentle lull of the air blowing out of the airconditioner, on the desk where I sign many a government form and vacation leave applications, I brought myself to a quick and furious climax.
Damn you, five o’clock shadow.