so i'm in this bar with this guy. kinda coyote-ugly-ish, before the movie. and there's this white, square table between us. like you could cut your hand on the edge of it, so we sit back, just kinda staring at each other. it's dark in there, some old country music playing on the jukebox and i'm drunk as shit. he's not. he's a two beer kinda guy, but lucky for me he's having a three plus beer night.
he wants to talk about my family. and what i like to do on the weekends and during my summers and why i went to law school. what a yarn. what he really wants to ask me is if i'm wearing panties. which i'm not.
he asks me if i have an older sister. i ask him why he hasn't called. he says because he doesn't want to break this dream. dreaming is for sleeping, i reply.
this is what he wants to hear:
"dear penthouse letters,
i'm in the shower with her. i can see the water beading down her back. god she is so hot. so i take her and turn her around, start to just fuck her against the tile smashed up against her face. i wrap my arm around her waist right before i come, take a drink from the water droplets coursing down her neck. she smells like me and i always smell like sex."
when it's early morning, i wake up and realize i took this guy home with me last night. all the memories of it come crashing through my head: the kicked-off sheets, the dirty talk, our breathing so hard like we were galloping horses. i have to get the fuck out of here, before he wakes up. it's the most important thing i'll do all day: shower, dress, leave. & keep a tight grip on my fantasies.