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She loved becoming obsessed with a new song that was current.
After he left, she took all the beer like it was pot and just consumed it to hope that she wouldn't feel rejected or hopeless. He had not touched her or cuddled with her. She had given him blow job after blow job and never orgasmed.
"I don't actually like to have sex with people I trust. Intimacy to me is different. I think most people mis-define it. Last night, you said it was like god - that sex was like god."
She blushed as she hurriedly imagined what to say next before blurting out "but I don't even know what god is. I told you the only reason I know that god exists is because when you're really down or in the battlefield wounded and dying - you call out to something. I don't know why I would have said it was like sex. I drank too much."
He had encouraged her, and she was fine imbibing, but it didn't make him king. She felt like the fool. It had been mead - and she had paid a lot of money for all of it. She was reluctant to even see the total of this extravaganza. Her face was raw. She hadn't even put any lipstick on - instead getting dressed after waiting for a requested sign - something out of the ordinary - that showed he might possibly love her. He farted at 9:34, and she was done lolling in bed trolling for touch.
She made a fast egg scramble with the eggs he had given her two weeks ago. She was testing them in the water to see if they floated when he came in to get his coffee. After his admission that he wasn't intimate with her, he even said something like "go write it in your little blog." but then he backpeddled. She wasn't sure why, and she got very suspicious when he started doing his nervous tick of talking too much when he felt uncomfortable disappointment.
It might have been because her face was expressionless - devoid of the permanent Mona Lisa smile. She almost felt like crying. She wondered if he even sensed that and was why he started talking too much.
It was refreshing to her to not be the one babbling. She gave him so much, and the next morning - after dreaming of lost cars and old people begging for her help - she thought and realized that she wasn't intimate with him either. He probably suspected she was mad, but she hadn't done him the honor of telling him explicitly. Instead, she sent fotos from their weekend together - of the Jack Kerouac quote that lauded the crazies.
She often thought of that cure lyric "I won't care if you won't. I won't say it if you don't. ... "
but she hadn't put that in the playlist. She'd never put the cure in one, or maybe she had. She always created the playlists from a dazed instinctual rush of what the fuck - wanting to come back from the "I hate your taste in music."
She suspected he just glanced at the titles and never listened to them anyway. Today would be a test. She would see if he communicated with her that he requested and received the days off for the trip she had spoken of - the trip that she had never ever taken anyone on before - bringing him to her domain.
The mockingbirds played and pecked in the fall yard. The geraniums had blooms on the from the water he had poured in them. It all confounded her.
"see you soon." He kissed her in the living room, and she received his tongue, but she was pissed because he was only doing this because he felt guilty like that story he'd told about the intern that he tried to mock but realized the intern realized it.
"I know why you told me that story. you think I'm like the intern."
"oh, I don't think so."
The cat named cleo tried to catch one of the mocking birds. they flew away and she stayed poised in the fall leaves.
"do you think we have a chance at being intimate one day?"
"god, why do you ask such questions"
The alarm to go to work was going off, and the cat caught one.
It was hard not to cry.
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