L. Leeper 3 min read
I’m sitting on his couch. He has his legs cocked open in comfortable negro fashion. His grey sweat pants offend and attract me; the feelings coexist. He couldn’t get dressed for me? I’m irritated. I found a sitter. I paid her. I brought her food. I listened to her talk because it seemed ill mannered to drop the kids off and bounce without verbal exchange. I fussed with baby dads about needing better schedules. I rushed home to get dressed because he said 8pm, but 8pm isn’t possible when one of your kids thinks he is hulk and insists that hulk doesn’t need showers or clothes. I insisted that hulk still gets ass-whoopins, but hulk isn’t afraid of me. At all. I took a quick shower. I’m in shambles because I’ve waited all week for this night and now I’m late. I hate being late. My hands are shaking and now I’m fucking up my eyebrows in the mirror. I’m trying to twerk away the frustration. That’s not helping my eyebrows. I’m pressed. I start over. More than once. I double moisturize my body, because my skin soaks up coconut oil quickly so I back it up with almond oil. Thighs on thick, this takes awhile. I’m pressed. I grab a cigarette. Can’t smoke weed, the job does random UAs. And weed makes me act odd in front of men I like. I need something to get me in the comfortable oh-I-do-this-all-the-time bag. I hit traffic. I bump my tunes loud. I’m feeling myself because my dress is tight and I forgot I had body like this. It’s been awhile. I pull up. I come inside. I sit on his couch. I stare at him in his grey sweats and fussy hair. He smiles. Damn he looks good, but sweat pants! Not jeans. Not the slim cut joggers. Nothing that says we are leaving the couch.
“I missed you so much.” He places a hand on my double moisturized thigh. He realizes it’s double moisturized. “Your skin is soft.”
“Thank you babe. I missed you too.” We sit. We have great conversation but he gets a call and advises me our time has to be cut short.
The amount of screams my lungs could afford. I felt like hulk now. But this hulk showers and puts on nice clothes and takes time out of her schedule for kicking back on a couch next to a laissez-faire dude who doesn’t understand that I’m not a 19 year old with an abundance of free time.
I wanted to come off as the girl that doesn’t trip. The calm one who doesn’t come with a bunch of baggage. I didn’t want to put too much on it. I wanted to catch a vibe. But all I could think is where is this going? How often do we do this before we do something else? You’re too expensive for such a cheap experience, what exactly am I investing in? I’m caught between wanting to be your fantasy girl who just “gets it”. But I don’t fucking get it. And fantasy was taken away from me when I became a single parent of two. The only fantasy I understand is ninja war with the kids where I become the villain and they stop at nothing to take me down. That’s fun. This isn’t.
I left his couch and hit the nearest bar.