Something I’d never really thought about before was whether my sex voice sounded like my not-sex voice. Noise in these apartments bled through the walls like gauze, and if my grunts and moans were at all familiar-sounding, then my roommates might realize that I had spent most of the late evening enthusiastically fucking my neighbor. This was a problem, inasmuch as it was important to my living situation that they believe I was homosexual. It was a thin disguise, to be sure, but it seemed to work.
I could always pretend I’d been engaged in sodomy in my own room, but then they’d want to meet the guy. Besides, Emma was pretty damned vocal herself, and no amount of biting my shoulder could restrain that.
Jesus my shoulder hurt.
I didn’t know what time it was; only that I had to leave for work in a few hours–a prospect that seemed so much more daunting now that I was weighed down by marijuana and sheer physical exhaustion. My body and mind agreed that if there ever was a time to doze off, this was it.
I really didn’t need to hear that sound right now, and so I willed myself not to be there anymore.
That didn’t work. I settled for mumbling, “I don’t know anybody by that name.”
“Come on,” the voice insisted, “wake up!”
“For crying out loud, Em,” I moaned, “I’m a man, not a machine.”
“My name’s not Dude.”
“Fine,” she said, “you call me Em, I’ll call you Dude.”
“Good.” I began to drift away again. “I’m glad we had the chance to work this out.”
I tried to ignore her.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Okay, now I was awake. Nothing good ever starts with a phrase like that. “Is that why you led me here?”
“No,” she said condescendingly, “I lured you here because I wanted to fuck your brains out. But now that we’re here, maybe we should talk about us?”
“What about us?”
“Exactly! I don’t even know anything about you. It’s not like we’ve ever had a real conversation.”
“Oh, yeah?” I replied. “Then what did we talk about the night we met?” That wasn’t a rhetorical question; I don’t remember a thing about that conversation, and not because I was drunk.
“Um,” she muttered, “I was only pretending to pay attention to what you had to say.”
“Are you telling me you were only interested in my body?”
“Is that a problem?”
Without giving me a chance to respond aloud, she continued, “Most people have sex after the third or fourth date, and here we’ve had sex four times…”
“And we haven’t even had a real date.”
“You want to go on a date?”
I sighed. “You know, there’s so many ways this is a bad idea.”
“I know, but…” She breathed.
“I hate this girl shit.”
“What are you talking about?”
She brushed one of her cinnamon curls behind her ear and looked at everything in the room that wasn’t me. “I’ve been thinking about you constantly since the last time. You remember, when you propped my up on the dresser and did that thing?”
“I seem to recall being there for that.” Mostly because I didn’t think I had that in me. Although, to be fair, I was kind of possessed.
“And I’m just thinking about…” She waved her hand up and down my body, lingering an extra moment just below my waist. “… that. I’ve been thinking about your cocky smile and your sarcasm and your crooked nose and I just want to know all about you and I’m so sorry I am such an idiot!” She threw herself back onto the mattress and covered her face with a pillow.
I took a few deep breaths. “You’re right.”
“I know!” her muffled voice groaned. “That is so stupid! I’m sorry!”
I growled. I needed some goddamn sleep.
Suddenly she tore the pillow away and sat straight up. “Really?”
“Really,” I replied. “Why not?” Part of my agreement was pure curiosity, but most of it was the desire to bring this conversation to an end.
“It doesn’t have to be anything special,” she blathered. “We can just have dinner here. I know a great Thai place down the block.”
“I don’t think we’d actually do a lot of talking if we ate here.”
“True,” she said.
“Can we iron out the details tomorrow?” I asked.
“Thank you,” she sighed happily.
I dozed off, knowing what a disaster this was going to be, but preferring to deal with the fallout later.
However, it took only a minute for her to whisper, “Dude!”
“Dammit! It’s…” I squinted at her alarm clock, but it was covered by her sports bra. “… late!”
She didn’t seem to care. “Do you think you could do that thing, you know, horizontally?”
“I am so tired, Em.”
“Okay then,” she giggled, “can I do something to you?”
“For the love of God, no,” I groaned.
Her fingernails bit into my inner thigh.