prose: an argument

4 Oct

prose: an argument
by Jack Henry on Monday, October 3, 2011 at 9:54pm.

Note: Totally random and without edit. A five minute right because my internet is so fucking slow.

Lexi made one of those slow turns you only see on TV or at the movies. I mean no one ever really turns like that in real life, but there she was and there I stood jaw dropped, mouth agape.

“You’re an asshole, you know it?” Her words spit out, each one a concussive shot. A cliché sentence sure, but Lexi swam deep with clichés, each one a prize or trophy perhaps. Or something.

“And that means what? Exactly. To me?”

I met Lexi at a local Laundromat a month ago. Maybe it was two, I’m not sure. Memory fogs all too easy anymore. We met. At a Laundromat. Recently. Let’s go with that.

“You’re a user, you know? Just pick ‘em up and spit ‘em out. Like it’s nothing.”

“It is nothing. Really.” I lit a cigarette and watched her dance around in full tantrum mode.

Lexi stood no taller that 5’1” and weighed about 90 pounds, if that, not that I am an expert on guessing weight but we fucked standing up and I am not in that great of shape. We used a wall for support, her legs wrapped around my waist, and could go at it for fifteen, twenty minutes but if she tipped in over 100 I would have dropped dead. She had dirty black hair, dark eyes and a couple of dozen tattoos of various quality and size spread across her body. I found the pierced clit interesting but not especially useful but rather enjoyed the benefits of a pierced tongue.

Needless to say we had a relationship bound by fucking and little else. That is, until she woke up one morning in need of something more. The argument started with that phrase: Jack, I need something more. My next door neighbors could hear my eyes roll.

“Why is it nothing? Haven’t I put in some time with you?”“Time? Really? What the fuck are you talking about? You come over on Thursday night, sometimes Friday, stay the weekend, use my drugs, eat my food, stain the toilet and, well, if you call that spending time, I guess you have. The quality seems to be the variable.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Really, your come backs should be a little higher quality, don’t you think? It’s generally accepted by the public at large that I am, in fact, an asshole. True story. Check my Facebook page.”

Lexi slumped into my dirty brown couch and glared up at me as her bangs fell across her eyes. I should mention that she is wearing only a pink bra and a purple g-string, if only to illustrate my lack of focus on what she was saying. Lexi has an incredible body, even for a spinner. And, yes, I am a sexist pig dirty bastard motherfucker. I know. I know. Don’t even start on me about that.

“But I love you,” Lexi faked a few tears before bursting into a laugh. “Okay, maybe I don’t love you, but you should treat me better.”

“How much better? And by better you are suggesting I don’t treat you well.”

“Well, you don’t.”

“Don’t I? You don’t pay for anything, ever, at all and I don’t treat you well? And I always make sure you cum when we fuck.”

“Oh, like that’s a big deal.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You’re a commercial.”

“Aren’t we all?”

I stabbed out my smoke and sat next to Lexi on the couch.

“We never really started this as a love thing, did we?” I said, pulling Lexi’s stray bangs from her eyes. “It was sex. It was fucking. It was far removed from love. Yes or no?”

“I dunno,” she muttered.

“Yes. Or. No.”

“No, okay. No. Fucking no. I wanted to fuck you when we met, okay? I wanted to sit on your big fat cock and fuck, fuck, fuck. Happy? Are you happy? I mean real fucking happy that I admitted that I wanted to fuck you.”

“Yeah, sure.” I dropped into a partial state of confusion, without focus either on the conversation or her nearly naked body. Something about a few errands I had to run the next day popped into my head. Dry cleaners, pharmacy, tire repair and something else, something of equal importance; I couldn’t capture it, try as I might.

“Yeah, sure? Really? That’s all you have? Yeah, sure?”

“Howabout: Yeah, fuck you?” I stood up abruptly, but fell back into the couch as I had no reason to stand. “How about that?”

“Well your creativity level just dived a bit.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll give you that.”

Lexi lit a cigarette and I watched her smoke it. It took ten minutes. We didn’t speak. I watched a cat cross the backyard. A dog barked. I farted twice. She didn’t notice.

“So…” Lexi stood up, pulled off her bra and panties, tossed them to the floor and crossed her arms across her chest. “You wanna fuck?”

“Are you really that fucking psycho?”

“No, not really. I just want one last fuck before we break-up.”

“We were never together.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever. So yes or no?”

“Yeah, sure.”

After we spent most of the night working our way through the middle chapters of the Kama Sutra we passed out cold. Around noon I woke up without Lexi at my side. Stumbling into a freshly scrubbed kitchen I found Lexi making breakfast.

“Good morning, Jack.”


“Sleep well.”


“Great. I made you breakfast, did the laundry, cleaned the living room and reorganized the pantry. I also cleaned out the refrigerator, dusted, mopped and took out the trash.”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Oh honey. Baby, would I do that? To you? Of course not.” Lexi picked up a plate and handed it to me. “Enjoy,” she said and fear rippled through my bones.

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