Page 55 of Intoxicated
Chapter 18
DREW
Every time I’m around this woman, I’m completely thrown for another loop. It’s like Cher grabs me by the hand, pulls me in a hundred little circles, and releases me to throw up in the wind. Centripetal force is a bitch like that. Always getting chunks on your face.
I had no idea what to expect when she messaged me a few days ago, asking me to buy her a ticket to Seattle. I offered her more than that. Why not a personal chauffer, so she can avoid Union Station and the stress of traveling by train? No? At least let me buy you a plane ticket, sweetheart. I know a guy – personally – who has a charter service that runs twice a day between PDX and Sea-Tac. It would be easy to get her a seat, but nooo, she insists on traveling her tried and true way. Which tells me she has reasons beyond seeingmeon her mind.
I only become more suspicious when she pushes me onto my bed and goes to town on my dick. This is a woman who knows what thehellshe’s doing. We guys always joke about getting a girl who used to be a porn star. Gals who can deep throat you until you’re coming so hard you no longer know which way is up – nor can you hear their squeals of protest as you choke them with your cock. I mean, that can’t be helped. I’m sorry, ladies. When you’rethat good,your man will only be found on another plane of existence, and nowhere else.
It takes a lot to unnerve me, you know. Especially when you’ve given me the gift ofholy shit that’s called coming.So when Cher implies she blew me and asked for nothing in return because, in her words,“Consider it my thanks for letting me come up here on your dime,”I’m going to feel a certain way.
Not exactly bad. Definitely not good. Dunno. Can’t put much better words to it. Yet if there’s one thing Cher knows how to do, it’s keep her on my mind.
I half expect her to be gone that first morning in my Seattle apartment. Yet there she is when I wake up, sleeping on her side, wearing nothing but a silky negligee she packed in an overnight bag. When she’s not conked out from sex, she wears her hair in a loose twist to sleep. I suppose when you’re someone who can’t sleep on your back, a good way to take care of your long hair is to wear it like that. I can’t say I’m used to it, though. This woman always wears her hair down. Down and free, flowing on the breeze as it blows against her face. Her straight and silky locks are like Heaven to touch. They’re more fun to pull when you’re fucking the life out of her. I mean, I’ll take ‘em either way.
All right. It’s time for a mulligan. Cher is peacefully asleep, albeit so far on the edge of my bed that it’s liable she’s disgusted with my presence. Probably dreaming about the real reason she’s here. (Let me guess… searching for some poor Seattle sod to screw over? I’m saving her travel money. I bet if she comes up empty, she’ll “let me” fuck her. Great. Can’t wait.) Last time we did this, I had to have my sheets dry cleaned and the blood scrubbed out of my mattress. Not my finest moment. Notherfinest moment, but I like to think I’m a gentleman. You know, whenI’m not screwing over people instead of her.
We really do deserve each other, don’t we?
Maybe it was the toast that was unlucky. I’ll make some oatmeal, instead. Steel cut oats cooked with cinnamon and a dash of milk. I have fresh berries out my wazoo, thanks to Brent’s husband’s affinity for all things natural produce. (You know I pay Brent too much money when his house-husband can grow his own black, blue, and strawberries in their tiny yard. Couple that with some freshly squeezed orange juice, I might be doing this pseudo-boyfriend things all right.
Oh my God, I have no idea what she likes. Does she like orange juice? Why the fuck do I care!
“Hey.”
She half-startles me as I survey my kitchen. Yet Cher’s voice carries that well from my bedroom doorway. She’s leaning against it, one strap of her baby pink negligee falling down her arm. Her makeup-less face isn’tthatmuch different from when she has it judiciously applied. Sure, the cat eyes are gone. The lips aren’t as full and colored. She has a couple acne scars that you only see because she hides them so well. Yet if she thinks she’s frightening me with her gargantuan hideousness, she can think again. She’s as different like this, with her hair piled in tangles on her head and her body spilling out of her negligee. That’s all I see. Not an imperfect face. Just… a regular, beautiful woman rubbing sleep out of her eyes and licking her dried-out lips.
“Hey.” I turn to her, one hand clutching my island counter. “You like oatmeal? ‘Cause I’m thinking oatmeal.”
“Don’t wanna keep you from whatever you’re doing. I’m sure you’ve got places to be and women to ruin.”
I don’t let her words affect me. Doing so would be to give her exactly what she wants. “Taking a little time off, actually. I figure you’re the one who has places to be.”
“I mean, I would love to go shopping. With the added bonus of I don’t expect you to buy me anything.”
“Ooh, brought your own money, did you?”
“That, and it’s a little weird having a guy you’re not really going out with buy you Chanel. Maybe it’s me. Some women are absolutely shameless.”
“Especially the women who don’t have the funds you’ve amassed for yourself?”
“Hey, I’m not a millionaire.” She turns toward my bathroom door. “Well, I don’t get to access that million. Not for another few decades when I’m retirement age and a million barely means anything anymore.”
“Tell me about it,” I drolly say.
Cher disappears into my bathroom. At least there are no firecrackers lit beneath her ass. Dare I believe the bleeding times are over? When I asked her for the millionth time,“Are you sure you don’t want anything, Princess?”I got a spiel about how she doesn’t let anyone touch her down there when she’s courting the crimson queen. Color me surprised to know women can go for that long. I then got alengthydescription about heavy flows, light flows, “brown stuff,” and mucus, mucus,vagina discharge mucus.I am now the most educated man you know when it comes to the biological functions of the human vagina.
