What I do know is that when he does it, I can’t fucking concentrate.
“All I’m saying is that if you were the one he was fucking, you wouldn’t be so bothered by it.” Em sips at her latte and leans back, looking smug.
I narrow my eyes at her glossy blonde waves. “That sounds like sleeping with the enemy. Besides, I think he likes blondes. Why don’t you take one for the team?”
Em nearly spits her mouthful of latte out at me. “Girl—no. 33D is your problem, not mine. And the only solution is to let him slip you his 33D, catch my drift.”
I can’t help it—the idea of banging the fuckboy who lives above me is so fucking laughable, I totally lose it. I laugh so hard I nearly spill my dark roast all over my sweater.
Then, I laugh so hard that I totally do.
“God.” I grab some napkins and start to mop up the mess I’ve made. “Does that mean your solution to your Evan problem is taking his dick, too?”
“Hell no.” Em crosses her arms over her chest. “There are dicks you deal with in bed and dicks you deal with by staying the fuck away from them. Your dick, my dear, is the former. Mine is the latter. End of story.”
“All I’m saying is…” I glance down at my phone and notice the time. “Shit. I gotta go, babe. My special effects should be finished rendering—and I’m down to the wire on this thing as is.”
I rifle around in my purse, searching for cash or card, but Em stops me before I can even get through the first layer of lipstick and tampons.
“I’ve got this. Go.”
I grin at her. “Leave the poor waitress a big tip?”
“I will,” Em promises—and then she grins back at me. “As long as you promise you’ll let 33D give you his big tip—”
I flip her off as I gather up my shit and race out the door of the coffee shop.
I’m breathless by the time I get up to my apartment, and I immediately fucking regret it. Not only is the scene not done rendering—it looks like my computer has decided to run updates while I was away, so I’ve probably lost that chunk of the project entirely.
While I wait for the piece of shit to finish updating, I do all the dishes in my sink.
I clean out my fridge, tossing out a jar of expired mayo and an ancient half-finished can of a brand of beer I don’t even drink.
I take a shower, washing the day out of my long, dark hair and shaving my legs silky smooth.
Then, since the computer is only at 87%, I shave my pussy too.
Who for? I don’t even know.
I haven’t gotten laid since I finished my undergrad—and at this point, I’m not even sure I want to anymore. When you’ve been off the dick for long enough, you start to feel like maybe it’s totally irrelevant, you know?
Like, this is my new life as a totally celibate wannabe film student. When I make it big, they’ll put me on the Suspected Asexuals page on Wikipedia with Tesla and Lovecraft and Morrissey.
Which still begs the question of why I’m sitting here on the edge of the tub with my legs spread and baby oil all over my muff.
I guess, when it comes down to it, I’m shaving my pussy for, well, me. I don’t do it because I’m supposed to, or because I’m ashamed o
f my own pubic hair. I do it because dammit, it feels nice!
But then, of course, the ceiling starts shaking again as soon as I touch blade to skin—33D must have brought home a new friend. I nearly fucking cut myself when she screams in orgasm, and what should have been a nice, relaxing evening quickly leaves me feeling grumpy and pissed off.
I finish up and slump into my bed totally naked, glaring at the ceiling. It doesn’t even make sense to get the broom out at this point—once 33D gets started, he can go for hours if he wants to.
My computer is at 99% and frozen, so it’s not like I could do any work anyway.
But as I lay there listening to 33D’s latest lady friend begging for his cock…
I don’t even know what comes over me, but it definitely disqualifies me from my dreams of being next to Morrissey on a Wikipedia page.