The Sexpert
“No, no, it’s fine,” she says, her breathing returning to normal. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop coming.”
“Yeah. Guys hate it when they make girls come a bunch of times.”
She looks at me to see if I’m serious, then starts giggling. She sets down her water. A more serious look parks itself on her face. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Do I miss what?”
“Art.”
“You mean do I miss making art?” She nods. “Nah. I mean I love beautiful things. And I love making beautiful things, so in that regard sure, but not really. Besides, I feel like what I do now has its own artistic value. Kind of. Maybe that’s a justification, but with the art world especially… I dunno. Like everything, there’s just so much bullshit involved that it starts to feel… I mean, it’s my art. Y’know? Which sounds redundant, but it is. I care about it. So, like, I could never figure out how to get OK with turning it into a money-making thing. It would’ve felt… not good. And, of course, the art world is filled with Serildas, so…” Her skin feels good under my fingers. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. Were you good at it? Making art?”
“Well… Subjective. But… Yeah. Not bad.”
“You’re kind of good at everything, aren’t you?”
“No, not really. I just don’t really pursue things I’m not good at. There’s a difference. If I have one strength, it’s knowing my strengths. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I dunno. Like, how long you been at Le Man?”
“Couple years.”
“You like it?”
She shrugs. “It’s a job. I mean, I think I’m OK at the stuff I do, but… I dunno. It’s certainly not my art.”
“Sure. Do you have an art? Something you feel passionately about?”
She thinks about this like it’s the first time anyone has ever asked her the question. After a long moment, she says, “Being a good person, I guess.”
A puff of breath escapes me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Why? Is that dumb?”
I get a sad but totally content smile. “No, no, cupcake. It is the opposite of dumb.”
I lean down and kiss her thigh. Then I run my nose under the sheet and start inching toward her inner thigh. She pushes me back.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“I just… I have to work in the morning.”
“So do I.”
“Yeah, but not really. You run the place. You can do whatever you want. Also, you have a different kind of stamina. Apparently.”
I pull back. Unhappily. But I do. “OK.”
“Soooo… Are you gonna go?”
“Go? Where?”
“Back to your apartment.”
“Now?”
She nods.
“Do you want me to go?”
“Where? Back to your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I mean… If you want to. Do you want to?”
“Go back to my apartment? Not particularly.”
“So… You wanna… Stay?”
“Here?”
She nods.
“With you?”
She nods.
“Yes.”
She smiles.
“So… OK.”
“OK.”
There’s a brief silence where we both grin at each other. Then she starts to get out of bed.
“Where are you going?” I ask. “Are you leaving?”
“No.” She slaps at me as if to say, You silly Billy. “I wanna lay out my clothes for tomorrow so that I can sleep an extra five minutes in the morning.”
“It’s two A.M.”
“Later in the morning.”
She walks over to her closet and the silhouette of her body in the dim light coming only from the Hello Kitty night light by the bed (amazing) freezes my breath for a second.
“Your body is so incredible,” I tell her.
“Noooo,” she starts to protest.
“It is. It took me a minute to fully grasp just how incredible it is. You’re working with a loaded clip, kid.”
I can’t see her blush, but I can feel it. “Well… Thank you.”
She tosses a shirt and skirt onto the edge of the bed. I can’t help but notice that they’re kind of exactly the same as the ones I see her in all the time.
“Hey.” That’s me. “Why do you hide?”
“Excuse me?”
“No, no, not an accusation, just… It only took me a minute to see it because you do a pretty good job of covering up your… assets. But why? I mean, it’s fine, just… Where does that come from?”
She turns to look at me. Again, like no one’s ever asked her these kinds of questions before.
“No one’s ever asked me these kinds of questions before.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “You don’t have to answer. Just curious.”
“No. It’s OK. I just… I don’t know. I mean, I guess I was always kind of a nerd. Like, I read Philip K. Dick books when all the other girls were reading Judy Blume. And I dressed in Star Wars t-shirts and played volleyball, so I got the reputation as maybe being a lesbian…”
“Thought that was softball.”
“It’s both.” I nod. “So, I dunno, y’know? The world sees you one way long enough and you kind of become that thing. So I guess the way I dress, especially for work and stuff, it’s like… a uniform. You know? A way to be identified. Or, in my case, not be identified. Like, ‘Don’t look at me. Nothin’ to see here.’ Right? Like it just kind of makes me ignorable. Is that a word?” I nod again. “Thought it was. So. Maybe that’s why? Also, boring clothes are affordable.” She shrugs and smiles.