Friday, February 28, 2014

Short a Lease, IV

            Servi had placed a beer on the corner of the table as Joy replaced the bottle on his lips.  The kiss was not unexpected.  He felt it in the air, like charged particles getting ready to congeal into a shock.   The beer fell over and onto the carpet and Servi stopped kissing her.
            “Forget it, Aaron,” Joy held him close.  “Kiss me…  common’” 

            He lay next to her, facing the ceiling.  The bedroom was over air-conditioned, so they were covered by a sheet and wool blanket.  Servi felt the sensation that the bedding was not fresh; or even more to the point, that is was recently vacated by another man.  But he ignored this sense of unease, as if he had stumbled upon something unclean but vital and decided to pick it up anyway. 
           He ran his hands over Joy’s body.  He followed the long, soft lines which ran down from her shoulder to her upper thigh and then began to climb back up once again.  He thought he saw something move in the corner of his eye.  But each time he tried to catch it, it quickly stole away.
            “Joy,” Servi said gently.  The young woman did not answer.  He placed a hand on the small of her back, on that beguiling littoral zone where that gradually transformed to her buttocks.  Joy snuggled next to him, breathing hard.
            “Joy, when did you last have sex with your… that guy from work?”
            Joy turned her head to look at Servi.  Her gaze was calm, but ready, like a spring coiled and held by a flimsy latch.  But then she softened, not sensing any judgment in Servi’s tone.
            “I won’t lie to you Servi, at lunch today.”
            “But we had lunch today.”
            “After,” she answered, looking away from him for a moment to place a pillow below her head. 
            “Christ, how long is your lunch break?”
            “Is that a joke?”
            “No,” Servi answered, still flatly, still groping for a hand hold.   “Your fiancé, what is his name?”
            “Stan.  Stanley.”
            “And when did you have sex with him?”
            Again Joy gazed at Servi, her eyes darting back and forth across his face, as if she was measuring each and every word on the emotional scale of his features.
            “Do you think because you had sex with me, right now, you have a right to this information?”     
            “No,” Servi answered.  “You don’t have to tell me.  Only if you want to  You said you can tell me everything.”
            “I don’t know now… we’ve done this…”
            Silence.  Down below in the street, a car alarm sounded.  When it stopped, Joy inhaled deeply and placed a hand on Servi’s chest.
            “This morning.  Stan and I had sex this morning.”
            “Here?  In this bed?”
            “Yes,” Joy exhaled.  “Right on this spot.”  Joy’s hand ran down Servi’s body.  He was erect.  She took him into her hand and gave a few rigorous tugs.  Servi’s breath rose and fell.  “Your body doesn’t seem to mind this, in fact, the opposite.”
            “Is someone coming after me?”
            “Don’t get fresh, Servi,” she said gently, letting go of his member and kissing his cheek.
            Servi rose from the bed, scooped up his close from the midden on the floor, hid his manhood from Joy’s smirking gaze, and closed the bathroom door.  He sat for a long time on the toilet seat, his head in his hands, wishing to leave but unable to move.  It took sometime before there was a knock on the door.
            “Hey Servi, you OK in there?”  Then there was a knock and the same question.
            In the next moment Servi noticed the wedding dress hanging from a hook behind the door.

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