Word Count: 301
I sit in the dark in the marshmallow corner of the living room couch because the light would distract me and I don’t want to miss his call. I’ve shut off the movie I was watching, afraid I wouldn’t hear the phone ring. I don’t need to watch someone else’s passion; I replay last night in my head.
His name is Jason. Jason…something. It started, I think, with a D. He has black hair and a mustache. And eyes that make you believe you can fly.
He was standing at the bar ordering a draft beer and I brushed up against him to catch the bartender’s eye. He asked me what I was drinking and when I told him he ordered two beers and asked me my name.
“Pretty name,” he said, though I’ve always hated the sound. Karen. Like a knife cutting through clouds and dropping useless down to the floor. He was easy to talk with, had a nice easy smile. Made me feel prettier than just Karen. A few dances, another beer or two, and I brought him back to my apartment.
Where we made love, like love’s never been made ever before. Though I can’t think how he learned so much about women. With a carpenter’s hands, he carved out the passion in me. He taught me to please him, in the gentlest of ways, and I, was a willing learner. We slept, we made love. We made love and we slept. And sometime in the first light of the morning he left with a kiss and a promise to call.
So I sit in the dark in the soft settled curve of the corner of my living room couch. And though you may snicker or worry and warn, I know this time will be different.
