If she’d at least squatted, she might have prevented it, but she was trying to act like a lady and also trying not to move her throbbing pussy skin one iota.
She leaned one millimeter too many, and the metal underwire of the corset collapsed its iron grasp on her breasts. The pressure squeezed and pushed the cups into one pointy bucket. Dove’s tits were smooshed together to fill up the wacky space. She had a bucket of boobs.
She untangled Steve, who thanked her by hissing at her rollers and tearing around the apartment.
Duke’s loud voice carried and horrified with the same gusto. “Sure! That address is right here. Girl’s name isn’t Lotsa though, it’s…”
Dove grabbed a transparent leopard print scarf she’d had hanging in her closet since junior high. It was exactly the type of thing an old woman would secure around her brand new permanent to keep it fresh from the salon.
Dove covered her giant roller head and greasy face and whirled to face the soon-to-be-open door.
The spare key Duke used to get in and feed Steve when she was away made loud, successful noises in her keyhole. Dove’s eyes grew wide as the door swung open.
Johnson. He’s early.
The loud pharmacist looked stunning. He had on jeans, a white button–down, and a freaking blazer. He was holding flowers and a six-pack of beer. Duke had annoyingly put on real clothes, so she was by far the weirdest thing in the room.
She knew it was crazy. That was a given. She had a balloon-sized head covered by a scarf while rocking a uniboob. Her cat was orbiting her, while hissing, at top speed.
It just figures at this point. There’s a rain cloud fucking me up the ass. Don’t panic, she told herself.
Her brain ran around, scraping at her skull and trying to get out of the horror instead.
Be someone else!
The two men stood, stunned stupid by her elaborate costume. Both jumped when Dove opened her mouth to speak.
“I’m Lotsa Vampersex!” She’d increased her volume and cranked up the pitch of her voice in an effort to disguise herself.
Duke recovered first. “Hey, are you, like, hosting Voldemort’s half-dead body or are you just into freakier stuff than I thought?”
Johnson took a brave step forward.
I have to get rid of Duke. He’ll ruin everything. Well, everything’s already ruined, but for fuck’s sake, he’ll attach my real name to this for Johnson in a second.
She kept up her high-pitched screeching. “I’ll buy your crazy ass sausage at Sam’s Club if you leave. Now!”
Steve, alarmed by the intrusion, assumed his Halloween stance and hopped on his toes like a cartoon.
Johnson nodded at Duke like they were soldiers leaving one another in an unguarded foxhole during war.
Duke winked at Dove. “I fucking love sausage. You’re on, Closet Freak.” And he secured the door closed, locking beautiful Johnson in the room with his perceived Lotsa Vampersex.
The only noise was the sound of Steve’s paws hitting the ground.
Be invisible.
Dove hated that she was here, her apartment smelled like a rotting walrus pussy from her cooter cream. But she loved that Johnson had come, after all. She had a million things to tell him, but she had to say that she was sick or something to get him to leave. She needed to explain her crazy outfit. She just didn’t know how much she could say in the high-pitched voice.
Johnson cleared his throat and spoke. “Lotsa? I, um, I woke this morning to find our conversation on the Twitter. And I’m here to say I’m not coming. Well, I’m here to say I’m here, but I’m leaving. I wanted to warn you. I know you speak to many men on the Twitter and I’m worried that you would invite one to your accommodations. There are unsavory people in the world, Lotsa.”
Steve the Cat stopped his circling to stand on his hind legs. His hissing turned into exaggerated moaning, and his pupils were huge from the catnip. Both Dove and Johnson turned to look at the phenomenal display.
“Is your cat okay? I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Johnson raised his eyebrows.
Dove reminded herself to retain the unearthly squeal. “He’s stupid.”
Fantastic. Very witty. Hate your own fucking cat. That’s sexy.
“Okay…” Johnson continued. “I just… brought beer because I hated to deliver this advice without at least an offering.”
He held out the flowers in her direction. They were obviously purchased at a local grocery store. Dove was afraid he would step too close and see through her sheer scarf, so she waved them away. Johnson frowned at his flowers and shrugged. Unaccepted flowers had nowhere to go.
He continued his explanation. “I brought the flowers because I felt it was only right, considering the amount of time I fixated on your profile picture.”
The awkward implication of his masturbation strangled the conversation to death. They stood together while Dove wondered how obvious the dust bunnies were under her couch. She swallowed and was relieved to notice her sense of smell seemed to be numbed by the chemical aroma of her harsh hair remover. Maybe his was, too.
“So, just to clarify…” Johnson had recovered and was wrapping up their date. “Please don’t invite me over to your apartment, because I might come. And next time, it might not be me. And that wouldn’t be safe.” He set the beer down on her coffee table.
He seemed to want to come in for a hug or at least a dicey air kiss, but Dove began the only evasive maneuver she had; she began a high-pitched scream-singing.
Steve the Cat dropped to his four feet as if Dove’s voice was a command and launched himself at Johnson’s torso. Johnson tripped over his own feet and tumbled onto his ass. The cat crawled his prone body like an expensive cat tree, digging into Johnson’s flesh.
His scream harmonized with Dove’s horrendous singing. She felt awful that he was being mauled by her shithead cat and rushed over to peel Steve off his victim.
Steve turned his fury on Dove’s huge head. In the melee, the cat pulled her scarf clean off. The abandoned camouflage lumped up next to the panting Johnson like a snakeskin.
Dove waddled off to put her clawful cat in the closet. Johnson had pushed himself into a sitting position and was looking unabashedly at her naked face.
Dove began wringing her hands.
This is not how this is supposed to happen. Oh my God. Now instead of thinking I’m sexy he’ll just think—
Johnson’s face contorted as he connected the farce to the woman in front of him. “Gynazule®? Dove Gynazule®?”
—I’m a liar.
“Dove Gynazule®?”
The disbelief of seeing a familiar person in an unusual setting registered on Johnson’s face.
Dove dropped her gaze and twisted her fingers together. She stared at the scarf on the floor and tried to use the force of her mind to levitate it back on her head. It didn’t work.
An indescribable amount of time passed. The only noise was the disturbing growling that Steve was making from the closet. He sounded like a rabid dog. Dove had no excuses, no explanations. She tried once to meet Johnson’s eyes but only made it as far as his fantastic Adam’s apple before she returned to staring at the scarf.
After a shuffling of clothes, Johnson stood up. Dove tried not to feel her heart lurch at the disappointment of his leaving as she stood in her stupid, all-encompassing, shame.
His loud voice made her jump. “Is this a prank? Is there a camera here? Is this what you people do for fun? Film me? Because I’m quite sure you humiliated me enough at Save-Mart when I lost my job.”
Dove’s hands started to tremble. She was caught red-cootered and greasy-faced in a lie.
She started four sentences at once. “I am— You must— Let’s not— Hairy-assed bitch.”
The beautiful pharmacist held up a hand. Dove stared at the tips of his fingers, trying to be respectful, hoping it would pass for eye contact.
“You know what? I don’t even want to hear your excuses. I can’t believe I thoug
ht you were different. Well, I guess you are, aren’t you? You’re good at pretending to be different, but you’re the same as the rest of them.”
Johnson nodded as though Dove had answered a question and then shook his head like he had made a decision.
Dove thought her truth. You vag flap, he’s too beautiful to even look at you. Die in a fire.
Her heart and hope followed him to the door like an excited puppy unable to comprehend the blow that would come soon enough. Dove covered her mouth and fought back tears.
I’m ugly enough at this fucking second without a snotty nose.
He took one last glance over his shoulder that she wasn’t expecting. His green eyes met her brown ones. He was hurt—disappointed, even. He thought he was the butt of a joke.
She uncovered her mouth and hazarded putting her awful words into his reality. She had to try something. His shoulders were slumped, and even if she made a fool of herself, he needed to have his dignity back when he walked out her door for the first and last time.
“I put a bunch of horrible hair-removing cream on my pussy. That’s why it smells so bad in here. I wanted to be her. Lotsa is who I want to be, and I never, ever am. I’m the one girl out of a thousand that gets crapped on by a seagull while waiting in line for a tour of the Statue of Liberty. I’m the girl that trips and has her boob fall out of her top in front of the mechanics when I’m vacuuming my car at the gas station. I’m the girl that says yes to an amazing man and tries to be anything but herself when he comes to her door. Me sucking at life has nothing to do with you.”
His hand had halted on the knob. His eyebrows knit together like he was waiting for a punch line or a secret camera crew to pop out of the bedroom.
Dove continued. “You walk out of here proud. This isn’t me punking you. This is you crashing into my orbit of awful. Staying far away from me will change all your luck back to the way it was. Perfect and girlfriended and expensive-shirted.”
Dove hammered the growling closet door with a very non-PETA-approved fist. Steve was startled silent.
If the cat had still been making a racket, Johnson might not have heard her last remark. “I wish I could get away from me.” Dove waddled in his direction.
After he left, she wanted to slide the bolt lock so not even Duke could sausage his way into her own personal, smelly hell.
Johnson didn’t move, but Dove had said her piece. She waited an arm’s length away, expecting the whole room to register the lack of him soon enough.
Johnson still didn’t move. He stood so still Dove was afraid to breathe.
“What’s going on between your legs? Are you okay?” His voice was still too loud.
She was so close there was no need to enunciate with such gusto.
Are we going to talk about my coochie? Ah, what the hell. It’s not like I can make things worse.
“I used some Magic Beard. It’s been a while since I had a date. I just tried to make everything hairless. Hairless is the new sexy, I guess. So I hear, anyway.” She shrugged and wiggled.
His mentioning her woman parts made them feel bigger. Her mound felt like the size of a Volkswagen.
“Do you have any aloe? Maybe take a shower and wash gently. Then apply the aloe.”
He’s trying to help me. Help the lying, crying, asshole me.
“You have sensitive parts—vagina-flavored, remember? You need to treat your skin sweetly. Not punish it just because you have a date.”
Dove went to put a nervous hand through her hair and smacked into a huge Velcro roller.
“Damn it!”
Johnson reached out and touched her elbow. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Dove stepped backward. “Don’t be nice to me, okay? Just go. I’m not worth your time. Just go.”
“Do you have a black belt in beating yourself up? Why don’t you go shower.” Johnson was close to the front door.
Dove got it. The man wanted to leave without her dramatics. It must be sheer embarrassment to sneak out of her place. She nodded and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her with a click.
The hot water pampered some of her sins. Between her legs rebelled at the water at first but was then soothed. Dove ran some water through her rollers, but they were stuck tight. She begged her ears to not listen for the closing of the front door, but they did as they wished, ignoring her demands.
Dove squeaked the hot water off and wrapped herself in her fuzzy, old Rudolph Christmas robe. He had to be gone by now. Her shower was so loud; he must’ve slipped out.
She wiped away the thin cloud that clung to the mirror. She could see her own disappointed face looking back at her. At least her face was clean. It was highly probable that she was going to have to cut these rollers out of her fucking hair, and that sucked dynamite-laced donkey nuts. She opened her medicine cabinet and pulled out her aloe vera. With skin as pale and bloated corpse-ish as hers, sunburns happened way too frequently. She winced as she smeared the cool gel on her bright red, partially hairless skin.
Well, at least Johnson had been right; the relief was almost instant. Dove let out a defeated sigh and opened the bathroom door. A huge mushroom of thick humidity led the way, and it had to clear before she saw him appear like a mirage before her. He was sitting on her couch, drinking his beer. Steve the Cat was happily licking Johnson’s offered finger like a trained dog.
Dove’s mouth dropped open. “You’re still here?”
Johnson took another sip of his beer and set it down on her coffee table. “Well, I couldn’t lock the door behind me and I wasn’t going to leave you unprotected.” He shrugged and smiled. “I used a whole roll of paper towels to clean up the puddles in the kitchen.”
His smiling made his tendency for loud vagina talk extremely unimportant.
Don’t get your hopes up. You lying, baboon-ass cooter.
“Well, uh, thanks.” Dove waited to see what was next. She wished she had a nice silky robe like Hugh Heifer instead of her cartoon fleece one. She fiddled with the rope tie.
“Are you leaving the rollers in on purpose?” He was concerned again.
Dove bit her lip. Her womb wanted to hump his face.
Inappropriate horn bag.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to cut them out.” She inched toward her bedroom, wondering what the hell she was going to do. She didn’t want to let him out of her sight because he might leave, but she wanted to look less like a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.
He stood and unbuttoned his shirt’s first button. Then the second button.
Chest hair. Fucking lovely chest hair in my apartment, and I’m naked under my robe. It’s almost sex!
He’s speaking again. Concentrate.
“It’d be a shame to cut your lovely hair. May I take a look?”
He was stepping toward her!
Don’t moan or fart. Don’t moan or fart.
Johnson stood right in front of her, reaching for her topmost roller. She had to look at his mouth—it was right in front of her eyes.
He’s breathing on me! Breathing! It smells like beer!
Dove moaned.
Fuck.
She took a step back and the old hardwood floor did a perfect impression of a creaky fart when it experienced her weight.
Of course.
“That was the floor. I don’t have gas right now.” Dove closed her eyes. Great, let him know you do have gas on occasion.
His chest hair bounced as he chuckled.
Chest hair. Beer breath. Hump him.
“You see, that’s what I like about you. You never try to be perfect. So many girls are busy trying not to eat, keeping their hair just so, making sure their boyfriend is a doctor. Not you.” He bit his bottom lip as his hands worked in her hair.
He likes my gas!
Johnson’s teeth were so white and straight Dove wanted to lick them.
“How about we sit down? This looks like one hell of a process.” Johnson sat on the couch and put a pillow on the fl
oor between his feet. He motioned for her to sit between his legs.
Well, hot damn. I’d fight a dragon to get my ass on that pillow.
He opened a beer and passed it to Dove. She toasted him over her shoulder and tried to swallow all her doubts and self-hatred.
Johnson started the soft, methodical process of unwinding her hair from the rollers. Dove took the remote control from the coffee table and tuned the TV into the cable company’s music-only channel.
She’d never been a beer fan, but Johnson’s homebrew was blowing her mind. It was fresh and coated her tongue with a sweet pumpkin taste. She told him how much she liked it.
“Thanks. Home brewing my beer really tickles my chemistry bone.” Johnson set a newly freed roller on the coffee table. He tossed the damp lock of hair so it landed on her forehead.
His bone. Johnson’s dick. His penis is almost touching my neck. We’re basically neck fucking.
Dove tried to take her mind away from his man meat, but it was like her brain was paralyzed by dick osmosis. Johnson’s feet were big, which meant…
He has a monster cock.
Johnson talked loudly about all the measurements and numbers involved in the beer she was drinking. He loved numbers, and Dove thought it was endearing.
She finished her beer and felt a pleasant buzz. There were now three rollers on the table. His fingers were so nimble and gentle she had to sigh loudly.
“Am I boring you? I’m sorry.” Johnson rubbed her shoulders in a friendly gesture that made her want to put her boobs in his hands.
“No, I was just thinking how much I like hearing you talk about numbers. It’s soothing.” Dove was tempted to lean her head back in a friendly way and clamp on his cock like a toothless, sucking pit bull.
Johnson was a talker, and Dove was good at asking questions. When he got excited or was enunciating particularly loudly, his thighs would tense and touch her ears. Dove wanted to wear his thighs as earrings forever. Their banter was much easier when she couldn’t see him. She pretended they spoke this way every day.
Fire Down Below Page 10
