I awake and it’s still dark outside. Marcia’s head is resting on my chest, rising and falling with each of my breaths. I gently rub her back and kiss her forehead.
She moans and kisses my chest, before lying her head back down and returning to her sleep. For a moment I wonder if she remembers that it’s me and not her boyfriend, but I don’t stir.
In the darkness of her bedroom, I can hardly make out anything, save the outline of her dresser, a bookshelf, and a desk with a chair parked beneath it. There are picture frames on the dresser, but I can’t see them clearly in this darkness. I imagine that they are of her boyfriend, though.
I am lying in her bed, so the notion that she is willing to spend the remaining two weeks with me feels more probable, but what will two weeks do for us? Against fifteen years? Probably nothing. But then again, why does any of this matter to me?
I run the palm of my hand along her bare back, enjoying the smoothness of her skin beneath my touch. This would only matter if I had serious feelings for her. Up until this moment, I have only allowed myself to think of myself as wanting her, but what does that really mean? Wanting her how? To be my girl? To be my sex partner? To love me back?
Hold up. Back? Do I love her? I know I’m a newbie on a lot of this stuff, but do I love her? J would probably say that I’m just whipped. Maybe that’s it. I’m just a little whipped is all.
But could I love her eventually? Probably sooner than later.
I feel her move again. This time, in the stillness of the room, I hear her whisper, “Thank you, Chucky,” her head never moving from its place on my chest.
I already know the answer to my question, and it is at that moment that I realize I am willing to give my all and gamble these next two weeks against their fifteen years.
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to need some guidelines,” Marcia says, as she dresses for work.
“Why can’t we just go with the flow?”
“Because I need structure. This is already hard enough as it is.”
“Okay.” I agree only because I don’t want her to change her mind altogether. “What are you thinking?”
She turns away from her closet, holding a blouse and a pantsuit. “Well, for one, as much as I love sleeping with you, we can’t do that again.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll need to sleep in your own bed, and I will sleep in my own bed.”
“Oh,” I say, relieved that she meant “sleep” in the literal sense.
“You feel good and all, but I don’t want to get used to sleeping with you in this bed.”
“Well, let me offer a compromise. How about if you decide you want to sleep with me, then you come to my apartment and stay over there?”
She considers this for a moment. “That’s fine, but I probably won’t do that either.”
“I’m just giving you the option,” I say. I notice the picture frames from earlier and am relieved that they are pictures of her by herself.
“Duly noted.” She begins buttoning her blouse. “And you have to be monogamous during these two weeks. I have to trust you on this one.”
“Not a problem.”
“When I say give me space, you have to step back and give me space. Okay?”
I nod. “Fair enough.”
“One last thing. And this one is kind of wacky.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to make yourself completely and totally sexually available to me whenever I want it. And I need for you to be prepared to roll however I want to roll.”
I laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Yep. If this is my last chance at something different, I want to go all out.”
“Well, I have to ask you something then. Are you into strap-ons, S&M, anal beads, and all that stuff?”
“Damn, Chucky. What kind of freak are you?” she asks, laughing.
“I’m just saying. I’ll do my best to follow, but all of that stuff might be a hair outside of my experience level.”
“Well, I appreciate your keeping an open mind,” she says, “but my desires are a little different. We only have two weeks, so there will be no anal beads.” She laughs again. “But if we had another month, maybe.”
This time I laugh with her.
“Will I be able to make suggestions for things we can do?” I ask.
“Sure. Why not? Do you have something in mind?”
“I was thinking we could go out to dinner and catch a movie or something.”
At this, she bristles a little. “I don’t really want to go out in public.”
“Don’t want to run into him, huh?”
“No. I would rather he not know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to know what he’s doing, either.”
“Fair enough. I can cook dinner then, and we can watch DVDs and Netflix.”
“That’s fine.”
“So why don’t you come over tonight, then? There’s a movie I’d like for us to watch together.”
“Sure,” she says, putting on her pants.
I stand and begin to dress. “What type of movies do you like?”
“Interesting question,” she says. “I love sci-fi and fantasy, but I also like comedies.”
“What kind of comedies? Slapstick? Romantic comedies?”
“I like stupid stuff.”
“Like The Waterboy?”
“Yep. And I love this movie with Ryan Reynolds called Waiting.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Oh, it’s so veiny!” I say in my best imitation of the cook from the movie.
“When the girl stands on top of the table and flashes the guys, I almost lose my mind!” she says.
I laugh when I think about it. “So your standards for films are just as low as mine.”
“I guess so,” she says, putting on her coat. “Well, I have to get to work.”
“I should probably do the same,” I offer.
She smiles and leans over, kissing me.
I quickly cover my mouth when our lips part. “I know my breath probably smells like gargamel.”
“Gargamel? Like the smurfs? Boy, you are crazy.”
“Well, what would you say it smelled like then?” I joke.
“If I had to guess, since I didn’t get a strong whiff of you,” she says, as we prepare to leave the house, “I would say that it probably smells like my pussy.”
Two weeks, I think, and smile.