Monkey Business

russ caves in

11:45 p.m.

What am I doing, what am I doing? Don’t think, don’t think. She’s taking me out of my boxers now, stroking me. Must stop. Must say stop. Stop. Stoooooop. Her breasts are floating above me like magical, poisonous clouds.

I don’t know how I let this get this far. Honestly. Last thing I remember, I was minding my own business, craving Pringles. And then she was kissing me, I was telling her to stop (mentally), and the next thing I know I’m flat on my back and she’s undoing my belt.

Oh, man.

Maybe she has secret Iceman qualities and has (zing!) frozen me to the bed.

Ooh. Ah. She’s rubbing her nose on my stomach. Lower. Yes, lower. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard. This is wrong. So wrong. I must stop. I must say stop. I should not be in this predicament. Can’t.

Now she’s licking me like a Popsicle. Then she wraps her whole mouth around me and sucks. This is even worse. Must stop her. So good. Must say stop. Stop. Yeah, right. Instead I say, “I’m going to come.”

The good news: she doesn’t stop. The better news: she swallows. Sharon never swallows.

At least I didn’t have real sex.

That’s a line I will not cross.

Doesn’t that count for something?

Kimmy rests her head on my stomach and I doze off.

Ring. Phone. Shit. Ring. Kimmy stirs. “You getting that?”

Ring. Gimme a break. ’Course I’m not getting that. It’s Sharon. How can I talk to Sharon when I’ve just come in Kimmy’s mouth?

Ring.

“No.” Thank God for voice mail. Imagine having to listen to Sharon’s voice echoing through the room. That would be so wrong. Not more wrong than what just happened, but definitely wrong.

Kimmy scoots up to my pillow and kisses my collarbone.

I feel out her ears. The lobes are nothing special, but there’s a pointy pyramid on the top of her cartilage that might be fun to play with. I run the pad of my thumb over it.

“My mother used to get mad at me when I did that,” she says. “She told me that if I kept playing with it, it would grow.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

I continue playing with it, until my thumb gets sore. Is she planning on leaving soon? Not that I’m trying to throw her out. I’ve never been a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. But-well, I’ll have to call Sharon back. Not this second. But in the next hour or so. Anyway, besides the Sharon-telephone issue, this is a single bed. Two people can’t sleep comfortably in this baby, that’s for sure.

I shift and stretch in the hopes that she’ll realize how uncomfortable she is and leave. Doesn’t happen.

Ring.

Shit. My spine feels twisted and prickly, my skin clammy. I think the walls of my room might be compressing like the trash compactor scene in Star Wars.

Ring.

What does Kimmy expect from this? Does she want me to break up with Sharon? Start dating her? I don’t want to break up with Sharon. I love the way she’s tough but not too tough to make baby kisses into the phone. I love the way she plays with my hair. She picks one strand and then rolls it in her fingertips while we’re watching TV, my head in her lap. I love the way she eats chocolate peanut butter cups. She bites off the rim, peels off the top chocolate layer, and then licks the chocolate off the bottom so that all that’s left is the peanut butter circle, which she pops into her mouth. Then she closes her eyes and makes adorable “mmm” sounds.

If I break up with her she’ll never do that again. Worse, she’ll do it again but not with me.

My stomach hurts. My back’s in pain. I can’t breathe. I can’t break up with Sharon. No way. I have to tell Kimmy that this isn’t happening again. Now might not be the best moment. Maybe sometime when I’m wearing my boxers. Maybe if I say I’m going to the bathroom, she’ll leave. And then I’ll call Sharon back. I pat her forehead. “Bathroom time.” I almost said bathroom break, but in the nick of time I realized that she might take that to mean that I’m expecting her to return.

She stretches her arms above her, like Catwoman. “Me, too. I should go back to my room, anyway.”

“Yeah?” You don’t say. “Okay.” I re-dress, then peer into the hallway to make sure the coast in clear. A run-in with Rena would not be good. Coast is clear.

“I’ll see you in a sex,” she says, heading to her room.

I think she meant sec. Or not. When I see her in front of the sink brushing her teeth, I peck her cheek. “Good night,” I say while hurrying out.

“But wait-” she says, but I’m already out the door and pretend I don’t hear.

Voice mail from Sharon: “Hi, honey, it’s me. Just want to say hello. See what’s up. Miss you.” She blows a series of baby kisses into the phone and I feel like a bastard.

Second message: “Honey, where are you? I want to go to sleep.”

I lie down and dial. “Hi.” A strand of Kimmy’s hair is on my pillow.

“Hi, honey. Where were you?”

“In the bathroom,” I answer. At least I didn’t have to lie. Yet.

“I can’t wait to see you,” she murmurs.

I put on my sweet voice, the one that sounds almost babyish, the one I would never use in front of another guy, ever. “I can’t wait to see you, too.”

“It’s only two more weeks till American Thanksgiving. You have your plane ticket, right?”

My sheets smell musky, like female sweat. “I have my plane ticket.”

“I’m so happy you’re coming home. Do you want to do anything special? I have a bunch of new recipes I can make you for dinner.”

Sure. And would it be okay if Kimmy gave me a blow job for dessert?

How does she not know? All I know is that I can’t tell her. Not that I was planning on telling her. You can’t tell someone that you cheated only ten minutes after it happened. What’s your excuse? Sorry, I was drunk then, but I’m sober now? I didn’t realize how special you are, but now I do? I was hard and now I’m not?

What if we get married? Did I just cheat on my future wife?

“Sounds great,” I say.

“Any more thoughts on Christmas? I was thinking about a cruise.”

Christmas? That’s two months away. What if I decide I want to be with Kimmy? Not that I’m planning to decide to be with Kimmy. I don’t know what I’m planning. Except changing my sheets. Smelling Kimmy and talking to Sharon is like watching The Hulk turn orange when he gets angry instead of green. Just wrong. “Um, no thoughts yet.”

“Okay, but decide soon or we’ll never get reservations. What did you do tonight?”

“Huh?”

“What did you do?”

Better question would be who I did. “Not much.” Ain’t it the truth. It was Kimmy who did all the work. “You?”

“I had a lousy day. Remember that exam I told you I was giving to my ninth-graders?”

“Uh-huh.” If she says so. She’s always giving some sort of exam to one of her classes.

“I caught two guys in the back cheating.”

I tense at the C-word. “Yeah?”

“They wrote the answers on their shoes. How did they think I wouldn’t notice? Do they think I’m an idiot?”

My bed is still warm. So maybe she’s not so on the ball. “The nerve.”

“I waited till the end of class before I confronted them. They tried to deny it, as if I couldn’t see the evidence on their shoes. I escorted them to Sheila’s office. She suspended them for two days. They cried like two-year-olds.”

Odd that she’s chosen today to talk about cheating. If she asked me if I cheated right now, I’d admit it. Right now.

“Russ?”

Shit. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Me, too.”

She yawns. “I’m tired. Time to hit the hay.”

“Good night.”

“Good night. Be good.”

Too late.

I need to sleep so I don’t have to think. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since I got to school. Lately, I’ve been able to get more sleep during the day than at night. Maybe I’m a bat. Batman. It’s the light in the hallway that keeps me up. It stays on twenty-four hours a day and the outline of the beam through my door is like an eclipse. Maybe I should tape the light out, eh? Make it a bat cave.

Maybe Nick’s up. I think I’ll start calling him Robin.