Chapter 77
The first time I don’t want to have sex with him takes me by surprise. It’s late and we’ve just popped a pan of premade chocolate chip cookies into the oven. Korgy grabs my hips and leans toward me, my back pressing against the countertop.
“We have fourteen minutes till they’re done,” he says, then starts kissing my neck.
“Is that enough time?” I ask, more concerned about baked goods burning than reaching climax. A true tell.
“Who cares?” he asks, pulling my face into his and kissing me hungrily.
I try to kiss him back, to match his fervor, but I can’t get there.
He reaches out to knead my right breast, then pulls it out of my bra and sucks on my nipple while I stare at his Cindy Sherman wall calendar and wonder how it already got to be July.
He runs his finger along the nape of my neck and licks my collarbone as his other hand migrates down my belly toward my skirt, then slips under the waistband of it.
I already know I’m dry and he’s about to find out.
I worry he’ll be disappointed, but his hand gets there and if he is, he doesn’t let on.
Just brings his index and middle fingers up to his mouth, spits on them, and brings them right back down to me.
Problem solved. Only my body knows the difference between self-generated material and manufactured stuff.
And there’s something about the need for his extra support that makes a piece of me die.
He lifts me onto the countertop and I feel the cool tiles on my ass cheeks, and his round belly pressing against my pubic bone. I shut my eyes to try and get more into it as he slides his tongue into my mouth, combing the grooves of my teeth with it. Be here, be here, be here, I order my body.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“I’m here.”
He wraps my legs around his waist then walks to the staircase with me on him, but it’s too narrow for us to go on conjoined, so he peels me off. As we walk up, he presses my hand against the hard block in his pants and groans as he guides me to stroke it.
On the bed, he peels off my clothes and slides down my legs to go down on me, raking his hands down my thighs.
I stare at the green ceiling. There are nice shades of green but this isn’t one of them.
It’s the worst shade of green. Like vomit.
I can’t imagine anyone intentionally choosing it.
Strolling down the paint swatch aisle at Home Depot and nodding toward this one. Yep, I’ll take vomit.
“Hey, be with me,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling away.
“Not feeling it?”
“Um…”
“It’s okay if you aren’t.”
“No, I’m not really…”
“That’s totally fine. No pressure.”
“Thanks,” I say, but there is. From me.
The first time not wanting to have sex is a relationship milestone no one wants to stumble over.
I certainly don’t. Is this how it happens?
You don’t “feel it” once, then twice, then a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth, until you realize you “haven’t felt it” in months and that physical contact with your partner has been reduced to Netflix snuggles and goodbye cheek pecks?
You start farting in front of each other and stop combing your hair, stop using your fingers to make each other cum and instead use them to pop each other’s back zits?
Korgy doesn’t seem to mind. Says it’s totally normal and not to stress, then the oven timer beeps and he takes the cookies out and eats three, but I’m not hungry.
“Why don’t we go for a swim? Try out the pool?” he asks. “Could be fun.”
We change into our swimsuits and head down to the indoor pool. Korgy swipes his key card three times, the keypad going red each time, then he blows on his key as if that will help and tries again, repeatedly with no varying result. I spot the aluminum pool hours sign.
“Closed at nine,” I say.
“Nine?!” he says, taking the closing time personally. “Most pools close at ten!”
I agree with him that yes, most pools do close at ten, mostly to relieve his outrage. It seems to work. Sometimes people just need to be agreed with.
Back at his place, Korgy gets a craving for a pizza, so he orders one while I sit at the edge of the bed in my swimsuit feeling empty and unfinished.
I think about asking him to touch me again.
To at least try to get my body revved up.
But my body doesn’t want to be. It wants to be here, limp and quiet. And something about that terrifies me.
“Food shouldn’t take long,” Korgy says as he hangs up the phone and looks at me with a level of excitement that unnerves me when it’s about pizza.
“Twenty minutes. Half cheese, half meat lovers.”
I guess he’s moved on from salads.