[i]Waking up at 11:10 a.m.
Instant Blueberry Oatmeal. Orange Juice.
All day shift at China Wok.
Delivering an order to 1565 Michigan Ave, just a block away from 1623, my old humble abode. I’ve always driven by this eerie white house on the corner. It never seemed to have any inhabitants...until now. The customer explains they just moved in and that the famous spiritual healer/psychic, Edgar Cayce, used to live here. She complains about it being haunted.
Me: “Wow. That’s pretty cool.”
Her: “No, it’s not when my dog freaks out in the middle of the night.”
Scrambled Eggs. Five Guys French Fries. Honey Green Tea.
This is my favorite part of the day, when I get to sit down and enjoy these gourmet fries. I’m well known at Five Guys as I usually order these delicious potato things at least twice in a week. It’s my only moment of freedom until I’m released at night from China Wok slavery.
The day continues. On the down time I scroll through articles on Cracked.com and try my hand at online poker.
I’ll admit sometimes I do have impure thoughts about my boss...maybe not so much indecent but sexual nonetheless. It’s not blatant or upfront in my mind but it’s there...no doubt in my subconscious. I’ve never let my imagination dig into too many details. We’re both of the same age, 28. Her graceless no mercy attitude and moody temperament isn’t appealing in the least bit, except only in some weird Freudian way. If she were unattractive at all there’d be nothing to mention. I can’t imagine her and the chef (her husband and my boss also) don’t satisfy each other at home. But observing the way they interact at work, sometimes I have my doubts. Then again, all I ever see is their hardcore work ethic and business mindset. Who knows what goes on behind the curtains.
The day turns into night. Working through the dinner shift. Generous tips and a generally easy night.
Off work.
Vegetable Lo Mein.
I drive over to visit Aysena. I missed her. Hanging out in the living room. Adele, the old lady in charge of the house, and her dogs accompany for a while. Then, it’s just her and I. Entertaining ourselves on the iPad – watching Youtube videos of songs that spark our interest or that I think might fancy her ears.
...
She makes fun of my excessive hand gestures. I’m convinced that when explaining myself to her if I use my hands like a teacher presenting a lecture she’ll understand the point. I make fun of the many silly faces she manages to form. Sharing kisses and passion. The lights out – only the glow from the streetlights on Shore Drive protruding through the windows. It’s a romantic scene of film noir. Shadowy figures. Mysterious expressions. A playful game of cat and mouse.
...
I stand up to leave and pull her up off the couch. We embrace. She slips her hand around my side and underneath my pants. Unbuttoning. Pants down. Touching. Excited. I return the favor. It’s apparent I’m not the only one that instigates things. She has within her strong desires. We fall back on the couch and engage in an unexpected sexual episode. At any moment a roommate could march downstairs and catch us in the act. The openness only enhances the experience. I don’t have a condom. But I feel compelled to pursue, as she persists in pushing me inside. She wants me. I want her. I can’t control myself. I just can’t. What it feels like to be naked inside someone is all too overwhelming – it’s been too long. I let go. She doesn’t understand what’s happening and encourages me to be quiet. After I’m done she then realizes what just happened. And she’s a little bit in shock. It makes it complicated as she’s not on birth control and obviously no contraceptive was used. I tell her about the morning-after pill and that it should be okay. Anytime you have sex there’s a chance of getting pregnant, whether you use contraceptive or not. Nothing’s 100%. There’s a long time of reflection and conversation about this...
...
Ays: “It’s funny.”
Me: “It’s funny?”
Ays: “It’s...black humor.”
Me: “Yeah, it is.”
...
I told her that when I orgasm I tend to laugh. She noticed I did not.
Ays: “You didn’t laugh.”
Me: “Kind of. But I couldn’t. I had to be shhhhh.”
She says emphatically, “You crazy.”
Me: “No. You’re crazy.”
...
I bid her farewell in the dark living room.
I feel exceptionally connected to her now...more than before. We made love the other day. But for some reason after tonight there’s a new intimacy shared. I want more. Am I getting too close too fast? It doesn’t matter. I love what I feel.
Back home.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Sleep 4:40 a.m.
[i] Ashkan Honarvar.
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