I am with D. We are having sex. I am wearing a filmy tight negligee almost like a second skin you can barely see but it makes my breasts look great.
We are fucking and he pulls out a skinny, hairy dildo. I say, “Where did you get that?”
He says, “From a friend.”
I go into detective mode. What friend? Just a friend. I persist.
I say, “I’m not letting you fuck me with a used dildo.” He gets mad and sulks, won’t talk.
There is a woman behind a curtain on a raised platform. She repeats some of the things we have said. “Fuck, fuck,” the woman keeps saying like a parrot with an exaggerated Caribbean accent.
She pulls the curtain aside. She comes in the room, sits on the bed with us. She has the shape of the old aunt Jemima syrup bottles. Her face is deep black with bright white skin around the eyes, like she has huge white-skin glasses on. “Can I help you?” she says. She peers at me with her huge white eyes.
Then D and I are alone. The mood is gone. We are no longer fucking. He says, “I’m going to sleep. I have to talk about something with you in a couple of weeks on the 10th.”
I say, “Talk to me now.” I insist. I won’t let him sleep. I am being one of those women who won’t let her partner sleep but keeps him up. I yell, I scream.
He says, “I want someone else. I haven’t done anything about it. But I’m going to.”
I panic at first, my body heaves, I throw up in a great gush all over the floor.
He doesn’t even open his eyes. He says he’s tired and he’s going to sleep.
Then I realize this is my way out. I haven’t wanted to be with him anyway. I jump at the chance.
“Okay then I’m leaving.”
I daydream about how free my life will be. Where I will move, what I will do, all the choices I will have.