Open then, let me in.
I put the coffee on and then slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get my hair in order. I could hear him snoring softly from the bedroom, a gentle sound, yet it gave me anxiety. I didn’t normally let them spend the night, but he wasn’t like the others, was he? No, around the others I’d always felt too dressed, armored. They’d pried and pulled a little, but my armor was custom-made, strong. With David, I felt naked, the softest parts of my flesh exposed and vulnerable. That’s why I was in the bathroom straightening myself up when it normally wouldn’t matter. Like I could cover one thing up with another, you know?
I reached for the mugs and set them on the counter, my hands shaking. He was a good boy, but he was a boy. Not at all like the men I usually sleep with: hard…detached…sleazy. I heard him stir in the other room and then the rustle of sheets as he got out of bed. I prepared my face, arranged it so that I looked bored. No big deal, men are whatevs. It was awful to be this person, so jammed up with bad experiences you couldn’t let anyone see your real face. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms up and under my T-shirt so we were skin to skin. I liked it, though under no circumstances would I ever have admitted that. I felt like one of those babies in the preemie ward who needed kangaroo care to bond.
“Hello,” I said. “I’ve made the coffee.”
I turned away, busied myself with the sugar and cream. So white. One was smooth and rich, the other was grainy and hard. I liked the way they looked sitting next to each other: the pot of cream and the bowl of sugar.
“I can see that.”
He spun me around, the tops of his fingers already skimming the right places on my underwear. I let him back me up until I was pressed against the counter, the coffee pot hissed softly behind me. I decided right then that the sound of coffee brewing was the best soundtrack for sex. His hair was disheveled, his eyes filled with me as he stared on steadfastly. Be careful, David, I wanted to say. He was trying to see into me and that was never a good idea. Both of his thumbs looped through the sides of my panties as he worked at tugging them off. They slid down my legs and I closed my eyes against the feeling: soft cotton became so erotic paired with desire. The hissing of the coffee, the finger that found me and pressed in. My knees buckled, just a little and I sucked air through my teeth until I made my own hissing.
“Oh yeah?” he said, looking interested. “Tell me more.” He had such full lips, such earnest eyes.
I bit my bottom lip, determined not to make another sound. I wouldn’t tell him a damn thing.
“Tell me, Yara,” he urged.
I tilted my head up, trying not to pant, calling to the white expanse of the ceiling for help.
“You don’t want to give me your voice, but your eyes speak too,” he said. I closed them. “Ah. Well, that takes care of that.” He switched up his movements: one thumb on the outside, two fingers inside. Everything was moving in a circle.
Rhythm, I thought. He’s a musician. I felt his free hand move to my chest. Not my breast, but to the general area where my heart was beating out a fast song.
“What about this?” he said. “Can you slow your heart rate too…your breathing?” I did. I took a couple of deep breaths, relaxed. I was climbing, even so, it was uphill, a bit strained.
“All right,” he said. Our cheeks were pressed together and I could feel his breath on my ear.
“You forgot about one thing though, Yara.” He added speed and pressure to the movement his fingers were making. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ask him what it was I forgot, and I was afraid of what my voice would sound like if I did.
“You’re very, very wet,” he said. “Your body will always betray you. It’s a tattletale.” And then I came so hard there really was no way to keep the sounds inside of my body. I cried out and when I was finished, I slid down to the floor exhausted. David whistled while he poured the coffee. He glanced down once to ask how many sugars I took and I held up two fingers without looking at him. Then he handed me my mug and sat down next to me on the floor.
“This is nice,” he said. He sipped his coffee and stared at the wall with me, one leg up, his forearm resting casually across his knee.
“We’re just staring at a wall,” I said.
“We are,” he assured me. “We’re staring at a wall, and my fingers smell like you, and just a few hours ago I came really fucking hard inside the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And now we’re doing my favorite thing—drinking coffee and being reflective…while staring at a wall.”
I nodded with a new appreciation for my wall. “It’s a nice wall,” I said. “Very white.”
“Very white,” he agreed. “And smooth.”
“It wouldn’t be as white if I had kids. People with kids always have dingy walls.” I don’t know what possessed me to say it. Why in that moment I was even thinking of kids, especially since I DID NOT WANT THEM. David seized the moment.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I know I’m good in bed, but damn, girl. Already planning out our life together.” I stared at him, mortified and he laughed. “Relax, English,” he said. “I’ll ask you to marry me first. Stages.”
I sighed. “You were pretty good,” I said. “Pity you were only good for about four minutes before…”
A nightmare: he began to tickle me. Long fingers wiggling between my ribs, crawling up my sides. I fell over onto the wood laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. David straddled me, laying kisses all over my face while his hands continued to find my weak spots. By sheer miracle, neither coffee mug was turned over, and when he was done with me he stood up and pulled me to my feet.
“If we practice every day—twice a day, actually—I think I can add a minute to my time each time.” He was joking, but he sounded so hopeful, like fucking me for an extended length of time would bring him true happiness.
He pulled me toward my bedroom then suddenly stopped halfway through the doorway.
“Do you want kids?” he asked.
I shook my head no.
“Hmm.” He pondered my face thoughtfully, like he didn’t quite believe me. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to fuck anyone else up,” I told him. It was the truth. Those of us who’d been fucked up thought of those things. Not everyone was an optimist.
“Do you think you’ll change your mind?” he asked, and I wondered if this was about to be a deal breaker. Usually men ran when you told them you wanted to have their babies, David was disappointed that I didn’t want to have his babies, or anyone else’s.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I’m not broken because I don’t want the same thing as everyone else. And, no, you’re not invited to fix me, or soften my heart, or make me want things I never knew I wanted.”
He looked at me for a long time, and then he said: “It’s human nature to want to fix things. That was my first thought, actually, but you’re right. Someone should take you as you are, not have an agenda for how they want to change you.”
I breathed.
I liked him a little more. More than I did five minutes ago when we were staring at a wall and drinking our coffee. If this kept up I was going to be in love by nightfall.
“Okay,” he said. “What about adoption? That way you’re not bringing more souls into the world, you’re just helping the ones already here.”
I’d thought about adoption before. But, I was only twenty-five. It still seemed like a remote idea.
“An older child,” I said. “Maybe eight or nine.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “I like that. I like that a lot.”
“Cool. Now, can we get down to business, or do you want to plan out our retirement next?”
“You’re catching on, English.” He smiled. “Seeing us as a long-term deal.”
I didn’t know if I was smiling because he was calling me English, which was utterly ridiculous, or if I was amused by the fact he was planning our life together.
We were on our way to the bed when he looked at me and said, “You’re not the same as everyone else. You think I sound crazy, but as soon as I looked at you, I wanted to write a song. That means something.”
“It means I’m attractive,” I told him. “And you have a dick. You’re not the first man to use his dick to store inspiration.”
“Shut up,” he said. “You talk too much.”