The problem with rising each weekday morning with the sun is the fact that my body is automatically set to … you guessed it, rise with the sun. That’s how I find myself out for an early-morning run on a Saturday. It has absolutely nothing to do with the lack of sleep last night.
After completing my seventh mile, I slow my pace down to a light jog. The exertion this early in the morning may have been a little overzealous on my part. My lungs are tight, a burning feeling ripping through them, causing me to throw my head back and take a few deep breaths, finally calming my beating heart. With each breath, flashes of yesterday’s run cross my mind like a movie. They’re the same visions that filled my head all night long—Minnie pressed between her door and car in the blazing sun, so responsive and ready.
I know women well enough to know that if her moans were any indication, she was as turned on as I was. Part of me is grateful for those shithead kids and their interruption. Without it, where would we have ended up? How far would she have let me take it?
I’m not a runner by choice, but when my head is full of chaos it is truly the only thing outside of sex that brings me back to normal. Of course, I’d prefer to be having sex this morning, but considering I’d be envisioning Minnie regardless of whomever was in my bed, I decided a run was a better option. I may be an ass, but even I know that’s not cool.
An oncoming jogger passes by and I nod in greeting as I return to my thoughts and slow my pace to a brisk walk. Sometime around mile two I had removed my shirt and placed it in the waistband of my shorts. I pull the shirt from the waistband and use it to wipe the sweat from my brow. I have no idea why I can’t shake the visual of kissing Minnie. I’ve kissed plenty of women, beautiful women, smart women, sarcastic women, the entire gamut. But, none of them have ever left me with this … hangover. I have a Minnie hangover and I haven’t even had sex with her.
Which is why I should cancel our date today. I mean, it’s not a date date but more like coworkers or even friends hanging out. I’m going to show her a little of my world, show her around the area, and then take her home. That’ll be it. Simple. Just a few hours and we’ll be done. My curiosity about her will be extinguished and I’ll move on. She’ll move on.
I’m almost back to my Jeep when I notice a compact car parked nearby and a woman stretching in the empty space next to it. Allowing myself a few minutes to appreciate the way her body slowly bends forward, displaying some very nice cleavage my way, I realize Captain Dick in my pants isn’t budging. He’s broken. I’m up so early on a Saturday that my dick has actually stopped functioning. That’s the only excuse because this woman is a piece of work—literally, those tits are not real.
I reach in the back of my Jeep and pull a water bottle from the backseat and take a large drink. As I’m screwing the lid back on, I smell a light hint of jasmine fill the air around me and glance to my right.
“Hey there. Just finishing up your run?” Fake Tits asks.
“Yep.”
“Too bad, I’m not that familiar with this particular park and was hoping you could show me the best route.” I know everything she said is code for “want to bend me over the hood of my car and fuck my brains out?” Oddly enough, even that visual doesn’t get my dick stirring. Seriously? What the fuck is wrong?
“Sorry, maybe another time. The trails are clearly marked and I saw plenty of other runners out there. You’ll be fine,” I say, grabbing a shirt from the passenger seat and pulling it over my head. I hear the woman sigh in appreciation and I roll my eyes in response.
“How about I give you my number in case you ever want to run together, or anything else,” she purrs.
“Uh, sure.” My response doesn’t indicate I’m interested whatsoever but that doesn’t seem to deter her. It also occurs to me that we haven’t even introduced ourselves. Just as I’m about to remind her of that, she runs over to her car and reaches in through the driver’s window before running back to me. Yep, fake.
“Here’s my number, you should totally call me sometime.” Her words seem casual enough, but the predatory look in her eyes says something else. I watch as her little pink tongue slowly grazes her lips. I should be turned on. I should take her up on her offer. Just as I’m realizing this is supposed to be hot and a turn-on, she hands me a business card. I glance down at the front and scan for her name. Of course, Kelli—with an “i.”
“Thanks, uh, Kelli. Well, I better get going.”
I walk a little faster than normal around to the driver’s side and hop in my seat, quickly turning on the ignition. I’m pulling away from Kelli, her fake tits, and big toothy grin when I realize I never told her my name. I’m not even worried about it either. I reach over to open the glove compartment, tossing her card in with the other random shit I have in there. The abyss of unwanted and unnecessary pieces of my life.
After I finished my run, I stopped by Rosa’s and picked up a breakfast burrito. Rosa’s has been a staple in this town most of my life and there is no better breakfast than one of her burritos. Well, and her tacos, and her tortas, oh and the asada fries … okay, so Rosa’s is basically the best food in town. When I was a kid, my mom would make a big production of going out to dinner and Rosa’s was always my choice. Sometimes living in the town I grew up in and facing memories of the good times of my childhood cause my mood to dip into the less-than-positive zone. I get that I’m not necessarily Perry Positive in general, but I’ve been thinking of my childhood lately and all that brings is negative thinking.
Thanks, Mom.
After devouring my breakfast, I hopped in the shower—a cold shower—before getting dressed for my day with Minnie. The short movie-like visions of our kiss filled my head, and as much as I tried to will away my ever-increasingly hard dick, I was forced to crank the water to cold and shiver my way through the rest of my shower. I refuse to jerk off to a memory of a fucking kiss. A kiss.
Coming out of my room dressed and ready for the day, I spot Landon in the kitchen making something to eat. I walk in and take a bottle of water from the package on top of the refrigerator, twisting the cap and finishing half the bottle in one drink.
“What’s up?” Landon asks without turning toward me.
I peer around his side to see him building quite possibly the largest breakfast sandwich I’ve ever seen.
“Nothing much, just gonna play a little Call of Duty before I head out. You up for a game?”
“Sure. Where you headed today? You,” he pauses sniffing, “smell pretty.”
“Fuck off.” I down the rest of my water before tossing my bottle in the recycling and flipping him off as I leave the kitchen.
“Dude, I’m teasing. What’s your deal?”
“Nothing. Finish that so we can play.”
I manage to get the system up and a new mission started while Landon manages to finish his sandwich in only a few bites. It’s rather disgusting to listen to; I don’t dare watch. Once he’s finished his last bite, he wipes his face and grabs his controller.
“Ready to get your ass whooped, pretty boy?”
“When did you start referring to yourself as ‘pretty boy,’ Lan? I mean, you’re not looking all that pretty with the scruff you got going on, but whatever.”
“Shut up and play. Shall we wager? Loser cleans the toilets for a month?”
“Sounds good. Hope you’re ready for some manual labor around here.” My focus is evident as I start the game. If there’s one household chore I could do without for the rest of my life, it’s cleaning the fucking toilet.
Two hours later, after one match turned into more than I could keep track of, Landon is pouting and bitching about toilet brushes and I’m enjoying his defeat immensely. I laugh to myself as I grab my keys and check my phone for messages. I don’t have any from Minnie and wonder if I should have confirmed our date—hanging out day—sooner. To play it safe, I pull up my text messages and tap one out to her.
Me: Hey, just making sure we’re still on for today?
Minnie: I’m running a little late. I understand if you’d rather make other plans.
Me: Why would I do that? How long?
Minnie: Actually, I just walked in the door. I still have to shower and stuff. Raincheck?
Me: Is it going to take you 14 hours to get ready?
Minnie: What? NO! I’m not high maintenance.
Minnie: Ok. *Maybe* a little. But, I do need at least like an hour and a half.
Me: Two hours. I’ll give you the extra 30 in case you ARE high maintenance.
Minnie: Whatever.
Me: See you in a few hours, Minnesota.
Minnie: Ok.
With a few hours to burn, I pick the remote back up and log into the lobby for a worthy opponent. As I’m about to enter a game I hear Landon fire off a few rapid cuss words from the bathroom and I smile in victory. Sucker.