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What’s next on the schedule? John considered as he wiped the sweat from his face. Not that there was really a fixed schedule for this particular Wednesday night. The lack of any event on a Wednesday was, typically, to be expected, but for this particular Wednesday, that lack seemed out of strange; it was a rare case of being peculiar by not being unusual at all.
That he and Riley should have no concrete plans on this night, after having skipped the previous day’s work to fuck each others’ brains out, would, if Riley were any normal girl, be expected, but as she was Riley, and as she was, by her own account, very not busy at work this week and very excited to take advantage of that fact to see (and fuck, of course) John, it had come as a bit of a shock when she had responded to his mid-day text asking about possible plans with
praxis backfiring, comrade 😓
so behind
ha behind 🍑
fuck mine Friday please
Her closing demand had at least made up for the initial disappointment and then some. Riley’s need to play a bit of catch-up was, while slightly disappointing, easily understandable.
What, or rather who, had been far more perplexing was Penny, the middle manager he’d recently been meant to work under in his role as consultant, who had decided that his expertise was best suited to the task of acting as her part-time chair and sexual aide. He had, after some reservations about his role, mostly due to Penny’s penchant for bizarre and anxiety-inducing behavior, been happy to fill this role, and so it came as a bit of a let down and definitely a surprise when, despite her unexpected appearance at his house the day before, at which she seemed to indicate another liaison between herself and John was imminent, she had instead spent the day evidently occupied with actual work tasks. Or at least that is what he assumed she was doing behind her closed office door; she had made no effort to communicate with him the entire day, and so he had largely spent his work hours doing something that was, in the abstract, similar to his current activities: trying to find something to do.
He considered seeing if Liam was free (he probably was) and down to fuck (he almost certainly was), and sent off a quick “sup” to check. He took the absence of a reply within the first minute to mean that Liam was busy, perhaps with another guy, or, though John considered this unlikely, not looking to get his ass pounded at the moment. Shrugging this off, he decided to take a shower and contemplate what he could possibly make from what remained in the refrigerator.
He was still formulating a dinner plan and washing his hair when a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “You in there?”
Carrie.
“Yeah,” he shouted at what he hoped was the correct level to overcome the shower and the closed bathroom door, “in the shower, out in a minute.” He briefly paused to consider why he was still in the habit of closing the bathroom door at all with no one else in the house, but he supposed it had served a purpose tonight.
“I came over to get my shit,” came the response. “Sorry I forgot it last time.”
“No problem, it’s in the living room,” he responded, terminating his shower. Clean enough for now.
There was no further response, so he supposed she would have gone to retrieve her things. He quickly toweled off, wrapped the towel around himself, and exited to his bedroom to get dressed.
Carrie was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in her usual summertime garb of cutoff jean shorts, a t-shirt and thong sandals. A pair of sunglasses was pushed up onto the top of her head, her hair tied back in a pony tail.
“Did you eat yet?” she asked, seemingly unfazed by his wearing nothing but a towel.
“I was about to make something for myself,” he replied. He was unsure how to get dressed with her watching. To be sure, she had seen it all before, but he doubted she was here for a show. “Could you not find your stuff?”
“I’m hungry,” she shrugged, ignoring his question. “What are you making?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. He judged from her lack of comment that she was expecting him to continue. “…but if you’re hungry, why don’t I take you out somewhere, or we can just order in? My cooking was never really to your liking when we were together, as I recall.”
He hoped she would pick up on the not-so-subtle reminder that they were, and had been, officially broken up for a while now and that their last little hook-up was, as she herself had said, “a one-time thing” and “probably a mistake.”
“Alright,” she replied, “but you’re not paying for it. I don’t want you thinking this is a date or we’re getting back together or anything.”
“Agreed,” he said. She did not seem to feel any particular urge to let him get dressed alone.
“Are you going to order? I don’t really care what you get. You know what I like, anyway.”
“Ok, but I need my phone,” he said.
“Ok,” she said, still not moving from her spot on the edge of the bed.
“Which is in my pants…?”
She still did not mecidiyeköy escort move.
“The pants I’m not currently wearing…”
Still no sign of understanding.
He gestured vaguely to the towel wrapped around his waist. “I mean, can I get dressed first?”
“Yeah, sure,” she replied, seemingly oblivious. It dawned on her after a few seconds of silence. “Oh, right, you need to get dressed.” She stood up. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before, but I’ll go find that stuff.”
She left the bedroom, closing the door behind her and John found some fresh clothes to throw on. Just as he’d removed the towel, she popped her head back into the room. “Yes?” he said.
“Nothing,” she said, smiling. “I was going to come up with an excuse but I know I don’t need one with you.” She popped her head back out and he finished throwing on a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt.
He found Carrie lounging on the couch downstairs, showing no particular interest in any of the movie options she was scrolling through on his tv. I guess I have plans for tonight, after all. “Nothing good on?”
She turned her head just enough to indicate she was responding, but not enough to make her face visible and answered “Meh, I don’t know. I just want something for while we eat.”
“So you don’t have to talk to me?” he teased. “Sandwiches alright? I don’t want anything too heavy.”
“Sure, fine,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter.”
He sat beside her to show her the menu he had brought up on his phone, but she ignored it, preferring instead to continue focusing on scrolling. Having selected what he supposed would be a sufficient variety of sandwiches that Carrie would find something she liked and he could stomach what was left, he came to the payment information screen and it dawned on him that he could not split a bill as requested. Fuck it, he thought, she will have already forgotten about paying her half, and proceeded to pay for the order.
“So, what are we watching?” he asked, turning his attention to the screen. She was currently looking at a list of Korean dramas which all looked essentially the same to him. He had often found amusing her love of Korean things when they had been together. He’d tease her about her love for K-Pop idols or these dramas, but he didn’t hate them. They were just whatever. The dramas, especially, he could appreciate the production value, although he had no idea what was going on in any of the ones she had watched intently while curled up with him on this very couch. When he’d told her jokingly once that people were going to think she was Korean, she didn’t seem to mind. Interesting, to John at least, was how little interest she showed in Chinese productions, given her heritage, but that maybe should not be surprising, given the months it had taken for her to even reveal her Chinese name, and the frightening consequences he was assured would befall him should he ever reveal it to anyone else.
“Just background noise,” she reiterated. “Did you order? I’m starving.” She leaned over, placing her head on his left shoulder to get a better look at his phone, which was currently displaying a confirmation of just that.
“Uh huh,” he assured her, which did not impel her to remover her head from his shoulder as the drama’s theme music began emanating from the tv. “Probably be here in about ten minutes, so you should be able to finish an episode of…this by the time you’re done.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” she said, shooting him a glance without moving her head. “Sorry I just kind of barged in. You probably have a date tonight or something.”
“No,” he said. “I was actually looking for something to do, so it’s good, really. I was meaning to catch up on my period dramas, anyway.”
“Uh huh,” she said, casting her eyes back to the screen. A couple of guys with very impressive-looking hats were talking about something but John could not be bothered to read the subtitles. “If you have a date, though, you can tell me,” she continued without looking at him. “I don’t want to interrupt you having freaky sex with some dickgirl or whatever.”
“I kind of feel like if you didn’t want that you wouldn’t come over unannounced,” he said. This had sounded funnier in his head.
To John’s mild surprise, she didn’t seem to be offended. For a while they just sat in silence, watching the incomprehensible, to John, anyway, proceedings of a Korean nobleman’s life and, John guessed, something about his wife and/or concubine. Finally, they were eventually interrupted by the ring of a doorbell. “Food’s here,” he said, and Carrie shifted her weight off of him to allow him to retrieve it, which he did, shortly. Notice she still has not mentioned anything about paying, he mused to himself.
Happy to give his shoulder a break, he laid out the food choices on the coffee table before them and sat back down. “Your feast awaits, my queen,” he said, gesturing grandly at the paper-wrapped sandwich shapes on the table.
“Finally,” beşiktaş escort she said, immediately unwrapping one option, finding it wanting, and proceeding to the next. This process was repeated until the fourth sandwich, which was evidently to her liking, as she started eating it. He helped himself to one of the passed-over options.
When John judged by her slowing pace that Carrie had slaked her hunger sufficiently for coherent conversation, he decided to break the silence with “So who is this guy and what is going on in this show? Abbreviated version, please.”
“So this guy,” Carrie said, glancing over at him briefly before returning her view to the screen, “in the purple here, he’s like a retainer, right, for that guy. The one in the red. But that guy, the boss guy, his wife really wants our hero’s dick. So that’s the main thing. There’s a whole other plot with the dowager but, like, it’s complicated.”
“Hmm, I see,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“No, not really, but it seems good.”
“It’s fine,” she said, “you can like, look at your phone or whatever. Do you mind if I put the next one on? I can’t really watch these at home.”
“Nah, go ahead, I really wasn’t going to do anything tonight, anyway,” John said, mentally adding besides probably jerk off. “Did you drop your subscription or something?”
“No,” she answered. “Well, actually, yeah. But Linda still has hers. And I’ve been, like, crashing there for a little while.”
“And so…?”
“And so, like, I can watch it but her boyfriend, Steve, you remember Steve? He remembers you, haha, he thinks you’re an asshole, by the way.” John found it amusing that she had actually said “haha” instead of just laughing. She continued, “Anyway, he hates this shit and if I put it on he’s always like ‘this fucking shit again,’ which, like, I think what he really wants to say is ‘this fucking GOOK shit again’ but he’s not going to say that because, well, obviously, but also I’m pretty sure he’s racist but also also he’s letting me stay there for a while so I’m not going to complain or anything. Can’t wait till I find a new place.”
“Oh, yeah, Steve,” John replied. “I sort of remember that guy. Linda’s still with him?”
“Yeah,” she said, now no longer focused on the drama, which had proceeded to credits after some ostensibly shocking ending, the meaning of which John had not deciphered at all. “To be honest, I think he’s kind of a dickhead, but I would feel like an idiot telling Linda, you know? Like ‘you should dump that guy and also since you live with him we can couch surf together.’ Like, I am in no place to be giving relationship advice.”
“Why? Because you’re single?” he asked.
She responded with a sort of shrug, which he took to mean “kind of.”
He continued, “If the only people who were qualified to give advice on relationships had never broken up with anyone, we’d all be getting lectured on how the key to success is to stay with your dumbass high school crush till death do you part.”
She laughed. “Oh my god I would still be with Gene.” She stifled another laugh. “I wonder what he would think about that.”
John only vaguely remembered Carrie having ever mentioned her high school boyfriend but he was happy to hear her laughing. “Did you want a drink or anything? Obviously I didn’t order anything.”
“Oh, yeah,” Carrie said, still stifling laughter at something he could only imagine you had to have been there for. “Do you have any alcohol?”
“Beer, I think, or there’s some bourbon left,” he answered.
“Ugh, whiskey,” Carrie said, “Beer me, thanks.” He fetched them each a bottle, returning from the kitchen to find Carrie had removed her sandals and was now taking up the entire couch by lying down on it.
He set her beer down on the table, which was still littered with refuse from dinner, and then took a seat in one of the chairs arranged on either end of the couch. She flicked her eyes over towards him. “Come on,” she said, “I’m not going to bite.”
“Not what I’m worried about,” he said, and took a drink.
“What, are you worried I’m going to make a move on you?”
He shrugged.
She made a face. “You let a guy fuck your ass one time and he thinks he’s irresistible. Get over here and be my pillow.”
“More like three times, I think, but alright.” He got up, pretending at reluctance, and moved back to where he had been. Carrie was kind enough to sit up temporarily and allow him space before putting her head on his thigh. “Just want to be clear that I’m just acting as a pillow here, not as a boyfriend acting as a pillow, right?”
“Uh huh,” she said. “Your lap is just comfortable is all. Don’t worry, I’m not falling for you or anything. You don’t need to baby me, I’m not that much of an emotional wreck.”
“Understood,” he replied. “Sorry if I come off as patronizing. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“It’s ok,” she said, watching the tv rather than his reactions. “Although you are a patronizing asshole. Pretending that it’s etiler escort just my feelings you have to worry about.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I have always been an asshole. Good thing we’re just friends, now, so you can tell me these things, like how much of an asshole I am, and not worry about hurting my feelings.”
“Exactly,” she said. She rearranged herself to get more comfortable. “Now shut up so I can watch my show, asshole.”
“A thousand pardons,” he said. He awkwardly pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped at it with his right hand. His left hand was trapped in a limbo between Carrie’s body and the back of the couch. He would have been more comfortable resting it on her but decided against it.
No messages from Liam yet, odd. Maybe he’s found another daddy. In the back of his mind, John had assumed Liam would at some point want something more than he was willing to offer, which is to say no-strings sex, but he had not really allowed himself much thought about what that would look like.
Nothing from Riley yet, either. Such is the life of a bachelor, he supposed. With little else to do, he opened the dating app, and, with no new messages besides some from bots, found himself idly thumbing through a list of recommended matches but with little interest in composing a clever message that would, with 95% likelihood or more, go ignored or deleted, in any case.
“Are you texting your girlfriend?” Carrie teased.
“If only,” he replied. “Just fucking around.”
“Tell her your ex is over and has her head in your lap.”
“I’ll be sure to tell my no girlfriend that. It will really drive her hypothetically crazy,” John smiled to himself.
“What about that girl I saw you fucking? The one with the dick? Did you break up or something? Was that just a one-time thing, too?” She had stopped watching her show to look him in the face.
“Just a casual thing, not sure precisely how many times it’s capped at,” John said. Her expression was not one of being satisfied with his response. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. He did not feel like getting into the fact that if not for the modern capitalist state Carrie would very likely have walked in on some of that freaky sex she claimed she wished to avoid.
“You’re so full of shit, John,” Carrie turned her attention back to the tv. “I told you I don’t care, you can fuck who you want. That was just a one-time thing the other day.”
“And I’m telling you, she’s not my girlfriend. I mean, it doesn’t matter, but that is the truth. She’s actually stated repeatedly that she wants casual fucking and nothing else, which, as a well-known pervert, is fine with me,” he said, letting just a little exasperation into his voice.
Carrie paused the show and sat up straight. “So she wouldn’t care at all if I sucked your dick.”
John shrugged.
“She’s just so cool that it doesn’t bother her sharing you with people? Or what, like, you’re such a good lay that she just accepts it?”
“I guess,” John said, honestly bewildered and without a better answer.
“You guess. Jesus christ, John, you’re such a shithead. You sit there and act like, like…you’re just so fucking entitled. And just say it. Just say you have a girlfriend. Just say you kiss her and you watch movies with her and you fuck her and you can’t wait to meet her parents and get married and, and, like, all that other shit.”
“Fucking christ. I do not want to go through this again. Why does any of this matter to you? I’m not lying about this but, sure, if you want I’ll tell you whatever you want. We’re madly in love, we’re secretly getting married and I’ve invited all your friends to the wedding but not you, she’s carrying my baby in her asshole. Is that good? Can we just watch your show or just whatever it is you want. I don’t understand this shit, I thought we had it all worked out.”
“Just be honest with me,” she said. “That’s all I want.”
“Ok, I’m being honest. I really didn’t have anything to do tonight, no date with her or anyone else for that matter, and nobody who would give two shits if you or anyone else sucked my dick. If I’m being honest, I was pretty happy about you coming over and pretty happy that you wanted to just hang out and watch tv together like we used to do even if, again being honest, that’s kind of emotionally confusing for me, and I also assume for you. I mean, maybe you came over here to get your shit or maybe you came over here looking for a fight or maybe you don’t know why you’re here but I am pretty sure it isn’t just because Linda’s boyfriend is an asshole.”
She stared at him for a while. He could almost hear the gears in her head turning, he thought. “Ok,” she said finally, “I believe you. Too bad for you you’re not getting your dick sucked tonight but that’s no great tragedy, right?” She unpaused the tv and went back to watching it before adding, “For what it’s worth it’s confusing for me, too.”
“Well fortunately as long as you don’t forget your shit again you don’t need to come over and be confused any more.” John considered that sentence and decided to clarify, “I mean, if it’s confusing or whatever, I don’t want to be that asshole. I like that you are here, don’t get me wrong, even if you’ve already called me both an asshole and a shithead tonight. But you know. If it’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to be the guy who is taking advantage of you not being ready to hang out again.”
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