Coffeeshop Author Talk Magazine October 2013, Vol. I, Issue IV | Page 10

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But For You, Yes (Excerpt)
Can I ask you a question?” I posed in the bed with my muscled arm flexed holding up my head. Thoughts swam around in my mind about how I should ask my
girlfriend of six months my deal breaker question.
She rolled over slowly, staring at me with that oh-so-familiar serious look.
Melonie was the intuitive type. She always knew when I wasn’t joking and when
my jokes had truth to them. It made her an invaluable companion, along with her
olive skin, ebony hair, and eyes with the power of a black hole. That combination
of hers never failed to get me to “rise” to any occasion she wanted. Plenty of those
occasions were kinky enough to make me have hope that this relationship could
go much further than ones in the past and fulfill my sexual perverseness.
“What do think about back-door love?” I thought I was being as suave as possible about the subject but wasn’t reassured by her giggles and shaking head.
She climbed over me, pinned a kiss on my forehead and sauntered out of the bedroom. I lay there wondering
what she had implied.

Damn woman, that wasn’t an answer. Again, her intuitive nature deflected my question. A metallic squeak
followed by hissing water from the bathtub rang like a mating call. Excited that this may be a “yes” to my real
question, I flung the covers over and strode to the shower.
She was already in, bent over adjusting the temperature, when I pushed the curtain aside and hopped in behind
her. That friendly pull from my groin started the blood flowing, and I stroked myself in anticipation.
Melonie straightened and turned to face me, “No.”
Her tone of finality shocked me. She was always the one to coherece me into nerve-wracking situations when it
came to hot monkey sex. And she was telling me “no” for the first time. I caressed her smooth arms, “No to shower sex, or no to the other question?”
“No to both if it includes fucking me up the ass.”
I pulled back at the strength of her conviction. She didn’t give me her usual “show” flaunting her curves and
assets that made me jealous of soap. Instead she hastily dowsed herself and showered in the time it takes a typical
man. I meandered in the tub watching her and rinsing myself when she left.
Was she slipping away from me because of a question? Had someone told her I break it off with girls when I
can’t convince them to let me have it up the back alley? I mean, I’ve never told anyone that, and I hadn’t made it
obvious, but this was Melonie we were talking about. She knew me. There wasn’t another woman like her, and an
average Joe like me wasn’t going to have another Melonie.
Her overnight bag was already packed and she was shoving her size six pants on when I got out of the shower.
“It’s Saturday, where are you going?” After I blurted my words, I noticed she was crying.
Like a slap to the face, realization said her kiss to my forehead earlier was “goodbye.” Blood drained away from
my face. This was too fast. I was supposed to be the worthless bastard that left her, not her having to be the stronger one and take off. It was always more difficult to be the one to sit down with the significant other and say “this
isn’t going to work out.” Blame was always on the one who stated the truth first. That’s why I always had been the
one to break relationships off.

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