This is a short story that I wrote many years ago. It holds a special place for me, as it was one of the few times I was really inspired to write non-genre fiction.
Content and language warning.
When I first met John, I was unimpressed by everything about him. Except his persistent romanticism. That I enjoyed. He had this way of describing the future of our relationship like he had been there and seen it. It made me laugh when he related to me the unlikely scenarios.
“I will be stuck here in
Colorado while you, Janice, you’re in
the apartment I’ll keep for you in Santa
Fe. And you’ll be having a party with all your
friends, all gay. Except for Hans, the gorgeous young Dutch photographer who
wants to sleep with you. And I’ll say ‘Oh, honey, don’t,’ but you will. And
I’ll just h
ave to wait until I get back home and try to win back your heart.”
That was how he told me I could sleep around on him. I almost missed it in the drone of his run-on sentences about our future and his former life as a coffee-house poet and musician. He was apparently quite famous for a time.
That was the way it worked, though. He would drone on about what we “will” do and I would agree or disagree. Not that my opinion ever changed anything. He was always talking about how I would never really love him because he was 30 years older then me. Well, okay.
It wasn’t that I found him attractive, or unattractive, for that matter. His appearance was never an issue. His full head of white-gray hair and slight potbelly never really crossed my mind. He had smooth, clear skin for his age and had kept all of his teeth through the years. Maybe I was just satisfied that I didn’t have to remind him to take a fistful of pills everyday, or give him Viagra when I wanted some.