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.
I did eventually test his resolve in regards to sleeping around. That’s when Billy entered the picture. My Billy-boy was just…a thing, nothing I was going to be serious about. After all, he had nothing to offer me except a notch on my belt.
Billy was an assistant manager at the Mi Casa Taco, a local fake-Mexican fast food place. He reigned supreme over part-timers, students, and lifers—those poor middle-aged schmucks stuck in minimum-wage hell. I would walk across the street from the stuffy office where I did data-entry, a mindless job that encouraged both mental and physical atrophy. My co-workers were clique-y and work was all politics and brown-nosing. At Mi Casa’s, I would always order the double cheese enchilada’s, no onion, extra guac. If Billy was working it would be ready before I could order.
Billy could make me laugh with his posing, acting like he was all that. Once, he literally strutted around like an over-plucked rooster, back and forth next to my table, thrusting out his thin chest and smoothing back his perfect haircut. He reminded me of the football players in my high school – underdeveloped, but bragging about their…muscles. He asked me if I didn’t think he made the very best enchiladas. I shrugged and smiled, not answering, but by then he didn’t care.
Billy got me, mostly, because he liked to tell me how good I looked. “You’ve got the greatest ass, hon. You’re not too skinny. I like your tits. I love your hair like that, long and flowing, and red; I love you as a redhead.” It was always a sexy outfit to Billy, while John never noticed what I wore. It was odd; John seemed to like me for my mind.
Billy asked me out and I agreed to meet him on a Friday night at the local cheap-seats theater. He met me at my car and said we had an hour until the next showing of the movie. He climbed into the passenger seat of my old, full-sized sedan and we started talking.
We missed the movie because by that time we were screwing in the passenger seat. After two hours, he slipped out of the car and walked home. After that, he only called me when he wanted some, but he was good, so I never minded.
I, on the other hand, went home to John and told him what happened. He said something about winning back my heart and heated up a bottle of sake. He didn’t say “you don’t have to” when I went down on him that night. I knew that was all the punishment I would get. I smiled to myself when he got that surprised look on his face. They always got that look.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking of anything in particular, John.”
“Of course you are. You are so brilliant, you are always thinking of something. I want to hear about it.”
“I don’t know what you want to hear.”“I just want to hear you talk.”