The Gymnast says hello as she comes through the garage door. She is getting comfortable around my house. This is what I want. The cat takes off in fear as the Gymnast appears. The cat hides in the basement so well that I cannot find her. She does that now whenever anyone comes over. I wonder if she would come out if Billy came for a visit.
The Gymnast has thin shoulder-length blonde hair. The last four inches are lighter than the rest. The result of having it colored long ago. She is soft-spoken but a hustler who has taken care of herself since the age of fourteen. She is young, twenty-one. My age doesn't seem to bother her. Our arrangement works for both of us. I like the Gymnast. We are comfortable together, but I do not have to worry about developing romantic feelings for her. My warped sense of what is okay knows better than that.
She wears a full-length black Calvin Klein winter coat over black work pants and a yellow sweatshirt. She seems bulky when she is in clothes, but when she is naked, there is no denying her perfect figure. I have spent too many years with Billy. Billy has always been underweight. Her body has given me false expectations of what a girl should look like.
We exchange just a few words of conversation before moving upstairs, not because I am anxious to have sex with her, but since Billy left, I spend seventy percent of my time in my bedroom. I just find it more comfortable. The Gymnast Removes her clothes and crawls under the covers. She complains that the bed is cold. I strip down and join her.
"Do me a favor," I tell her. "Take out your belly rings." She doe not argue. She already knows I like belly buttons, and those rings just hide them.
The Gymnast has firm B-cup breasts with pierced inverted nipples. She has several tattoos on her body. They all tend to the morbid. There is a large set of roses hiding a skull on her upper abdomen with the words "Live To Die" beneath. A small pair of angel wings are on her right side ribs, and a large floral pattern adorns the outside of her right upper thigh. Several more are scattered over other areas of her body. My favorites are on the backs of her hands. They are clever pieces. On her left is the lower portion of a skull. On her right is a wide joker-inspired grin with red lips. They are done so that when she places her hand over her mouth, the tattoo completes her face.
I debate whether to turn on a movie or pull out the new vibrator I bought for us (her idea). The vibrator wins out. I know she is more likely to fall asleep if we start watching a movie. I bring out the new toy, and we try out the various settings. She admits to me she is a horny girl and has one at home. Watching her passion swell quickly gets me going, and soon I am inside her.
She likes to make out while we are having sex. I find it unusual, considering we are not lovers, and I am paying her to be there. It is the kind of detail that blurs the lines of our arrangement. Sex with the Gymnast is good. We do not have feelings for each other, but the same comfort I spoke of early makes it easy to be naked and open with her.
Late after we are spent, she curls up next to me to watch the Matrix. She has never seen it. The bed is no longer cold. Her body, where it touches mine, is almost too hot to be next to. Halfway through the movie, she rolls over and closes her eyes.
In the morning, I am up before her. I stroke her soft skin beneath the covers before leaving her in bed and starting my day. I want to stay in bed with her, but I have a doctor's appointment. I go downstairs and make a decaf cup of coffee and return to jump into the shower. She is dressed and sitting in bed when I get out.
"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" She gives me a coy look that says I did.
"I have to do Christmas shopping today anyway."
"You have a little time? I need to eat something before I go to the doctor. Breakfast is one of the meals that never gives me pain." I tell her.
We head downstairs. I make her a cup of coffee. She sits on the couch and scrolls through her phone while I make myself breakfast. "I made a piece of bacon for you," I say, but she declines. She has decided she will go home and back to sleep before shopping.
We leave moments apart. I get to my doctor's on time. When the doctor gets to the room, we discuss all of my symptoms and the test I have already had. He still thinks it is my gallbladder. This was my initial theory, too, but the specialist had me doubting myself and thinking maybe a food allergy. He schedules another test. This one will induce gallbladder issues if they are present. Sounds like fun. It is on the twenty-seventh. My Christmas vacation will be filled with more pain, and I will probably get my gallbladder out after the first of the year when all my deductibles rollover. Life is not fair!
No comments:
Post a Comment