Breakfast

He’s still sleeping. We had a rough night. That was A LOT of tequila. He really impressed me. I’m a drinker. I’m a big girl. He’s so small and thin in my arms.

 

I had my first drink when I was 12. Screwdrivers. I was with my older neighbor and her s****y mom. They picked up some young Marines in gas station. None of the guys were over 21 and needed s****y mom to buy them beer. She did. Her and S****y Jr. told them I was 18. I stood at 5’7” already and wore my 34D bra a lot less proudly than I would if I had such perky and impressive breasts. I passed for 18.

 

I f*****g hated school. Why on earth would my gym teacher not let me sit out a few rounds? I know now. Every week, I’d get my mom to write me the “asthma” note. She did willingly. “Please excuse my daughter from P.E. She suffers from asthma and can not run the laps you have planned for the day.” We silently agreed that this sounded better than, “Please don’t make my daughter run today. Her breasts are mammoth and it’s traumatizing for a 12 year old to be made fun of for being curvy. Not to mention that you staring at them the whole time and figuring that she’s a child and doesn’t understand what you’re doing is entirely too creepy for anyone in the household to understand.”

 

It’s cold in here. Why does he keep the place so cold? I need to get to the other side of the bed where the sun is coming in through the window.

 

The sun feels good. I love to stretch in it like a cat. I push my arms up over my head and twist from my left side onto my back. I can feel every little inch of the muscles in my back pulling towards my wrists. God, it feels good. I look down and my naked breasts and see the sun on my caramel colored skin. They are impressive. Now as a grown woman, I have learned to use them to my advantage. I certainly did last night. I had them hiked up so high I thought I wouldn’t be able to see. I wore my favorite shirt dress with my zebra bra. I know the shirt dress doesn’t sound sexy, but when you can’t contain your tits in it, It suddenly becomes that way. I wear them all the time. Dresses with buttons that I can’t button all the way up. I wear them in drab colors like black, grey or olive. I make sure they are accompanied with killer shoes. Fun shoes with pointy toes and bright colors. I always wear my glasses. I want the women in the place who are dressed to the nines and too worried about their make-up and hair to feel sorry for me for trying to dress up something like that with my shoes and jewelry. They look at my glasses and my dress with the pockets so that I don’t have to carry a huge Louis on my shoulder all night and think, “Poor dumpy girl… she’s trying so hard.” Then they go to the bathroom and when they come back my rack is in their boyfriends faces and I’m on his lap with the stem of my glasses in my mouth flirting shamelessly for another round to put on their tab, but sent to my table. It works every time. There’s something in the look of my eye that tells them, “Don’t do it, b***h….If you’re gonna slap someone, you might want to pick him instead of me.” I don’t ever force myself on them. I don’t have to. Every now and then you get the girl who thinks she can take me in the fight. The boyfriend or husband usually calls it off before it gets too far. Those are the ones I wish would stick around. That’s passion. That’s heat. Those are the ones that I would love to have come to a compromise and decided that they should BOTH take me home. I think I was a cat in a past life. I love stretching in the sun, taking long naps and I usually feel the need to sit in someone’s lap just cuz I can.

 

I thought I was a horse in a past life once. I went back to my old nemesis: Running. I bought a pair of $100 sneakers and really cute tank and short set. I bought a windproof track suit in case I ran on mornings when it was cold out. I made a work-out play list on my iPod. I ran on Sundays when my son was with his father. My hair was long then and I pulled it into a high ponytail on the top of my head. When I ran it swished from side to side like a tail swatting flies. I felt free. I felt like I was a wild horse running through a beautiful field in a country side. It lasted two Sundays. It made me mad when passersby stared at my tits. I like it when I can control the attention they get. My best friend said my ponytail made me look like a Mousekateer.

 

He’s singing in the shower. I don’t recognize it. Wow, he’s off key. Is he aiming for waking me up? Good lord! Well, he can keep that idea. Nobody fake sleeps like I do. I’ll be here until he leaves for work. Why is he so chipper? I have a group of rabid monkeys with red vests, fezzes and little symbols playing in my head. I did put it on him pretty good. I always get freaky in bed with a little tequila. I start to really let go and enjoy what I am doing. I was really drunk. I remember bits and pieces. I need to shower. I smell like bar smoke, cum and alcohol. Is that bacon? No.. not from me… it’s coming from the kitchen. MY kitchen. He’s cooking in my kitchen?? F**k, I am hung-over. I can’t think. My heart is racing. I want him to leave. He said he had to work. Why is still here? S**t. S**t. S**t. He’s on his phone. “I’m at Bob’s house still, baby. I drank way too much. Didn’t wanna drive. How are the kids? Good. I’m glad. I’m sorry I worried you, baby. I love you too.”

 

A sigh… that’s better… now I don’t feel so panicked that I am going to have to share breakfast with a guy who’s name I can’t remember.

Reviews

[Damian Alan Gray]

After reading through a some of your writings, I am compelled to let you know that you have become one of my favorites at Writers Cafe. The brutal honesty displayed within your writing seems to be a rare treat.