I can talk, can't I?

A Story by Josh Lanier

Flash fiction story.

Susan was in the kitchen making ham salad when I slipped up on her and grabbed her butt. She screamed and slapped at me until I got her flailing arms under control.

What's gotten in to you, idiot? she asked.

Later that night, she caught me spying on her in the shower. She called me a pervert, and I told her that kind of talk turned me on. She almost jerked the curtain down, closing it in my face.

When we got in bed, I rolled to her and put my leg across her. I buried my face in her neck.

Get off me, you old fool, she said, and pushed my leg away.

Just go to sleep, Shaw. You know that in ten minutes, you'll be sound asleep. By the time I get good and warmed up, you'll be sawing logs. You talk big, but it's just talk.

I rolled over and let out a big fart. Goodnight, I said.

She's right. But I do talk a good game, it's what I do. Some days it's there, other days not so much. Those little blue pills don't help anymore. They just give me a headache.