She turns out the lights.
"It’s not sex," she says. "We’re just two friends."
She turned out the lights but I didn’t get up. I didn’t get up and leave.
"We’re not fucking. Are we?"
(No, not at this exact minute.)
"We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to do."
(It sounds like a line I would use to take a girl home from a bar.) I’ve heard that speech before: Just come home with me. We’ll watch TV. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And then the minute you’re through the door she’s taking her clothes off. Once you get home, with someone you just met, the important thing to do is fuck as soon as possible. You can’t survive awkward moments at that phase. With an Ashley, it’s this strange inversion, a wholly different kind of talking yourself into fucking someone.
"I’m not doing anything," Ash is saying, as she unzips me.
"I’m not doing anything," I think, as my hand finally does go for her tit.
It’s sick the way I do it, I twist it like I’m opening a small tube. Or twisting together wires, making a bomb. I twist it and I want it to hurt. Her face moans. Then it’s just Beethoven whining in the hallway, after I close him out of Ashley’s bedroom, and when I’m walking back to the bed she’s writhing on it, and she’s not that fat, she’s just got a little thickness and she spreads her legs and sticks her finger inside her. When I fucked that shit I fucked that shit hard.
She has this ceiling fan that was blowing on my back. I was cold. Fucking her. My back was shivering. And I got myself up inside her and I just got it, I got it, I took. It’s smooth, like honey, when I cum inside that girl. When I grab her hair. It’s like tongue:honey::dick:that..it’s that smooth, fucking, biting the back of her neck, pushing her up the bed. Shivering. And sweat—cold—on my shoulders. She has the air conditioning turned way up for August. Ass cold, dick hot. Even her ears are freezing. There’s only one part of us that’s hot, and that’s the only part we care about. I’m grabbing her cheeks and pulling her toward me and when I’m done I don’t lie down, I don’t get dressed I just open that door and go downstairs and hit the thermostat up to like eighty and I go to the kitchen and my dick is still hard and I get a beer and I drink it even though I hate beer. I chug it. And Ashley’s coming downstairs with her hair messed and scratches on her skin, bruises forming, as I’m hitting around in her refrigerator, looking for stuff, making a sandwich, got the ice cream out of the top and throwing a wine key across the counter.