The Boy’s Okay…

I met him two nights ago, a writer who wanted feedback. 2 hours in:

She talked his ear off about how he should write his play. She said all the things that came to her mind and even allowed herself to retract what she wanted to say — all in all to help him with the unfinished story. The character was interesting, different – kind of, but he wasn’t going anywhere! He wasn’t listening. Unfortunately, he had begun to think about sex. She saw this and realized her notes would be flowing somewhere in the space between the cold breeze coming through the door, and the hot air breathing onto the tips of their beer bottles. The three of them. So she sat back, allowed her round belly to overflow the front of her jeans, being held up by the added fat “hole” she had torn with a scissor about a year ago, when she stopped being 20-something. She was not thinking about sex at all. She was thinking about her pillow, and how she had left her apartment to help him finish this story and now … now he was clearly thinking about sex. Seeing her uninterested sigh and flesh, he then focused on the other girl with beautiful wavy hair who was hanging on his every word.

Let me read you…
Have you heard of this author…
I clean his front yard…
I am still working on this…
What I like about your suggestion is…

Later that night, wavy hair dropped off fat pants at home. Fat pants kept thinking about the empty main character, found him interesting, but knew there was something lacking in the story. Wavy hair watched as fat pants went up the stairs to her apartment, got on the phone and returned to the boys apartment. They talked for another hour and then decided to become intimate. 

And all of this because he impressed her with his story. A good story.

As wavy hair made love to him and watched him make poetry between the sheets, fat pants was at home thinking about his syntax. And they both had a romance that night, with this boy — as he climaxed on wavy hair 30 minutes too soon rolled over and fell asleep, wavy hair thought to herself, “the boy’s selfish.” Meantime, blocks away, fat pants took a breath and thought to herself, “the boy’s okay…needs work though.”

And they were probably both right.



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