In honor of Katy I write this: Ring ring. . . . At eight o’clock in the morning? Who the hell would call me at eight o’clock in the morning. It could be Laurie saying she’s going to be late for work: Good! All the more slack time for me. “Hello?” “Hello, Matthew?” (Female voice, nice, round, don’t recognize.) “Yeah?” (Slightest of chuckles) “It’s Katy.” “Hey! How ya’ doin?” (Blood moves a little faster, breathing a little more urgent, all barely perceptible changes moving through the body; electric sproing starts in gut, whirlybirds outwards.) “Fine. Are you doing anything important right now?” “Well, unfortunately I’m getting ready to go to work.” (Dammit! Relieved too though.) Well, I won’t keep you then, I just wanted to say hi. And I’m in Italy.” “Italy.” (Slight pang of--disappointment? Jealousy? Wonder who she’s with--won’t ask.) “Yeah. We walked into this bookstore, and they were playing Van Morisson, and I got all emotional and had to call you.” “Ha-Okay . . .” (You got all emotional--over me? I knew it! You secretly regret losing me, have all along. Good. I can work with this. Just don’t ask who she’s with. Didn’t one of her ex’s have some connection with Italy?) “Well, how long are you going to be there?” “Like a week. I’m coming back on Sunday.” (Without even thinking--) “Well, if not from there, then after you get back, you’ll have to give me a call when we can actually talk for a minute.” (A minute? Did I say that? I’ll need at least an hour just to watch your breasts as you come up the porch steps.) “That would be awesome.” (Good. I’ve got you in my palm and can close and twist at will.) “Okay, cool. Well, have fun I guess!” “Okay.” “I’ll talk to you later.” “Okay, take care.” I am being tested. I have a girlfriend. I’m not married however; it’s not too late to not have a girlfriend. Hi. It’s good to see you. (Long hug. Feel the explosive impossible heat of her breasts pressed soft and warm into me. Stay there. Long time. Much longer than Hello. Breathe softly and slowly next to each other. Rock ever so slightly back and forth. Feel the plumpness of her back cupped in my hand. Press. Stay there. Little longer. Feel the need to let go. Time is coming; even though we have crossed the first line, there is another one coming that we will not cross. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever. Unless--) But look at what I would be losing. Just because she’s not sultry. Doesn’t scream when she comes. Doesn’t drench me in cunt. Drives a big-ass American car with airconditioning. Wants an LL Bean baby stroller. Locks her doors every time she drives anywhere vaguely suspicious. Doesn’t scream when she comes. Doesn’t piss on me when she comes. Doesn’t bend over and let me fuck her up the ass. Still, she’s a wonderful girl, and sometimes I think I love her. I just don’t know. Should I go with respect and admiration and the possibility of love, and certainly domesticity, which may lead to better sex, because I’ve proven to myself in the past that you never know. Or should I go with sex. Let’s say for the sake of argument I went with sex. Item one: Katy is such a fucking mixed-up tease that even though she called me back and left a message sounding sad and husky--that’s twice in one day from Italy, god damn it--she may not even be planning on offering it at all. Item two: Chances are even if she wants me right now, it’s just because she’s lonely, missing something, wanting to use me--Flashback-- to get somewhere else. “You’re beautiful.” “Only to guys. As a way to get somewhere else.” “I don’t need you to get somewhere else. I can get there by myself.” “Good answer.” (Proceed to suck penis.) (When her tongue and teeth reach that too-sensitive part under the head, it doesn’t exactly feel good but it makes me arch my back and pound a fist into the sheets, and buck around until she stops-- “Careful, don’t hurt yourself!” Flashback-- Wiggling back on the bed: “Do you still want to fuck me?” (What? After you’ve not ten minutes ago just explained to me that you fucked Brent and had an amazing fucking orgasm and you cried afterwards because you had wanted to know if it was just with me that you had this little problem--and it was--you have the nerve to shimmy back on your mattress on the floor, your ample tits laying back with you, that evil delicious smile on your face, and say “Do you still want to fuck me?” OF COURSE I DO, CUNT!) Honey I’d love to munch your cunt but I’m afraid I’d get some disease.... Naughty girl. If I didn’t have a girlfriend I’d throw you on the couch right now.... What’s the point of even talking to her? I’m just going to want to know who she’s with, what’s she doing, why she’s missing me, and I’m just going to make plans to get together with her and we’re just going to get together and we’re just going to hug, long past the first barrier but stopping just short of the second, and I’m going to be trembling with horniness worse than caffeine and I’m going to say suave and enigmatic things and she’s going to respond delectably with those arched eyebrows that careful blush that heaving chest that succulent laugh those shiny cheeks and then we’re going to hug again and I’m going to manage to touch her as much as humanly possible without breaking the girlfriend code, and then she’ll go home back to Racine--alone or with the sleazeball? Who cares, who cares--and then I will masturbate furiously and when it is all over, when it is all over, I will say to myself: I do have a girlfriend. But I’m not married. I don’t have to have a girlfriend. But look what I’d be throwing away. And look at how hurt and pissed off she would be. And Katy just wants to use me anyway. So let her use me god damn it will feel gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood! Feel the need to let go. Time is coming; even though we have crossed the first line, there is another one coming that we will not cross. Not yet.