Good Morning
My boyfriend deserves an award.
He’s watching a friends place while they are out of town, and so the other night I went over. At around 1:30 a.m. he passes out, and I am not feeling the least bit sleepy. It’s an old building, so the heat comes up through the floors. You can’t adjust the temperature manually, thus being left at the mercy of the super. The apartment feels like a Swedish sauna. The bed is incredibly lumpy, I can’t get comfy. I toss and turn all night, not being able to lay still.
I am prone to talking in my sleep, so I mutter utter smack to him while in some incoherent dream world. He thinks that I am talking about something real.
“What?”
“The Saab 4. Do you like that car?”
“What?”
“Would you like to call now?”
“Huh?”
I prop my head up, feeling utterly confused. My dream is still misting in my head, and I can see myself talking, but something seems wrong with this picture and I can’t seem to place my finger on it. I realize then that Mr. Honey Tongue is not dreaming the same thing I am, and that I talking in my sleep.
“Just ignore me, I’m just talking shit.” I close my eyes, and sleep takes over me for awhile.
Finally, around 11 a.m. I open my eyes. I figure that any further attempts at slumber are futile, so I turn around and face my sleeping boyfriend. He groans slightly, and I can tell he is not fully asleep.
“Good morning,” I say and lean in and kiss him gently on the lips.
“Guh-mur-ing,” he mumbles.
I feel bad. I know that I kept him up all night. He has issues sleeping. And I apologize to him. His eyes are still closed. I feel slightly frisky, and have an urge to press the other part of me that arose this morning on to him. But, I know better. He will get mad at me, and claim that I am violating him. So I resist the urge, and instead stroke his arm.
“Were you possessed by a spirit last night?”
“What do you mean?” I respond, putting on my most innocent of voices.
“You couldn’t lie still all night! You were tossing and turning all night!” His eyes are open now.
“I’m sorry.”
“Were you eating pizza at night?”
“No.”
“Yes, you were. At 5:30.”
“I don’t remember doing that.”
“So now you sleep walk.”
“No!” I say slightly aghast.
“Yes, I looked over and you were eating the pizza.” He shakes his head. Any trace of sleep is gone from his voice. “You were like a demon or something last night.”
My urge is now uncontrollable, and my fingers wander to the elastic of his shorts. He instantly slaps my hand, turns over and continues his rant. I lie facing the ceiling. I don’t feel comfortable so turn and try to sprawl myself into a decent position.
“You just can’t be still can you?”
“This bed is so lumpy.”
“Princess!”
“I am not a princess.” A few moments of silence pass. “I can’t sleep anymore!” I declare. He chuckles. I turn around and face his back now, and poke him in the ribs. “Play with me,” I say, laugh, and poke him again.
“Your bright!” He says. “First you keep me up all night, with your demon tossing and turning, then wake me up by talking shit in my ear, go around sleep walking. And now that your all good and rested, you wanna come say to me, I’m bored?”
“I didn’t say I was bored. I said come play with me.” With this I am daring and slip my hand on his generous behind. He pulls his blanket protectively around him, and I am forced to take back my hand.
I lie again staring at the ceiling for a few moments. Eventually one morning urge is replaced by another morning urge, and I get up to go relieve myself. Mr. Honey Tongue deftly turns around, and places one leg firmly over my leg. “But, I have to go the washroom.” His leg remains secure. I bring myself back into bed, and pull him beside me, resting his head on my chest.
In silence his fingers trail down my body, I take a sharp breath as he begins to toy with my manhood. My mind sinks into utter pleasure, as Mr. Honey Tongue proceeds to give me a proper wake-up call. I have to say, there is nothing fucking better than a hood-wash to start your day. And no one can touch my boys skills. By the time he is done, I am lying in bed with a smile spread all over my face.
We get up, have a morning cigarette, but seem to gravitate back into bed. I am lying in his arms. I had a question that I have meant to ask him. I figured that doing it on the phone would not be best. I had told myself I would ask him this weekend. But with the hours that we had left together today limited, I knew I had to ask him now. I psyche myself up for the conversation. I will myself to start talking, but only air rushes out of my throat.
“Uhm, ah,” I begin. I do this because now I know I have to say something. “Who…or uh…did you…got…or get…that D&G bracelet?” His chest heaves with a sigh.
“Why do you this?”
“Who got it for you?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Why don’t you wanna tell me?”
“It doesn’t matter. It was a Christmas present. I got it when we weren’t together.”
This feels like a slap. He is referring to our estrangement, due to my infidelity. I am quite. I feel mad. I want to act immature and demand that he tell me. I see myself jumping out of bed, and going to the living room and lighting a cigarette. Instead I take a deep breath.
“Whatever, you would have taken it, even if we were together.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It’s an extravagant gift.” I screw up my face. “It’s a D&G bracelet, that has meaning.” Trouble with being a philosophy major, you are always concerned with meaning.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
I supply him with a couple names. At the mention of Ex # 1, he shakes his head no. I am glad because that would have bothered me. I mention Ex #2, and he nods his head.
I don’t say anything and lie thinking. In my stomach I feel a hurt. I remind myself that I am the actual cheater and hold my feelings in check.
“Your upset.”
“I’m not thrilled.”
“He came down and gave me my gift since I wasn’t going to see him for Christmas and I gave him a bracelet for his gift.” I don’t say anything. “And I doubt it’s real. Like, he got me a D&G bracelet with diamonds on it. If it was real I wouldn’t have accepted it.”
“Sure.”
“I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t take a $5,000 bracelet. There is nothing going on. He has his boyfriend. It was just a early Christmas gift. And I gave him a bracelet.” He looks over at me. “Your upset.”
“I’m upset that you wouldn’t just tell me when I asked you. Your right we weren’t together, and you could do whatever you want. I just wish you’d tell me when I ask you.”
“I don’t see why it’s so important.”
Through the course of the conversation I have shifted away slightly from his chest, and am now my head is on the pillow. We lie in silence. I feel that I don’t like the room right now, and decide to get up.
I get up and head to the washroom. I am in the shower, lathering myself, humming an old Indian film tune, when a sudden parting of the shower curtain startles me and I jump back and scream. Mr. Honey Tongue laughs at me. And I try to look stern for a moment, but a grin is itching on the sides of my mouth.
“Can I join you?”
“Of course.”
I watch him lather himself. We move around and allow each other access to the water spray in the small cramped shower. He makes fun of how I wash my ass.
“Your really mad at me?”
“No. I told you I am mad that you wouldn’t just tell me. If you don’t tell me stuff and leave gaps for me, then my imagination fills in the gaps.”
“Your one to talk about gaps.” I contemplate this while I am rinsing the soap off my back.
“Listen. I know your not going to forget what happened. I don’t expect you to. And your going to say stuff to me that might hurt. I will take that. But, that doesn’t mean you get to be all secretive and not forthcoming.”
“I see your point.”
We proceed to get ready for our respective days. I iron my shirt, while he makes himself breakfast. I have a few cigarettes while he gets into his fleece-tracksuit. I gel my hair into place, as he ties on his do-rag. I slip on my scarf and get into my wool petticoat as he puts on his bomber jacket. We are rushing around getting our bags together, and making sure we have everything before we leave.
I stop for a moment and look at him, he looks utterly handsome to me. I side step myself into his way and give him a quick kiss.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We order a cab to the subway station, as we don’t feel we can take the bus in this area.
Even though this is a little weekend, make-believe, play-house, that we had, getting ready for work with him feels right.
“I can’t wait to move out next year.”
“Spring time?” He asks.
“Spring at the earliest. Summer at the latest. I could never live in this area though.”
“I can’t even take the bus in this area.”
We laugh. We have a lengthy discussion, which continues as we board the subway, as to the various neighborhoods that we would want to live in. Discussing all relevant pros and cons for every ideal neighborhood in question.
“Wow, I’m going to have start looking in a few months for a place.” He nods.
“It’s going to be fun. You’ll like house hunting with me.” He nods again. His stop is coming up next and he begins to gather his bag.
“Aigh’t see you later, have a good day at work” he says.
“Later. You have a good day too.”
He gets up for his stop. We make eye contact for a moment, and give each other a nod goodbye. I reach into my pocket and pull out my I-pod, and with the turn-wheel set it to shuffle.
I am sitting in the last train on the subway, and I look out to the platform which the subway is rushing away from. The opening strains of Let’s Stay Together by Al Green comes in through my headphones. I see Mr. Honey Tongue walking down the platform, and he is blowing a big-kiss at me in the air. I pretend to catch it and place it on my lips.
I turn around and face ahead of me. I start taping my feet to the beat of the song and start mouthing the words.
He’s watching a friends place while they are out of town, and so the other night I went over. At around 1:30 a.m. he passes out, and I am not feeling the least bit sleepy. It’s an old building, so the heat comes up through the floors. You can’t adjust the temperature manually, thus being left at the mercy of the super. The apartment feels like a Swedish sauna. The bed is incredibly lumpy, I can’t get comfy. I toss and turn all night, not being able to lay still.
I am prone to talking in my sleep, so I mutter utter smack to him while in some incoherent dream world. He thinks that I am talking about something real.
“What?”
“The Saab 4. Do you like that car?”
“What?”
“Would you like to call now?”
“Huh?”
I prop my head up, feeling utterly confused. My dream is still misting in my head, and I can see myself talking, but something seems wrong with this picture and I can’t seem to place my finger on it. I realize then that Mr. Honey Tongue is not dreaming the same thing I am, and that I talking in my sleep.
“Just ignore me, I’m just talking shit.” I close my eyes, and sleep takes over me for awhile.
Finally, around 11 a.m. I open my eyes. I figure that any further attempts at slumber are futile, so I turn around and face my sleeping boyfriend. He groans slightly, and I can tell he is not fully asleep.
“Good morning,” I say and lean in and kiss him gently on the lips.
“Guh-mur-ing,” he mumbles.
I feel bad. I know that I kept him up all night. He has issues sleeping. And I apologize to him. His eyes are still closed. I feel slightly frisky, and have an urge to press the other part of me that arose this morning on to him. But, I know better. He will get mad at me, and claim that I am violating him. So I resist the urge, and instead stroke his arm.
“Were you possessed by a spirit last night?”
“What do you mean?” I respond, putting on my most innocent of voices.
“You couldn’t lie still all night! You were tossing and turning all night!” His eyes are open now.
“I’m sorry.”
“Were you eating pizza at night?”
“No.”
“Yes, you were. At 5:30.”
“I don’t remember doing that.”
“So now you sleep walk.”
“No!” I say slightly aghast.
“Yes, I looked over and you were eating the pizza.” He shakes his head. Any trace of sleep is gone from his voice. “You were like a demon or something last night.”
My urge is now uncontrollable, and my fingers wander to the elastic of his shorts. He instantly slaps my hand, turns over and continues his rant. I lie facing the ceiling. I don’t feel comfortable so turn and try to sprawl myself into a decent position.
“You just can’t be still can you?”
“This bed is so lumpy.”
“Princess!”
“I am not a princess.” A few moments of silence pass. “I can’t sleep anymore!” I declare. He chuckles. I turn around and face his back now, and poke him in the ribs. “Play with me,” I say, laugh, and poke him again.
“Your bright!” He says. “First you keep me up all night, with your demon tossing and turning, then wake me up by talking shit in my ear, go around sleep walking. And now that your all good and rested, you wanna come say to me, I’m bored?”
“I didn’t say I was bored. I said come play with me.” With this I am daring and slip my hand on his generous behind. He pulls his blanket protectively around him, and I am forced to take back my hand.
I lie again staring at the ceiling for a few moments. Eventually one morning urge is replaced by another morning urge, and I get up to go relieve myself. Mr. Honey Tongue deftly turns around, and places one leg firmly over my leg. “But, I have to go the washroom.” His leg remains secure. I bring myself back into bed, and pull him beside me, resting his head on my chest.
In silence his fingers trail down my body, I take a sharp breath as he begins to toy with my manhood. My mind sinks into utter pleasure, as Mr. Honey Tongue proceeds to give me a proper wake-up call. I have to say, there is nothing fucking better than a hood-wash to start your day. And no one can touch my boys skills. By the time he is done, I am lying in bed with a smile spread all over my face.
We get up, have a morning cigarette, but seem to gravitate back into bed. I am lying in his arms. I had a question that I have meant to ask him. I figured that doing it on the phone would not be best. I had told myself I would ask him this weekend. But with the hours that we had left together today limited, I knew I had to ask him now. I psyche myself up for the conversation. I will myself to start talking, but only air rushes out of my throat.
“Uhm, ah,” I begin. I do this because now I know I have to say something. “Who…or uh…did you…got…or get…that D&G bracelet?” His chest heaves with a sigh.
“Why do you this?”
“Who got it for you?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Why don’t you wanna tell me?”
“It doesn’t matter. It was a Christmas present. I got it when we weren’t together.”
This feels like a slap. He is referring to our estrangement, due to my infidelity. I am quite. I feel mad. I want to act immature and demand that he tell me. I see myself jumping out of bed, and going to the living room and lighting a cigarette. Instead I take a deep breath.
“Whatever, you would have taken it, even if we were together.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It’s an extravagant gift.” I screw up my face. “It’s a D&G bracelet, that has meaning.” Trouble with being a philosophy major, you are always concerned with meaning.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
I supply him with a couple names. At the mention of Ex # 1, he shakes his head no. I am glad because that would have bothered me. I mention Ex #2, and he nods his head.
I don’t say anything and lie thinking. In my stomach I feel a hurt. I remind myself that I am the actual cheater and hold my feelings in check.
“Your upset.”
“I’m not thrilled.”
“He came down and gave me my gift since I wasn’t going to see him for Christmas and I gave him a bracelet for his gift.” I don’t say anything. “And I doubt it’s real. Like, he got me a D&G bracelet with diamonds on it. If it was real I wouldn’t have accepted it.”
“Sure.”
“I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t take a $5,000 bracelet. There is nothing going on. He has his boyfriend. It was just a early Christmas gift. And I gave him a bracelet.” He looks over at me. “Your upset.”
“I’m upset that you wouldn’t just tell me when I asked you. Your right we weren’t together, and you could do whatever you want. I just wish you’d tell me when I ask you.”
“I don’t see why it’s so important.”
Through the course of the conversation I have shifted away slightly from his chest, and am now my head is on the pillow. We lie in silence. I feel that I don’t like the room right now, and decide to get up.
I get up and head to the washroom. I am in the shower, lathering myself, humming an old Indian film tune, when a sudden parting of the shower curtain startles me and I jump back and scream. Mr. Honey Tongue laughs at me. And I try to look stern for a moment, but a grin is itching on the sides of my mouth.
“Can I join you?”
“Of course.”
I watch him lather himself. We move around and allow each other access to the water spray in the small cramped shower. He makes fun of how I wash my ass.
“Your really mad at me?”
“No. I told you I am mad that you wouldn’t just tell me. If you don’t tell me stuff and leave gaps for me, then my imagination fills in the gaps.”
“Your one to talk about gaps.” I contemplate this while I am rinsing the soap off my back.
“Listen. I know your not going to forget what happened. I don’t expect you to. And your going to say stuff to me that might hurt. I will take that. But, that doesn’t mean you get to be all secretive and not forthcoming.”
“I see your point.”
We proceed to get ready for our respective days. I iron my shirt, while he makes himself breakfast. I have a few cigarettes while he gets into his fleece-tracksuit. I gel my hair into place, as he ties on his do-rag. I slip on my scarf and get into my wool petticoat as he puts on his bomber jacket. We are rushing around getting our bags together, and making sure we have everything before we leave.
I stop for a moment and look at him, he looks utterly handsome to me. I side step myself into his way and give him a quick kiss.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We order a cab to the subway station, as we don’t feel we can take the bus in this area.
Even though this is a little weekend, make-believe, play-house, that we had, getting ready for work with him feels right.
“I can’t wait to move out next year.”
“Spring time?” He asks.
“Spring at the earliest. Summer at the latest. I could never live in this area though.”
“I can’t even take the bus in this area.”
We laugh. We have a lengthy discussion, which continues as we board the subway, as to the various neighborhoods that we would want to live in. Discussing all relevant pros and cons for every ideal neighborhood in question.
“Wow, I’m going to have start looking in a few months for a place.” He nods.
“It’s going to be fun. You’ll like house hunting with me.” He nods again. His stop is coming up next and he begins to gather his bag.
“Aigh’t see you later, have a good day at work” he says.
“Later. You have a good day too.”
He gets up for his stop. We make eye contact for a moment, and give each other a nod goodbye. I reach into my pocket and pull out my I-pod, and with the turn-wheel set it to shuffle.
I am sitting in the last train on the subway, and I look out to the platform which the subway is rushing away from. The opening strains of Let’s Stay Together by Al Green comes in through my headphones. I see Mr. Honey Tongue walking down the platform, and he is blowing a big-kiss at me in the air. I pretend to catch it and place it on my lips.
I turn around and face ahead of me. I start taping my feet to the beat of the song and start mouthing the words.
posted by dutty brown boi at
11:52 AM
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