JustLilia #1

I cared what she thought, so when she dared me, I knew I was in trouble.

“If you’re at all serious about what you say all the time, you will do it. I mean, I guess you could not, but then you’d just be a hypocrite.” The word hypocrite was one of her most powerful weapons, and she executed it perfectly.

“I would not be a hypocrite. I am not a hypocrite. I don’t have to do everything I endorse intellectually. I don’t write erotica just because I think it can be good for women to read.” Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say, and I know she’s going to call…

“Well, maybe you should. If it’s so good for women, then you should be writing it. Put your pen where your mouth is, so to speak.”

…Me on it; I know she’s going to call me on it. Damn, she’s so quick she even interrupts my thoughts.

“So do it. Do it now.” She was becoming even more persistent about it because she thought she was winning the argument.

“Do what: write some erotica?” I was very intentionally avoiding the subject at hand.

“No, you know what I’m talking about. You are all talk and no action: Typical intellectual.” She smirked.

God I wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face. But honestly, when would this stop? She was always pushing me in new and different directions. That’s what I liked about her; she held me accountable for all of the shit I should be doing that I’m not. That’s also what I hated about her. She was a constant reminder of everything I should be… that I’m not.

“So…hello? Are you paying attention to me right now?” She gave me an obviously irritated glare.

“Yes, yes I am paying attention. I was just thinking.” I really had no idea if she’d just said something or not. Oh well, if she did and I missed it, I was not going to admit it then.

“What are you thinking about?” That was a loaded question.

“Umm, I’m just thinking about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” She would probe until I gave her an answer that satisfied her, so I relented.

“You, me, stuff. Can I have a private thought once in a while? You’re already like my alter ego.” I really wanted to ask her if I could just have my life, the one before we were friends, back. No, I didn’t. I loved her. It was just that she was just a better, cooler version of me. And that really, really sucked.

“I’m flattered.” She was really bad at hiding her sarcasm. Then again, she wasn’t trying. She would’ve been really good at it, had she even put forth an iota of effort. She was really good at everything at which she put forth even the tiniest bit of effort.

“Of course you are. You’re flattered that you are like me, only better, and that I’m constantly reminded of it.” Of course, I wasn’t trying to cover my emotions either at this point. I didn’t care.

“I’m not better than you. If anything, I look up to you. You are an awesome, gorgeous woman. You should know that.” She gave me that sad empathetic look that she had a habit of giving at all of the right moments.

“No, I look up to you. Everything I want to do, you’ve done. And I know that you’re older, but I just still always feel so behind. I’m still living in your shadow as far as everyone we know is concerned.” Gosh, it felt so good to get that out, and also so bad that it was true. I dropped my head so as to avoid her stare.

“You know what will make you feel better?” She said it as she lifted my chin in a cute, ‘I care about you’ way.

“What?” I questioned her in a little whimper, a little sad and honestly not knowing what her answer would be.

“If you just do it.”

“Ok.” I whispered.

I brought my hand to the back of her head, grasping her soft short hair, and brought her nearer to me. Her hand slipped from my chin down my shoulder to the small of my back as we embraced. I moved my nose closer to hers as if to give her an Eskimo kiss and then brushed my lips across hers. I could taste the cherry chapstick we shared, but I didn’t know whose I was tasting. I opened my mouth, and my tongue met hers. For those few seconds, as we felt each others’ mouths touching and chests pressed together, I didn’t care what anyone thought. Eventually, we moved apart. I brushed her hair out of her face and looked into her doll-like big brown eyes.

I opened my mouth again, this time to say, “I do feel better.”

T-Mac #1

Bad Lighting

I cared what she thought, so when she dared me I knew I was in trouble. Still, I was nervous. After all, I had never made a sex tape before. Setting up my digital camera just right took a few minutes because the light from the Bed Bath and Beyond scented vanilla candle kept throwing off the shot. Gale had this thing with scented candles that I never understood. By my logic, if we both end up sweating more than our backs after a road trip in July anyway, isn’t the whole thing a wash? Anyway, like I said, I was a little nervous, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have a lot of fun. Sex has a way of blocking everything else out.

When she broke up with me out of nowhere two months later however, now that was something I couldn’t block out. I went through all the stages you’re supposed to go through when you get out of a long relationship—I cried, I smashed things, I told myself I was over her, then I cried some more. Finally, I figured out two things. First, when the worst thing that you can picture even happening in your life actually happens and you’re still there, it’s the most liberating thing ever. If I can survive this, I thought, I can survive anything. And it’s true. I was freer than I had ever been. Second, I realized that I had the perfect tool for revenge, and I was determined to use it.

See, Gale didn’t just break up with me, she cheated on me first, and if that wasn’t bad enough, she did it with some jackass frat guy who was involved in the amazingly stupid student government at the college we all went to. Of course, I didn’t find that out for a while, but it eventually got back to me—it always does.

I think cheating on someone you love is one of the worst things anyone can ever do, but like most things in life, there are degrees of severity. On the one end, there’s getting cheated on when your girlfriend gets drunk and screws Clive Owen. That’s still bad, but at least understandable, if not forgivable. Hell, I would almost screw Clive Owen. On the other end, there’s screwing some meathead frat guy who builds replica gyms using Popsicle sticks and a hot glue gun. I just couldn’t let Gale slide of this one.

My plan was fairly simple. First, I burned a copy of our sexual acrobatics onto a DVR and mailed it in place of the Netflix movie I had rented. Since it was Tristan and Isolde, I figure I was doing the future renters a favor. The arts and crafts stage was next. I made some adjustments to the touristy picture of Gale and me on top of the Space Needle and tossed it in the mail, too. A few weeks later my revenge was complete. Like most people I know, Gale checks postsecret every Sunday. Although I wasn’t in the computer lab to see it, I’m told she shouted for ten minutes straight after she read it. There, on postsecret, was a picture of us a year before on our road trip to Seattle, my face blacked out, with a typed message glued over it that read: “I returned a copy of our sex tape in place of my Netflix DVD. I hope he was worth it. Happy anniversary.”

Like I said, I knew I was in trouble when she dared me, but I’m sure glad she did.

TKO Question #1

TKO Question #1:

"I cared what she thought, so when she dared me I knew I was in trouble."

Begin your post with that sentence.

(You don't have to have quote marks, I just put those to set off the clause :) You may or may not use that as a quotation.)

Please name your post your display name #1.

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