Skinimax

This post is in response to #4 of Mama's Losin' It's August 22, 2011 writing prompts: ".) Write a post that begins and ends with the same sentence."

"You're fucking your cable guy?!" FireChick's voice was a high pitched squeal of excitement that echoed off the mosaic tiles arranged in seascape scenes all around us at the bar.

"Ssh, Firechick!" Thankfully the bar was completely empty at 1pm on a Thursday.

"You're fucking your cable guy?!" She repeated, albiet quieter. She popped the cherry from her Fuzzy Navel into her mouth and began working on tying the stem into a knot. "Dude, you should film that. That's pretty popular chick p0rn."

"He's not my cable guy. He's my grandmother's cable guy," As I said it, I realized just how wrong, on so many levels that statement was, and continued explaining. "And I'm not filming it. Besides, we've known each other for a while. He used to be the head chef at the restaurant I waitressed at. He dated Redheaded Slut. I just ran into him while he was hooking my grandmother's cable up."

"And you fucked him." Firechick's voice was full of glee. She spit the knotted stem onto her cocktail napkin, and slurped more of her drink. Her blue eyes twinkled at me. At least someone was happy that the cobwebs were being swept from my vagina.

I was a bit more skeptical. He and I had flirted through the line while I worked with him, and then when he left to take his new job, we hadn't seen much of each other. It just so happened that my relationship with Apache was on the rocks when I ran into him at my gradnmother's house. He gave me his phone number, yknow, just in case her cable went down unexpectedly, and after one of the many breakups that Apache and I had this spring. I called him. Cue sex on the air mattress that serves as his bed. Sex that felt amazing, physically, but I spent the night squezing my eyes tight and imagining Apache. To make matters worse, Apache called me that night. So, Apache and I got back together, I didn't see CableGuy for a month or so. Apache and I would break up. I'd sleep with cable guy. rinse. wash. repeat.

After it was clear to me from the Memorial Day breakup that Apache and I are done for good, I started talking more and more to CableGuy. With him, suddenly, I no longer closed my eyes and imagined Apache's face and hands. I enjoyed being with him. His smell. How he left early for work only to return with a muffin and coffee for me. The way he kissed my forehead at night, let me sleep in while he went to work, and how he came to snuggle with me in between jobs. To be honest, I could fall for him, but I'm not sure that's what he wants. I'm not even sure how to go about talking with him about exactly what this is. He doesn't text, and I don't hear from him every day. A huge part of me knows that if he was interested in a relationship, I'd hear from him every day. He also smokes alot of weed. I'm not so keen on that because of how much trouble I could get into if I was near him when he go caught.

I went for dinner at the restaurant where we worked at  the other night with a friend and ran into CableGuy there. He came over, gave me a kiss, and then went to join his friends. As I sat back down with my friend, she looked quizzically towards his direction.

"Isn't that.....?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Does he still work here?"

"No, he's a cable technican now."

"You're fucking your cable guy?!"