Fiction: The Tryst

He hadn't had a night emission since forever. It must have been something Eve slipped into his dinner or infused his subconscious with the night before bed.

'Surprise, it's your birthday! Close your eyes...'

He had felt her thru her oversized slinky tee shirt, as she covered his face from behind. She was a thick hipped, big haired woman of 26. He could feel her bristles grate against the small of his back, against the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

The static from her Barbie-like hair.

But the small hours of dawn found him roused, blinking away his sleep, on his side, waters pulsing through self-tingling flesh. Slow throbs several seconds apart that seemed to stretch interminably. As something primal kept him frozen to the bed. He wondered about the mess he would discover later, now seeping below his thigh.

A light came on behind him, a shadow from the doorway swept across his body. He thought he could hear a stiffled giggle escape a nose, fingers grating against fresh blond bristles. And he thought he would keep still -so she wouldn't find out.

Unfortunately, the final spasms were shallower, more insistent and he pushed against the sheets, back arched and gasping.

He heard the door shut quietly. The shadow receding with it.

Breakfast was unusually quiet, even a little serious. He put a capsule of coffee into the coffeemaker, and it spurted strands of brown stringy liquid into the glass below. A valve opened and hot water gushed over it. Eve peeled a large plantain. He watched her lay it on her dish, raw and slightly corny textured. Then blurted 'Oh,' as she sliced it up with the blade of her spoon. His coffee cup rattling in his left hand. He set it down on the table haphazardly, surreptitiously gripping at its edge.

He peered at his girlfriend, head bowed and hand clawed -it must have seemed a very unnatural posture, so he broke it force of will, and sat down again.

'Have you finished your song yet?'

'Which one?'

'The one with the whistling'

'You mean my ocarina'

'Because I borrowed it. I came last night to put it back'

'Yes, I noticed'

'It has a nice texture -so many holes. Tell me what "coffee eyes" are'

The starchy plantain mulched over her gums from one cheek to another. He sipped the bitter roast. And he wondered if her suggestive eating was gratitude or just something people with smaller mouths, wrists and ankles had to make do with.

'You know, you can keep the ocarina'

No reply, just hesitant chewing.

'Why?' She asked at length.

'I've always wanted one with 2 chambers -that way you can go higher'

There was silence as she averted her eyes.

'So, can I then also borrow it?'