Lately My Toilet Seat Is Always Up

February 17, 2011 § Leave a comment


I don’t remember the sex we had last night, but I’m pretty sure it happened. There were cum-wipes on that side of the bed this morning. He’s a nice guy, too, and I am sure the sex was decent. I had gone to the bar with the goal to tie on one, though, and everything else is secondary to that kind of drinking.

It’s the kind where I know someone is buying me a drink, but I grab a server on the side and order a drink of my own, then fake surprised when two drink show up in front of me. Rinse. Swallow. Repeat. I even managed to sneak a flask along, strapped to my thigh in a kid’s plastic gun holster. That should have lead to something sexy. For all I can remember, it did. I can’t find the flask anywhere.

I sent you a text earlier today. Last time we talked on the matter of suicide, you’d indicated that I should say something when things got dark. You and I both know I’ll never follow through.
Don’t we?
You were the way you always are with me, and that was what I needed you to be. You talked about you and me at our imaginary farm house, and you would take my grandchildren fishing in our pond. We know better, but I still like to think of that for us. You make me laugh harder than anyone else, and I cannot get over that body of yours. Every time you have some other woman in your bed, which is often, I imagine the moment you take off your shirt. I don’t think beyond your torso before I get wet.

He used his finger to brush his teeth. I asked why he didn’t just use my toothbrush.

“I mean, we were just” and then I made the universal sign for boning. It involved crude faces and hip thrusts. I can be pretty funny in the morning.

“There were three in there and I didn’t want to use someone else’s.” He’s so considerate. He wears cute hats. He listens to country music. I’ll never fall in love with him, but I’ll certainly enjoy him while he’s around.

“That’s my bathroom. All the toothbrushes are mine. None of my housemates go in there. You are free to put anything you find in that bathroom into your mouth.”

He’d made a confused face as I was assuring him of the sanctity of my bathroom, and I mistook that look for a squeamishness about mouth germs. You and I have never talked about germs, and while your outward beauty makes me think you’re particular about some things, I don’t think we’d be having this conversation. It was another of the many moments in my life that a large “Pros of Shacking Up With DT If He’d Just Have Me Already And Stop With This Fucking Nonsense” got another line item added.*

“Do you piss standing up?”, he asked me, and I realized that the look on his face wasn’t about mouth germs at all. Just last night, before I met him at the bar, after I’d texted you about how very much I was Plath-ing inside, I’d invited some other guy to fuck some happy into me. I fell in love recently, and the boy doesn’t love me in return, so I’m using that as an excuse to do all sorts of destructive shit. This guy I fucked was pretty good at it, too. They all are, though. If I have a superpower, that power is to always feel like I’m having the best sex of my life. This guy I fucked was also the stupid sort, and I won’t be calling him again. It was cute the way he sauntered naked from my room to my bathroom, the purple condom drooping from the weight of his jizz in the tip.

I bet you’d put the toilet seat down after a thing like that. Can we please have dinner tonight?

*Note: Create actual list. It’s bullshit to write about a thing that doesn’t exist.

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