3:AM Magazine

by Nikolle Doolin
 
Naked feels good, when no one’s looking and no one cares, Cal thought.  He was naked now more than ever.  His girlfriend–if you could call her that–slept on the bed all sprawled out from an afternoon of what Cal called lust-making.  
 
There’s no use pretending this party’s gonna last, he told himself, as he watched her from the bathroom doorway.  She’s hot enough, but it’s still the same.  It never changes.  Tina, or Trina, or whatever the hell she calls herself, just ain’t it.  
 
She doesn’t care.  Times like these are all about filling up a Saturday–that’s all.  As he decided that, his eyes fell upon the tattoo on her right hip.  It was a black blade–an Asian number with a little tassel blowing in an invisible breeze.  He studied the image and laughed a little to himself.  She was trying to look tough, but that full, luxurious cascade of raven black hair running down her back was too feminine to ever let her pull it off.  Not to mention that girlish grin and the giggle that undermined any chance of intimidation.  
 
No, this wasn’t going to last; but it was a fun ride.  Suddenly, Tina groaned as she turned her body over and revealed her breasts.  He also liked that about her.  What man wouldn’t?  Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, when she caught sight of him.
 
“What are you doing?  Are you watching me sleep?” she asked in a drowsy voice.  
 
He smiled too; and became cute himself.  “Yeah, I’m watchin’ you.  You got a problem with that?”
 
“Maybe I do,” she teased.
 
How cute, he thought.  
 
“What are you gonna do about it?”
 
“I’ll show you what I’m gonna do about it.”  
 
She got up on her knees and grabbed a pillow.  Naked, armed, and dangerous, she threatened him with a sudden thrust forward.  He even jumped back a bit and hit his elbow just enough to hurt.  “Ow!” he yelped.  She giggled.  “You think that’s funny?”
 
“Uh, huh.”
 
“You really think that’s funny?  I’ll show you what’s funny.”  Just a few steps forward and he was on top of her once again–a familiar and fantastic place to be–looking down at a welcoming face ready to absorb his essence.  Too bad this isn’t gonna last, he thought.  
 
He kissed her anyway; and stroked her long tresses.  No use wasting what time they do have together.  So, he found his way inside her again, but not far enough to find where all the stories lie.  No, he couldn’t reach the record of her exuberance, when she was eight and won the gymnastics competition.  She felt like she could do anything then–she could fly; and that was amazing, until she couldn’t fly as high as the other girls in later tournaments and felt the humiliation weigh her down to earth and keep her there.  
 
No, this story didn’t come up in the limited conversation they managed to have.  He preferred it that way.  (The less talking the better).  You don’t want to spoil a good thing by complicating it with a lot of things like words.  Words have a way of driving emotions; and emotions lead to commitments; and, well, that just doesn’t fly with Cal.
 
Tomatoes.  He suddenly felt a pang to cut up those ripe, organic tomatoes they got from the farmer’s market that morning.  They were juicy and sweet.  He’d shake a little salt on them and then eat them up.  So, as he was moving back and forth, he was thinking of the tomatoes he wanted; and she was searching his eyes wondering what he was thinking; and if she really knew what was going on in his mind, she’d probably feel hurt.  
 
So naturally, as the inclination seemed to grip every woman he had ever been with, she decided to ask him, “What are you thinking?”  Now, why do women always have to go asking a man what he’s thinking?  She doesn’t want to hear about the damn tomato fixation he has, but that’s the truth; and she wants the truth, doesn’t she?  Yeah, right!  No man’s stupid enough to say what he’s really thinking, unless he wants the chick he’s with to take off.  
 
They weren’t finished yet. That could wait.  He knew what to say.
 
“I’m thinking of how beautiful you are.”
 
In her characteristic, girlish tone, she wondered, “Really?”
 
“Really,” he answered out loud.  Inside, he was saying, “Hell no, I’m thinking about tomatoes.  I’m hungry.”  
 
“Well, that’s a nice thing to be thinking.”
 
“I think so.”  Of course it’s nice, that’s why he said it; and he means it; he just doesn’t have to dwell on the subject.  A man can figure out if he thinks a girl’s hot in the first few seconds, once he’s had a look at all the angles.  That doesn’t require much thought; and when he gets hard, which is like being on autopilot, he’s not thinking much there either.  He doesn’t have to think, but she’s stretched out under him wondering what profound ideas are kicking around in his head, when all he’s really thinking about is food.  
 
She’s hungry too, but she’s thinking.  That’s the difference.  She’s actually thinking about him and her and if there might be a them come next week, even though she was just hooking up with him and went into it not expecting anything.  If only she just shut her brain off, but women can’t do that.  They have to start analyzing things and imagining outcomes. Bad idea. Stick to tomatoes.  Tomatoes are good:  thoughts are bad; they lead to disaster.
 
So as things finish, she gets up and takes a shower; and he bolts into the kitchen naked and in search of those tomatoes.  He grabs them from the dish on the counter, washes ‘em off, cuts ‘em up, sprinkles ‘em with salt; and then he eats them.  She’s singing in the shower and doesn’t sound bad and he kind of likes it, while he’s chomping away, but she’s in there thinking.  This is gonna get rough; he just knows it.  
 
She’s gonna start up about making this a regular thing; and it ain’t gonna happen.  She’s gonna play that little girl game where she stands there tilting her head and twirling her hair just daring him to send that sweet body away.  I know she’s gonna do that, he decided and stood straight up.  
 
Cal wiped his mouth with his hand and listened to the songbird in his bathroom.  No girl’s gonna get me.  This one’s no different from the rest.  No way.     
 
Tina walks down the hall to the kitchen and stands in the doorway with her wet hair hanging down and a towel wrapped around.  Cal gets stiff.  There are beads of water running down her chest that get sucked up by the cotton.  How much you wanna bet someone wants to rip that towel off and lick up all the little rivers of joy?  
 
Not gonna happen, he tells himself.  It’s done.  This thing’s gonna have to get wrapped up and pronto.  No little girl act’s gonna whip him. Nuh, uh.  No way.
 
She looks at his crotch and smiles.  “Looks like you’re gonna need help with that.”  Then she struts on over and let’s the towel slide off her body.  
 
Cal knows he’s in for it.  Just one more time, he tells himself.  There’s no harm in just one more time and, besides, he already ate all of the tomatoes.

# # # # #

ND: In Naked Feels Good, I poke fun of the gender divide.  Through Cal’s narrow lens, I examine the common complaint that women commit themselves too much mentally and emotionally, while men don’t commit themselves enough.  Since I cracked the code, I just assume that all men are thinking about tomatoes and laugh mysteriously.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nikolle Doolin is a writer and voice actor.  She writes prose, poetry, and scripts; and her stage plays have been performed in festivals.  Nikolle also produces a literary podcast called Audio Literature Odyssey in which she reads classics.  

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Saturday, June 23rd, 2007.