Monday, May 16, 2011

Dragon Tattoo

He was a hermit. Jason, that is. The rooms of his apartment were mish-mosh warehouse of computer parts, rusted tools and well-thumbed books. It was hazardous trying to maneuver throw the piles if you didn't know the place as well as him. He was like a mole scurrying through the zigzag paths he laid out.

It was utter chaos.

Jason wasn't the type to disregard his appearance, even if he only made bi-monthly public appearances. He had a smooth, toned chest. Hazel eyes. And a dragon tattoo that wrapped around his back and spread out over his chest, breathing flames just above his nipple.

Just looking at him was enough to make me have an orgasm.

When we first met, he was making one of those random little ventures out to the book store, to load up on a solid month-worth of reading material. I happened to bump in to him. Literally. I fell flat on my ass, and he pulled me up tender hands. I straightened out my black and white plaid dress, and he stooped down to pick up my selected books. Ah, the joyous Orwell. The hilarious Eggers. He looked down at my soon-to-be-purchased books and smiled. That day marked the best thing to happen to me in ten years.

Since then, we've been in this on again off again relationship. I can't get him to get the hell out of the house. And he drives me nuts with his obsessive need to categorize all his computer bits.

The odd hours.

The restless need to write.

The strange things he says to me.

The collection of panties in the top drawer of his dresser.

Our fights would span over days, weeks. I couldn't believe that this man, this hermit, who never leaves the house, is sleeping with countless women throughout the city. They leave their souvenirs for him to do...I don't even want to know what with. The pink silk ones. The black lacy ones. The red boy-shorts.

He always curbs my anger by fucking me stupid. I can't even describe it. Like when a tornado plows through a house.

I watch him roll out of bed. He maneuvers around the pile of books at the end of the bed, dusty flap-jackets poking out at odd corners. I sit up, wrapping the sheets around my body. And stare into the eyes of the retreating dragon.

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