What sex feels and looks like internally, but not from like a medical and anatomy perspective. It was an abstract interpretation.”
“Did you come up with that?”
“Yes. I didn’t do it for shock value, although I got some of that reaction, too. It got a lot of attention. Praise.”
“They’re actually really striking, King.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you get any awards or anything? I mean, that may not be how the art world works, but—”
“I was featured in several international magazines. Like here, for instance.” He pointed to his phone. “I showed body heat in this one, see? The way our temperature rises during foreplay… the pinnacle of arousal. And here, I showed the release of—”
“Sperm flowing to the egg, creating life.”
“Yup. But not just biologically. This is depicting a planned pregnancy. Two people who are intentionally constructing a new existence, and that’s what I wanted to get across. All life, whether intentionally made or not, is beautiful. But just, you know, the thought of planning the conception of a baby and doing it in the moment, knowing exactly the end result, to me, is extraordinary.” Her fingers sprawled as she gripped the sheet between them. He watched her do it over and over. She’s even got nice hands.
“This is your calling, King,” she finally said, after a bout of silence. “The colors, the blending, everything. That takes skill and God given genius.”
“Thank you.” He put his phone down on the nightstand.
“You’re welcome.” She yawned. “So, if music, books, and art are like spells, oh, and movies, then how do you break a spell?”
He pulled her close, letting her rest her head against his chest. Stroking her arm, he looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out the best way to answer the question.
“Never really thought about that. I guess it’s because I like being under the spell.” She smiled up at him. “But, if I were to really want to do that, we might need to look at the core components. In order to deconstruct something, you have to look at how it was created, how it was made. To tear something down, you must know what built it up. Spells are words. So, you have to find something stronger than them to topple them over.”
“Action.”
“Exactly. Actions speak louder than words. Words stay with us forever, but actions completely change the narrative. We react with a response. A change of behavior. A metamorphosis.”
“A… metamorphosis…” she repeated before yawning once again.
“Yes… like my stepfather’s last name, and now mine. Change is inevitable, baby, good or bad, whether we want it or not.” He kissed the top of her head. Why did I do that? Why do I feel so comfortable here? Why do I not want to leave?
It wasn’t long before Suri was asleep on him. Her thick, long coils were so soft to the touch. He played with them, then pulled away. At that moment, he didn’t like how she made him feel. All she was doing was sleeping, but with that one action, she tore him apart.
She’s comfortable. She trusts me now, regardless of whether she consciously wants to or not. I don’t want anything serious right now. Nor does she. I’m crossing the line by even still being here. Damn, man…
He looked down at her and tried to resist, but gave in to his desires to press one final kiss against her delicious lips. With expert stealth, he managed to wiggle from beneath her, keeping her undisturbed as she now lightly snored. Creeping out of the bedroom with his wallet and phone, he made quick work of putting his clothes back on, then blew out the candle on the coffee table and snatched his satchel from the couch. He grabbed his jacket from her closet, approached the front door to leave, then stopped.
Panic crept up his body.
His heart beat damn near out of his chest. Taking a deep breath, he rested his head against her front door.
Fuck it.
He went to the kitchen and found a pen and an old notebook in a drawer. He quickly jotted down his name and number, then tore the piece of paper out, leaving it on the kitchen counter.
Then, as quietly as possible, he closed the door behind him…
CHAPTER SIX
A Black Hair on a White Pillow
“911, what’s your emergency?” Suri leaned back in her cubicle seat and crossed her legs as ‘Lovely Day,’ by Bill Withers played on low volume on her computer.
“Yeah, I’m over here on uh, on uh, shit… Where the fuck am