She is dancing flamenco while she hand washes clothes.  She heaves the clothes in and out of the bucket, wrings them, beats them, soaps them, and drops them in again.  Then she stands up, rolls her hips, and twirls her hands over her head, closing her eyes and feeling the music.  Through the headphones, she hears him come in the front door.


He is making his lips hard and letting her suck on them.  She runs her tongue back and forth, back and forth, into his mouth and out.  He is angry, but letting her play with him.  After awhile he softens his lips and kisses her back, powerfully, before he jerks his head away and stares at the ceiling.

“You’re going to run off with that Israeli guy as soon as I’m out the door, aren’t you?” he asks, face tight.  There is silence for a moment, and then she says “No, baby, of course not.”  He gives no indication that he has heard her, just continues to stare at the ceiling.  After a moment, she returns to her side and begins sliding her hand up and down his belly.  It is smooth and firm, like a woman’s.  He lets her touch him, his hands folded under his neck.  Then he turns his head and lets her kiss him.  She loves sucking on his lips, it is her favorite thing to do.  They are soft and hard at the same time, like molding clay, changing shape under the pressure of her own mouth and tongue.  They fit together perfectly, their mouths, and they dance and tease and play.  Then he pulls away.

“Tell me again,” he says.  She sighs and traces a line up his belly.  She wishes he could know what was in her mind, which is that he is the only man she wants, the one she dreams about at night, the one that makes her wet with desire.  But words are never enough.  Still, she tries.  “Baby, you are the one I want.  When you go away, I’ll be right here.  When you come back, I’ll be right here.  I’ll never go away.”

He sighs and looks just like a little boy for a minute.  Then his face hardens and he takes her hand and puts it back on his body.  She feels a jolt of electricity, a softening that this green light gives.  She leans down to kiss him, eager.  He puts his hand behind her head and kisses her back, and just as she is becoming breathless, he pushes her away and sits up.  He stands up and buttons his pants.  “I’m leaving,” he says.

She sits up on the edge of the bed, her hair rumpled, her eyes a question.  He hasn’t even packed his things.  But she knows him.  He doesn’t have to.  He can leave right now and never come back.  It’s like that with him.

He runs two distressed hands through his hair and then turns to her, a strange light in his eyes.  He looks playful and malicious all at once.  “Have your fucking Israeli,” he says, and then takes a jogging leap and disappears through the door.


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