Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... (8 page)

“Me?” 

“Yah. You. When you’re working something out you always bite your lip right there,” I say, rubbing my index finger softly over the now-wet corner of his bottom right lip. It’s so soft. I never knew that until now. I thought I knew all of him. Not… even… close.

“I’m trying to decide a plan of action. You need an action plan in times like these, ya know? I’m going for optimum pleasure here. There are so many places on your body that’ll bring you that pleasure, and I want to be the one to show you what you’re capable of. I
need
to show you and I’m not sure where to start. Stop interrupting my action planning.  It’s serious.” He’s serious.

“Forgive me,” I state, seriously lifting my arms out to my sides and exposing myself further to him, showing him I’m on board with this very exciting action plan that he’s currently developing. I never knew Ashton was this thorough. Thoughtful, yes, he’s always doing things to show me he cares, but I had no idea he could be so painstakingly methodical, especially about this.  Methodical is my new favorite word. Methodical rules!

The moment he’s ready to proceed I can see it in his eyes. They lift slowly back to mine and he’s wearing that mischievous, knowing smirk that I know so well on his very naughty lips. As I lower my arms to my sides he reaches one of his hands out and slowly slides it around me, cupping my bottom before squeezing it.  Hard. Whoa!  I felt that in a very serious place. He smiles at my reaction and I bet he knows the place I felt that, it was for sure part of the pleasure plan. Obviously the reaction I gave was the one he was hoping for so he continues on and leans in to kiss me, there is a God. Then I hear a noise that I know all too well and it is the opposite of romantic. 

Master Chief just vomited. Well, Bloody Hell, Harry Potter! Vomiting has officially become my nemesis. 

Ashton hears it too and before I know what’s happening he’s run past me into the living room, leaving me quite naked and, I think, literally on fire.  If you could die from passionate flames of fire, I’d be screwed. Oh wait… no… I… WOULDN’T!

I grab the now infamous robe off the floor at my feet and slide it on while walking down the hall toward all the commotion. I can hear Ashton interrogating Master Chief about the mess that’s all around him, trying to come up with a brand new action plan, not that those have a great track record thus far.

Ashton’s grumbling obscenities under his breath as I enter the dimly-lit room. I stop and search for robbers, because no way did one dog do all of this! Ashton’s got his shirt sleeves pushed up past his well-toned forearms while he furiously scrubs at the nasty puddle of vomit Master so thoroughly created on my largest area rug. 

Looking around, I easily find the culprit laying his sour belly out on the cold floor, looking for relief amidst the piles of chewed up tampons that are scattered all around him. Apparently Ashton bought the jumbo-sized economy box the last time I sent him out for them. He was thinking ahead so that he wouldn’t be sent on that errand again for a while, but jokes on him… looks like I’m about out. 

He looks up as he senses me watching him and the look on his face is that of complete frustration mixed with a healthy dose of defeat. I can relate. 

Grumpily he says, “Master needs to be seen by the vet.  There are enough empty wrappers here for a small village and I don’t see enough of those stick thingies to match up evenly. We need to know if there are any more stuck inside him,” he says pointing an anxious finger at Master. “I don’t know how safe it is to wait and see if they pass on their own.”

It’s clear by the look on Master’s face that he knows he’s in trouble - and he is - but we’re both worried about him right now, so his scolding will just have to wait until after he’s been seen by the vet. He looks miserable enough as it is. I imagine a stomach full of cotton will do that to you.  As I think about it, I start to feel a sense of urgency about Ashton getting him to the doctor.

“You know what? I’ve got this. You don’t mind do you?  You know, taking him in?” It dawns on me that if Ashton wasn’t here this would be a very different situation. But he is and that’s where my mind needs to stay for now. He is here.

“You know I will. I’m sorry about… ya know… not finishing things back there.” He looks as bad as I feel right now and believe you me, compassion isn’t the only thing I’m feeling, ouch! I’ve heard of the illusive blue bean but now I know it’s for real.

Ashton scoops up my giant dog as if he weighs nothing and heads for the front door. Master Chief looks happy to be so close to Ashton (I know that feeling well) and like he may puke again at any moment (I kinda know that one, too). I wish the vet could fix my dilemma, but that’s neither here nor there. Ash is the only bean fixer I have.

Thankfully my dad’s VW Bus is here and not at Ashton’s place or we’d be calling my big brother who does not at all approve of Ashton and I’s friendly sleepover parties. He’d probably see all the sexual tension in the air and go into a fatherly rage on behalf of our dear dad, as well as for every other dad on the planet. Though I’d like to remind you that he currently
LIVES
with
HIS
girlfriend! 

I’m broken out of my imaginary fight with my brother by the sound of my car revving up and somehow finding the traction to screech out of the driveway. All that’s left for me to do is sit, wait and finish cleaning up Master’s tampon vomit. I am so over sitting and waiting, but that’s the life of the agoraphobe. Sit… wait… sit… wait… 

***

The door opens two hours later and in crawls Master, head down, eyes weary. I’ve been online playing with one Mrnotsosmall@all for the last hour-and-a-half and when I see Ashton drag in behind my dog I feel my first tinge of guilt due to all the flirty fun I’ve been indulging in since they’ve been gone. I clear my throat and tell Mr. I’ve got to cruise. He clears his throat back and asks in an apprehensive tone if tomorrow I’d like to meet back up.  Hiding my happy face I look the other way and whisper my assent, murmuring, “Same time, same place,” before clicking off.

“I’m going to go.” Ashton’s pissed. He won’t make eye contact. He threw my keys on the entryway table as soon as he noticed I was wearing my headset and is already turning to leave, ready to walk home even though he’s so clearly exhausted. Separately, none of those things are good signs. Together, they’re devastating to The Plan.

“Wait! Ash? Don’t go.” I sheepishly walk towards him, feeling a bit of panic about where we go from here because I’m certain that I do not want him to leave here mad at me. 

“Can’t you stay? I mean shouldn’t we talk about you know, all the stuff from before? Maybe set up some rules for
it
and try again?”

I can’t help but sound shy and maybe even a little pathetic because that’s exactly how I feel. Problem is, my newly acquired desperation around Ash has turned things weird between us and I don’t do well when I’m feeling weird.

“You know what, Cee? I know you’re trying to make this okay and I really want it to be, but right now I’m tired and honestly I feel hung over from all the earlier unrequited lust. I’m not used to that feeling (low blow).

I’m really trying to not be jealous of that gamer-guy and I’m also trying to figure out this thing you want us to do.” At this point he’s opened the front door and is talking from the threshold. “Believe me, it’s better if I leave. I need to think and truthfully, so do you. This whole situation is really fucked up and I don’t know if I can do it. Any of it.”

He looks me over one more time like he’s trying to memorize me and then he turns, quietly shuts the door behind him and is gone. It only takes me a moment to realize that his coolness may just be scarier than his hot temper. I wish he’d slammed the door. 

“Come on Master, off to bed we go. You and mommy have a lot to discuss tomorrow concerning your bad behavior earlier but right now, I’m exhausted.” He huffs in agreement and nuzzles alongside me as we head to our room. I look at my bed and sigh. Tonight was supposed to be a marathon of awesome, instead it will go down in first-time history books as a classic example of what an epic fail looks like.

As I lie down next to a furry male instead of the toned, fleshy one I had planned for earlier, several things spew (bad choice of words considering my night) forth from me in a despairing groan of frustration. I’m struck by a lightning bolt of premonition right between the eyes. My Potter senses are tingling, trying to alert me of the danger to come. 

A picture of Ashton walking home strikes me in clear Hi-def quality as if I’m head down in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, searching through the dreamlike thoughts of this clearly ominous premonition.  I see him. He’s strolling along the concrete sidewalk, stepping over cracks, his beautiful head down deep in thought, allowing his casually messed hair to blow freely in the breeze with his strong hands shoved deep into his pockets. I sigh at his apparent ease and then, I see his eyes. His eyes tell me what I need to know. He’s contemplating.

Until tonight I’ve always known his thoughts and he’s always known mine. We shared our contemplation, never ashamed of our own vulnerability or of the other’s judgment. Then I say one simple thing, “I want your sex”, and it changes everything. My desperate need and his inability to fill it may be at last, our undoing.  I was hoping he’d own a piece of my soul, become the Harry to my Voldemort and maybe become my own personal Horcrux, the owner of a fragile, delicate, broken part of my spirit. 

seven (sexy times gone bad…)

Victoria’s Secret and its awe-inspiring images of soft femininity have come to my rescue during many a bad moment in my life. It’s because of this lacy empire and its lingerie-clad deities that I’ve been able to dream of a mother who appears to be both real and present to me through their models. This day is no different than any of the other days I’ve woken up needing their comfort and guidance.

On my nightstand, I have a stack of their glossy pages ready to offer just that. I need my imaginary Superwoman-styled mom in her form-fitting girdle to come to my rescue once again. Maybe with any luck my mom, like Wonder Woman, will have a lasso of truth created from the girdle of the Love God, Aphrodite. Then I’ll finally be able to get to the bottom of all my conflicting feelings concerning not only my dismal life but also my newfound desire to do the horizontal mambo with my forever best friend.

As I’m thumbing through the sleepwear section of their newest catalogue my phone dings, alerting me to an incoming text. It’s my brother, Connor, asking me if I’d be willing to have a guest. He wants me to meet his new lady, Liddy. Though I’d love to, other than the pizza guy, I haven’t had anyone but my brother and Ashton in my house for more than a year now. The idea of having a panic attack in front of a stranger - much less someone my brother cares so deeply about - is the reason for this particular rule. That’s one of several new rules I’ve added over the past twelve months.  I really should write them all down and hand them out to my loved ones (all two of them) for reference.

I quickly text him back that I think I may have the flu, can we try for another day (I
have
barfed more than usual lately, so maybe I do). There’s no response for a couple minutes, then there’s a loud rat-a-tat-tat coming from the front door. NO WAY!

Jumping from the comfort of my bed, I grab Victoria’s newest PINK hoodie and slip on its matching velour track pants. I hear a second round of thundering knocks as I walk down the hall pulling on the jacket.

“Jesus,” I say exasperated as I swing open the door and see my brother standing there looking pissed off. What he has to be pissed about I’ve no clue?

“What the hell Connor?” I grumble turning to the side to let him in. 

That’s when I see the petite blond standing behind him.  She’s not moving and is considerately waiting for me to invite her into my home. I have no clue what my brother has told her but looking at the nervous expression she’s wearing on her lovely face I can only assume she knows the full extent of my crazy. This is both comforting (because she’ll already know about the panic attacks when I have one) and embarrassing (Seriously, I’m not stupid. I know it’s awkward for people to be around someone like me. Hell, I’m awkward around me.).

Connor knows he’s forced my hand here and I’m sure he’s aware that when we talk alone next he’s toast. But in the meantime, the one thing I still have intact - despite the ever-present panic disorder that dwells within me like a menacing Jack in the Box - are my good manners. I reach my sweaty, shaking palm out to this new girl on my stoop and shake her outstretched hand. Then I use my other equally sweaty hand to usher her inside with an exaggerated swoop of my arm. I’m comforted by the fact that this charming looking girl seems to be as nervous as me, and all I can think is
thank God
.

She hands me a pretty pink bag overflowing with tissue paper and I look up at her in confusion, eyebrows pulled up in their ‘what’s this?’ pose. 

“That’s just a little something I made recently. Connor told me you like this sort of thing and, well, I was hoping we could become friends,” she finishes her speech quickly, sweetly and looking a little embarrassed.

Smiling, I take the bag from her as she gives me a go ahead nod, apparently wanting me to open it now so she can see if I approve of what she’s done. After pulling out the top layer of tissue I see another round of equally beautiful fine paper wrapped around a bundle that feels soft to the touch as I take hold of it. My eyes go wide when I peel open the paper and see the extraordinary satin and lace creation inside. 

In awe I ask, “Did you really make this?”

Her face alights with a blinding, golden smile, “I sure did,” she says excited by my obvious approval of her gift. “Your brother told me you loved lingerie and I’ve been sewing my whole life. I even have my own line of clothes. I don’t know if he told you,” she says pointing over at my lovesick brother.

“Well anyway, I never made lingerie before and knowing I was going to meet you inspired this new pursuit. This isn’t the first piece, there are quite a few attempts gone bad on my sewing room floor, but this is the first one that came out right and I wanted you to have it.  I hope it fits.”

In my hands is the most lovely camisole and panty set I think I’ve ever seen. The colors are soft, as if the thin, delicate fabric dictated them to be, and all I am capable of feeling in the moment is gratitude for her thoughtfulness. 

My eyes are watering as I’m struck by the fact that this is the first time I’ve seen another woman, hell another person, other than Ashton, Connor or the pizza guy in well over a year. Before that there were a couple of times Ashton foolishly tried to sneak in one or two of his skanks late at night while in the midst of a drunken, horny stupor.  But, no worry, they never made it over the threshold before I sent them packing, called them a cab and left them to think about their questionable life choices while waiting alone on a strangers front porch. That never did go over too well, but those are some long stories better saved for another time.

This encounter is different in every conceivable way.  First off it’s obvious that this girl of my brothers is no skank. Immediately I can see that she exudes a genuine kindness and warmth. She has been blessed with one of “those” faces. You know, the kind that makes you want to give her a hug and then invite her in for a cup of English tea upon your first meeting. I believe the first word that comes to mind if I had to pick only one to describe her is
lovely
. Obviously my brother agrees because he’s looking at her with the word SMITTEN written clear as day across his handsome face. What a beautiful pair they make.  I’m suddenly feeling… happy. This is a revelation. I can feel happy and not be playing a video game at the same time. Hmm.

Over the last twenty four hours I’ve felt a lot of sensations other than panic. I’ve added some positive emotions to my repertoire for the first time in many years, lust being at the very top of that list. I decide this surprise meeting is okay, that I’m okay and I surprise us all when I ask them to stay and have some coffee with me (I wish I did tea, but it gives me a stomach ache). 

“So, sis? Liddy here was hoping to get your advice on the lingerie business. That’s why we’re here, right babe?” he says looking at his “babe” launching a serious set of goo-goo eyes her way. I’ve never seen my brother like this. It’s adorable and kind of gross but mostly adorable. 

“Yes, exactly!” She says excitedly. “I’ve been really struggling getting enough sales to grow my brand but lingerie is something I can use to set myself apart. I was hoping with your expertise and knowledge on the subject we could talk about some ideas I’ve been having and you can give me your thoughts, opinions, stuff like that. What do you think?” How does my brother ever say no to this sprite? My goodness, she’s like a living, breathing, fairy princess only she’s cooler and wears Converses.

Smiling, I take a sip of my still-hot, chocolate-infused coffee and give her the truth, “I’d really like that, honestly I would. It’s just I haven’t been out in awhile,” (putting it mildly there) ”and, well, I’m not sure if I’m the most qualified to be making current fashion predictions. My current knowledge would be based solely on TV commercials and the reality TV I sometimes shamefully imbibe.”

“Truthfully, that’s what makes you perfect. Fashion, at least to me, is doing something different. If you aren’t being influenced by what you see, you’ll have the rare ability to come up with a creation that’s new, unique, distinctive!” I can tell that she’s thought about this and she’s genuinely excited by the idea that I have no discernible knowledge of what’s hip. I’m glad one of us is.

“So, what you’re saying is you want to work with me, the agoraphobe,” (I just put the lurking elephant on the table and he lifted his trunk in salute) “and what? Be partners?” Am I reading into this?

“Yep!” She’s doing this cute little bouncy thing on the couch with her feet firmly planted on the floor in front of her. “I can just come over here and we can draw out our ideas, and once we’ve come up with our first set of concepts I’ll shop for the fabrics and start to bring them to life.” 

“So, what’s in it for you, other than a fresh perspective from me of course?” This is the million dollar question.

Holding my brother’s hand, she leans over her legs, elbows resting on her knees, both their hands joined in front of her. “I’d like to get to know my boyfriend’s sister.  I’d like to use you for your talent, and if you have a couple dollars to throw in at the end to help I wouldn’t turn them down, but that’s it. Is friendship too cheesy?” I see why Connor loves her, because it’s obvious he does, and I can also see that she’s brought the smile to his face that I hadn’t realized had been missing for so long until now. I want that for him. I want that for me, and because of the smile wanting, I’m compelled to agree to her cheesy terms.

“So, friendship and art and money? Those are your demands?” She’s looking at me hopeful. “Okay. I’m in. I’d like to split all the expenses fifty-fifty though and make this a real partnership with all the same risks. I love lingerie that much.” She reaches her thin, pale hand across to me and we shake on the friendship-art-money pact that I suggested and then surprisingly, for the first time in a long while, I feel… hopeful.

***

I’m dying to tell Ashton about my new business venture, but I know his schedule and tonight he’s got a gig which means I won’t be seeing him until the wee hours of the night/morning. Since there’s no rush, I open my email to check out what new work I’ve had come in, and then I check my excel timetables to see where I am on the several outstanding projects I still have going. Then it’s time to get to work on what’s currently due. 

My inheritance is nice to have as a back-up in case I fall on hard times, but I plan on using some of that to invest in the lingerie business with Liddy. My bank account is kind of like a security blanket, so if I plan on spending money, I need to make money. Otherwise, I may be forced to depend on someone else one day and that is
not
in any one of my future plans.

It’s been several days since I’ve checked my email so it’s heavily congested with junk-mail, spam, and requests to join all sorts of social media groups. I spend what feels like hours sifting through all the garbage before I get to a subject line that reads: “
PLEASE OPEN, it’s your mother,
” again. You’d think I’d panic reading that, but I’m no stu-nod. I’ve had enough of these emails over the years to know a scam when I see one.  I delete it from my inbox like I always have and continue on with my schedule for the evening as planned.

Oddly enough, one of the books I’m ghost writing a chapter for is about anxiety disorder. The book’s working title is, and I promise you I’m not kidding,
The Game of Life:  How to Stop Beating Yourself and Become a Winner
.  BWAHAHAHAHA! It’s a ridiculous title. Every time I say it aloud or even think it in my mind, I have to use a news reporter’s tone and give a big, cheesy thumbs up at the end, it’s that corny and, P.S., a complete waste of time.

After finishing my designated chapter on Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Techniques I’m mentally drained.  While researching I came across an article that talked about something called Trauma-Based Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. In the research, the doctor talked about children who have lost a parent or who have journeyed through a significant illness with their loved one and how often the child experiences PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and if not treated can lead to a difficulty adjusting to normal life. If I could meet this genius I’d say, “DUH!”

All I want to do after my thought-provoking research is to escape for a while, thus applying my go-to behavioral therapy technique of choice: avoidance. Apparently this technique is frowned upon by “the doctors” of the world.  They all seem to agree that dealing head-on with your issues is the “best way,” but
to each his own
is my go-to philosophy. So, in true PrettyPanties fashion I go to my room, doll up and prepare to kick some pansy ass online.  I find black cat-eye makeup is the most effective in reinforcing my butt-kicking mood. I wish I could explain why but, it just does.

Lying across my purple duvet are my gorgeous new handmade undergarments from Liddy. Since “the girls” are still young and perky, I can wear the camisole sans bra, paired with my dark denim skinny jeans and VIOLA! PrettyPanties is ready for action, fellas! Best put on your big boy slacks and prepare to meet your maker, at least until your character respawns.

There he is… (long pause for a moan/sigh/whatever sound is hotter to you). His characters are even handsome.
Swoon
. I’ve been able to put aside the facts I’ve learned about him. 1. His name is Christian (so hot) and he hooks up with British bombshells (so, not hot). 2. He works crazy hours but won’t tell me anything about where. Is he trustworthy? And 3. He hooks up with British bombshells.  That one counts for two because I have to work twice as hard to forget it; he’s exhausting me with all his mental games.