You the Man, Brad
by Wayne Scheer
Who'd have guessed that a sexy aerobics instructor named Cyndi, with a "y" and an "i," would snore like a pig in heat?
Brad rolled her to her side, but it didn't help. He tried kissing her neck and caressing her shoulders, but that resulted in gurgling noises resembling the last bit of water squeezing through a stuffed drain.
What he really wanted to do was poke her awake and ask her to leave.
He squinted through the early morning light to make sure she was the same woman he had taken home from Jake's party the night before, fearing she had somehow transformed into a javelina. But even as she snorted, Cyndi remained beautiful, with the kind of body a man like Brad only saw on the beach while another man rubbed lotion over it.
But now, Brad was that other man. He hadn't wanted to go to his friend's thirty-fifth birthday party. Since his divorce, Brad hadn't wanted to go anywhere, except work and back to the loneliness of his new apartment. Jake and Lynn wanted him to meet Cyndi, Lynn's aerobics instructor. Cyndi, too, had just ended her marriage, and Lynn told him that her friend needed to know there were still good men out there.
The flattery, more than Jake's assurance that Cyndi would knock his socks off, sealed the deal. He went to the party expecting little more than conversation and a few drinks. Instead, his socks, along with the rest of his clothes, were knocked off and he found himself in bed with a beautiful, but noisy, woman.
Even when they were having sex, strange noises escaped her lips. Brad's ex-wife had been a screamer; Cyndi was more a squealer. The closer she came to climax, the louder and faster the squeaks, sounding like a gate in need of oil.
But it was the first sex for Brad in almost a year. He would have put up with almost anything. Afterwards, as they shared a pillow and talked about themselves, he asked if she'd like to sleep over. When she agreed, Brad thought he had hit the jackpot.
Now he lay awake, trying to ignore her guttural spasms. Be a man, he said to himself. With that, he shook her awake.
A final snort and she rolled toward him, smiled, and asked if he was ready for another workout.
Be a man, he repeated to himself.
"Sure thing," he said.
Wayne Scheer has locked himself in a room with his computer and turtle since his retirement. (Wayne's, not the turtle's.) To keep from going back to work, he's published hundreds of short stories, essays and poems, including, Revealing Moments, a collection of twenty-four flash stories, available at http://www.pearnoir.com/thumbscrews.htm. He's been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net. Wayne lives in Atlanta with his wife. Contact Wayne.