The Apple of My Eye

The Girl with Golden Eyes

Okay, so this is 2008 at last.

You may be wondering what made me give up such a rewarding job—rewarding despite my employer, naturally—and apparently not give two shits about it. Well, as it turned out, I had made enough of a name for myself in the eyes of the people in corporate—a large organization of which Jafar's little agency was merely a small franchise. I knew there was this much bigger agency, in a much more prestigious location, that was about to become devoid of a coordinator for one reason or another. And that's not all. That much bigger agency was run by corporate, meaning it wasn't a franchise. If I could let it be known to those people that not only was I available, but that I had also left Jafar having had the decency to give him a month's notice, during which I actually continued to deliver the goods like I wasn't even leaving, then, before long, they'd see how perfect I was for the job. I'd be leading a much bigger team, running a much bigger show. It would feel like I was being promoted, really. Moving on to much greener pastures, so to speak. It was a more prominent place, with six times as many clients as the place I had left behind. I was even going to have my own personal assistants. Who could ask for more? I could, of course.

As it turned out, I actually got the call and the job, just as I had anticipated. I was ecstatic. I was feeling on top of the world, at least as far as work was concerned. (It wasn't the top of the world, sure, but you have got to understand I had come a long way.) Nevertheless, there was this one area of my life that wasn't quite as fulfilling. I was going through a drought, so to say. No action was coming my way—you know what kind of action I mean—and that had been going on for quite some time now. I know, I know: it was I who had made the decision to stay the course and focus on my professional development. And I didn't regret that. But two years is an awfully long time, come on.

Back at home, things were deteriorating fast. Chloe would go on complaining about everything I did or didn't do, and then would cry every single time I disagreed with her or criticized her. Is there anything worse than a girl who cries all the time? I wanted out of that relationship so bad, but I simply could not bring myself to do it, to say the words and actually get the hell out. The longer you stay in that kind of relationship, the harder it is to leave, trust me. And every time you're about to break free but you back down instead, believing that, hey, maybe this thing is going to get better after all, you are just wasting your time. That's right. Sad but true. It's never going to get better. It's only going to get worse.

My unstable partner had one trump card that simply could not be ignored, though. She was great in the sack. And I mean absurdly great. Abundantly gifted. She appeared to be psychotic at times, granted, but she had the ability to shake the sheets with such gusto and enthusiasm that whatever problems we had been having seemed to disappear right then and there. It was only a temporary solution, no doubt, but I'm not going to lie to you, they did seem solved.

Which reminds me of the time, several years earlier, when I was hellbent on leaving Chloe for this hot 24-year-old I was seeing. You'd think the girl would be performing wonders for me in the sex department, but in reality was such a cadaverous lay that after a while I couldn't even get it up anymore. No kidding. And no shame in that, either. It wasn't my fault if I wasn't into necrophilia. This was a girl I had been seeing for quite some time, on and off. For a while, I thought I was in love and everything. I had the utmost faith she would be the one to rescue me from the oblivion my life had turned into.

Chloe and I were experiencing so much tension in our relationship back then that I was certain our marriage wouldn't last us another month, regardless of the aforementioned 24-year-old. Those were wild times in every respect. But what happens when we're alone at night and Chloe starts fondling me, rubbing herself against me, like a cat in heat? You know exactly what happens. We do it for four hours straight, that's what happens. And we do it good, too. Big-bang phenomenal. You'd think I'd be so sick of her antics I couldn't even bring myself to kiss her. I know you'd think that, but then you'd be wrong. It was quite the contrary.