Something Tangible

Breakdown

Steven woke to an empty bed. Feeling bereft, he got up to find Katarina, who was flipping channels between Saturday morning cartoons and BBC News.

Blissfully oblivious to the maelstrom brewing next door, Steven gave his girlfriend a kiss on the head before going to pour himself a bowl of cereal — a post-sex buoyancy in his step.

"Morning. Want some coffee? I think I can work your $12 machine," he said spritely. "I agreed not to buy you an apartment but I am getting you a proper espresso maker."

Crickets. Katarina was not amused. She'd had that trusty machine for over a decade.

Steven went about his routine, rummaging through her fridge for some milk. So this is what domesticity feels like? He was so strangely euphoric by the prospect that he didn't notice how distracted his partner was.

"No thanks." She began picking at an invisible piece of lint on her PJs, turning the TV off.

"I saw your SocialSharer page by the way," she mentioned, her tone deceptively casual. "Quite a lineup of acquaintances. Their stats were equally impressive: 34Ds, six feet tall, double Ph.D.s." Double Ds in some cases. She arched her brow sardonically.

"Yes I suppose they were 10s. I have high standards my dear. Nothing but the best," he brazenly replied, pointing the carton of milk in her direction. "They were accomplished — and single-minded in their pursuits ... of me."

Steven reveled in their verbal jousting, especially now that there were no more walls between them. After the month they'd just shared, he felt more open with her than ever. Katarina, however, was not exactly in a sharing mood.

"Stepford girlfriends," she observed wryly.

"Willing partners," he parried back, unaware of the landmine he'd just stepped on.

"So let me get this straight, you only dated accomplished and accommodating women? I presume they were all" — clearing her throat — "eager to please?"

"Hey, it's not like they were ditzes or tramps," he defended himself, digging into his cornflakes. "But yes I suppose for the most part they did what I requested of them if that's what you're hinting at, none too subtly I might add. Nothing outlandish — I don't have a sex dungeon in the basement or anything," he laughed. "But otherwise, of course, I'm a red-blooded heterosexual male. I had free reign — blowjobs, anal, the usual."

"The usual eh? Tough life," she scoffed, leaving off the "chauvinistic ass" at the end.

Anal sex? She was a married woman most of her life — missionary with the lights on during the week was a rip-rollicking adventure. And only an old married fart would refer to sex as rip-rollicking. Good grief, they were probably limber too. I can barely touch my toes!

Katarina was out of her league with Steven, and if she ever needed a confirmation that she could never measure up to his past conquests, this was it. This and the parade of supermodels he'd bedded neatly categorized on his profile page.

Steven saw her wheels spinning but wasn't worried. He had nothing to hide. Why do women get so jealous of ex-girlfriends? If I had any interest in them they wouldn't be exes, would they?

He put his cereal down and came up behind her, imprisoning her in his arms and nipping at that sensitive spot below her ear in an attempt to ease her jealousy pangs. A quick fuck should do the trick.

His hands slinked around to cup her breasts but Katarina wriggled out of his embrace, which suddenly felt claustrophobic. How many women has he shut up with those hands?