The Wired Man

13

Personal Entry: The Wired Man

I brushed Carissa's hair back, and she rolled onto her side. I pulled the red, knit blanket on us up over our arms and settled back into the deep cushion of the plaid sofa. The soft glow of the old television her mother had given her as a girl gave the room a moonlit feel. Awakened by my movement, Carissa turned back towards me and wrapped her delicate arms around my chest.

"Hey there," I said.

Carissa nuzzled closer and kissed me. Her cherry lip-gloss left a greasy residue around my mouth, and the scent of flower perfume pressed into my nostrils. I draped my hand between her breasts and felt the steady rhythm of her heart.

"What are you thinking?" she said.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Really?"

The sarcasm in her voice made me smile, and I squeezed her tighter. "Nothing."

"I'm really that boring?"

"More like enthralling."

"Nice word."

"I try."

I laughed and I stretched my body rigid. Carissa took the opportunity to wiggle free.

"It's getting late. We should go to bed," she said as she put her hair into a ponytail.

"Yeah." I got up from the comfort of the couch and bent down for my shoes.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

Confused, I paused with a shoe in my hand.

Carissa sauntered up and pushed on my shoulders. She knelt down and grasped me around the midsection. "I was thinking you could stay here tonight."

Sleeping over at the house of someone of the opposite sex that you aren't married to almost always leads to a score drop. Incentive exemptions like arguments, children, and partner debt forgiveness designed to give couples some leeway didn't apply to people who were dating. You have a bad enough argument, your score drops; you get her pregnant, your score drops, and you receive a fine for unlawful pregnancy. The risks were so great that even some married people avoided cohabiting. The right choice was to chalk her request up to passion and tell her I'd see her after work tomorrow.

"But-" She raised a finger to my lips. I felt my resolve weaken, getting replaced with warm excitement.

"I don't care," she said.

She slid her palm down my side, interlaced her fingers with mine, and pulled me through the living room. My heart was hitting the sides of my rib cage and my entire arm went limp.

Carissa led me into her bedroom. Tiny picture frames saying things like "Live, Laugh, Love" hung from the walls, and a soft pink comforter covered her bed. The sweet smell of her perfume filled the room, swirling my head in a lovesick haze.

As I walked through the bedroom, a picture on the dresser caught my eye. Next to a makeup case was a black frame containing the photo of a man in a suit smiling. That man was me.

I had been in her bedroom a few times before, and I didn't remember that being there. Why would she have a picture of me sitting on her nightstand?

Before I could get any deeper in thought, Carissa lay back into bed and pulled me on top of her. My attention returned to her, and I leaned in for a kiss. I trembled as my pulse pounded inside my eardrums. She wrapped her legs around my torso, and we kissed. She took my head in her hands as she released and pulled my ear up to her lips.

"All I care about right now is you."

//

The sound of dishes being shuffled and the scent of fried meat woke me. I put my shirt on and walked out of the bedroom. Carissa was in the kitchen with her hands in a drawer. She wore bright red underwear with a small tank top.

Once she saw me, she bent over slowly to give me a good view, pretending to pick something up off the floor. When she popped back up, she ran toward me and leapt at me. I threw my hands up, catching her as she wrapped her legs around me. The force of her weight threw me off balance and caused me to stumble back, but instead of dropping down, she took my face in her hands and kissed me hard.

"Good morning," she said.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing." She released me and went back into the kitchen. She took a pan of bacon off the stove and tilted it to show me. "Breakfast is served."

"I'll be there in a sec. I have to use the bathroom," I said.

I went back to the bathroom and gargled some water. I let the cool liquid drip from my chin into the sink. The whole situation still felt surreal. Here I was, sitting in her bathroom in nothing but a t-shirt, while she was prancing around the kitchen in her panties and a tank top making me breakfast.

I dried my face with a towel hanging near the sink and opened up my social feed. Not much had transpired since last night, but one thing did stick out to me. In between the routine reports of interactions among coworkers and friends going out for drinks, was a score message about Carissa and me. Both our scores had dropped a tenth of a point for what was referred to as unsafe social behavior.

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. Who the hell were they to tell me what was unsafe? We were two happy, consenting adults. We weren't hurting anybody.