141 Water Street #503
11:40 PM
January 2019
"You know, this is a really nice little setup you got here, Dr. Kazem. It's really you."
I pour only a half-glass of wine for her this time, "What do you mean it's me?"
She plants her elbows into the island, leaning over it, "I don't know, it's just like your architectural soulmate. It's not too much, but also not too little. It's serious but comfortable."
I find her so refreshing. So different from the numerous humdrum people of the world. She loves to over-analyze and then make these sweeping summaries of the people that she comes across. Last time she said if I was a pizza topping I would be a halal pepperoni. I'm still not sure what that means but I find her fascinating nonetheless.
"Care to elaborate?" I wish to entertain her tonight.
She takes the glass and hoists herself onto the counter so that we are at eye-level, "Just look around. There's nothing here that doesn't serve a purpose. Everything in this room is something that you have for a reason."
I chuckle, "Why would I have something for no reason?"
She snaps her fingers and a lone star twinkles in her eye like she's had a huge aha! moment, "That! Right there!"
"What right where?"
"You buy based on utility! But the average person will always consider buying shit that they want before buying shit that they need. Even if it's useless, even if they're dirt poor they will always find the money. I don't know how many times I've bought things on a whim or sunk money into a fleeting hobby. "
I kiss her cheek and it's warm, "That seems like a first-world sentiment, sweetheart."
"Maybe, but it's true! Why do you think grocery stores change their layout around all the time? Because they want you to look around and stumble on something new for you to waste your money on. Think about it. Last week's bread aisle is today's snack section. "
She talks with her hands. Expressing my speech through my body is something that's never come naturally to me. I envy her as much as I admire her for it, "So, you're saying I'm...a grocery store?"
I miss the point purposely just so that she can go off on another one of her adorable little tangents.
"No! You're efficient. That's your thing. Like, this whole place screams minimalist luxury. That's your whole vibe," she takes a long sip of her wine.
I laugh, "Minimalist luxury, eh?"
Her fresh take on life makes me smile.
"Absolutely. Minimalist because you have what you need. Luxury because you have a bidet."
"That has less to do with luxury and more to do with the whole Muslim thing, ya know?"
Just wait until she sees the lota.
She looks up at the ceiling, then at me, "Right. But my point still stands." My god, she's beautiful.
"Come here," I kiss her lips then the crook of her neck.
Brown sugar.
It makes me want her body again. I kiss her neck deeply and she responds with the tiniest of moans, but I heard it, I felt it, I tasted it.
"You know what I like about this place?" I ask as I guide her neck onto my lips as I kiss her skin.
Her breathing is shallow, "What?"
I grab her hips, dragging her body closer to mine, "I love this countertop, don't you? It's so versatile," my lips begin to descend her body.
I continue, "You can cook on it," Kiss.
"You can...prepare food on it," I kiss her again, sucking a little and she shudders.
"And it's nice and spacious," I lay her down onto this slice of quartz, "So you can do whatever you want on it." I climb on top of her and I know that she can feel my growing erection against her body.
She smiles up at me, running her fingers through my hair, gazing upon me affectionately and I anticipate that she will invent one of her brilliant one-liners. The dryness of her humor making me laugh but not ruining the mood. She's clever like that.
"I've been thinking and, if we're going to continue doing this, we need to set some ground rules."
I furrow my brow, "Wait, what?"
Did I miss something? Is there some sort of invisible nuance in her words that supersede my realm of comprehension?
She curls a lock of my hair around her finger, "Yeah. I just think it's safe if we cover all our bases, you know? I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble for this."
"For this?" she makes our relationship seem so simple, "For what? We're not doing anything wrong."
I'm so confused.
"Wait," she sits up, "...you didn't think that this could go public or something, did you?"
Oh, god. Is she having regrets about us now?
"I mean," she continues, "It would get really weird for both of us if this were to get out. It's best if we both keep the fun between us for now. Then, in a couple years, I'll be gone from Neruda and we can publish it to the world. Don't you think we should protect our images for now?"
The fun? Our images? When did she go and decide all of this?
But I suppose, whatever will make her happy. Besides, what difference will it make? As long as we can still see each other regularly.
I nod, "Yeah, that makes sense."
She huffs a sigh of relief, "I'm so glad we're on the same page. I was worried that you wanted to be loud and proud about this for a second there," she chuckles, "Let's put it in writing. Nothing special, just like a rudimentary contract with some rules that we both agree to and then we'll both sign."
"I have just the thing. Let's go to my office."
She giggles behind me as she follows me to my study.
I pull out the templates that I use to help students practice elementary contracts and two pens and slap them down onto the table. She sits in the chair opposite from me and looks around as she sips on her wine.
"Any ideas for the first rule?" I ask as I click my pen open.
She nods as she gulps down a mouthful of wine, "First rule: No using each other's first names. Gotta keep it profesh."
I'm confused again, "But why?"
She shrugs, "Just to prevent any slip-ups when we're around other people. It could imply some sort of familiarity with one another if we were to call each other by our first names in public."
I twiddle my pen between my fingers as I contemplate her proposal, "I suppose that would tie up those loose ends." I feel voiceless as I scribble down her words but it's what she wants.
What if she won't have me otherwise? I don't even want to consider the possibility.
"Exactly!" she exclaims.
"How about this for rule two then? No talking to each other in public. Even if we think we're alone, there could still be CCTV around." I tack on, "Also, no surprise meet ups. We have to plan and document when we are going to see each other. We could even set up a routine."
"Works for me," she leans over the desk as she watches me write, "Can I write something?"
"Of course," I slide the paper and pen over to her.
She picks up the pen, "Rule three..." she jots, "fuck each other's brains out!"
"You're not actually writing that are you?" I lean over and she actually is.
I swipe the pen from her hand before she can finish writing and she giggles devilishly, "Stop that!" I scratch it out, "Be serious now. Rule three, come on."
She leans back, "I can't think of any...oh! Here's a good one that I think we can both agree on. How about, no talk about, you know who..."
She looks at me squarely and I know exactly who she's referring to.
I look down at the paper, clearing my throat, "Right..."
I start to write it but she stops me, "No, no. Scratch the name out. Just put "you know who," she hooks her fingers into quotation marks.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive, write it."
I do as she says, "Alright then, if there are no other rules, sign here."
She signs and I sign as well, "And with that, Miss Selassie, it is official." I say as I shake her hand.
"Ooh, I feel so professional!" she squeals before downing the last bit of her wine.
She makes me feel something so different.