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Handlebar Limo
Apr. 1st, 2009 06:34 pmThere I was: lost on the long way home.
Lisa had gotten off early from a bad day at work and was looking for a fight as soon as she walked in. At one point things heated up to the point where she was screaming through the bathroom door at me. I can’t remember her words exactly – but the jist was just how it was possible for a man to do absolutely nothing all day and still manage to waste so much of her money. I told her I didn’t know, that maybe it was a gift I was born with… or it could just be the economy? It was the wrong thing to say. I knew that, sure. But the exchange was making me too self-conscious to piss properly which kept me from thinking straight. Lisa kicked at the door and roared for me to come out so we could talk this over like grown-ups. I told her, that as a rule, I never discuss relationship issues when my dick’s in my hand.
This went over as well as one would imagine with Lisa going all Asia Argento on me. I heard her stomp off into the kitchen, muttering death threats in that cute little bible belt accent of hers, followed by the familiar sound of drawers slamming open and the jangling of cutlery as she fished for the biggest knife in the house.
I knew right then that there was only one thing to do: I tucked it back in, zipped-up, stepped into the shower tub, opened up the window, popped the screen off and climbed out. While Lisa pulled her Shining routine hacking away at the door, I took advantage of the first-floor drop out the window and quickly ran in a crouch around to the other side of the small house we rented. From there I unchained my bicycle from the front porch and rolled her quietly into the driveway – just in time – as I heard a primal wail of animal anger come banshee-roaring from around the corner of the house.
Pedaling for dear life, I got the hell on out off Dodge and drifted around the neighborhood, taking curves randomly without really looking where I was going. Robot riding. Driving while daydreaming. Zen Navigation. Two hours later and there I was deep in Downtown-Fuck-Knows-Where?
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Lisa had gotten off early from a bad day at work and was looking for a fight as soon as she walked in. At one point things heated up to the point where she was screaming through the bathroom door at me. I can’t remember her words exactly – but the jist was just how it was possible for a man to do absolutely nothing all day and still manage to waste so much of her money. I told her I didn’t know, that maybe it was a gift I was born with… or it could just be the economy? It was the wrong thing to say. I knew that, sure. But the exchange was making me too self-conscious to piss properly which kept me from thinking straight. Lisa kicked at the door and roared for me to come out so we could talk this over like grown-ups. I told her, that as a rule, I never discuss relationship issues when my dick’s in my hand.
This went over as well as one would imagine with Lisa going all Asia Argento on me. I heard her stomp off into the kitchen, muttering death threats in that cute little bible belt accent of hers, followed by the familiar sound of drawers slamming open and the jangling of cutlery as she fished for the biggest knife in the house.
I knew right then that there was only one thing to do: I tucked it back in, zipped-up, stepped into the shower tub, opened up the window, popped the screen off and climbed out. While Lisa pulled her Shining routine hacking away at the door, I took advantage of the first-floor drop out the window and quickly ran in a crouch around to the other side of the small house we rented. From there I unchained my bicycle from the front porch and rolled her quietly into the driveway – just in time – as I heard a primal wail of animal anger come banshee-roaring from around the corner of the house.
Pedaling for dear life, I got the hell on out off Dodge and drifted around the neighborhood, taking curves randomly without really looking where I was going. Robot riding. Driving while daydreaming. Zen Navigation. Two hours later and there I was deep in Downtown-Fuck-Knows-Where?
( Read more... )