The Roach

1

There are cracks in the wooden floorboards – spaces between the ill-fitted strips of pine wood. The lines have been abused with water damage and scraped with the hard edged bottoms of heavy furniture dragged over them. Dirt and dust have hidden in them, broom swept and lost.2

But the roaches don’t live there. They wouldn’t dare – not out in the open, though they are bold enough to come running out of the woodworks when you’ve had a seat and your careless company has dropped Doritos crumbs in the middle of the floor. 3

Out of the corner of your eye, in mid conversation, you spot them flitting across the open terrain of your bedroom floor, racing like greedy and starving junkies toward that nacho cheese smell. In all of two seconds you calculate the most effective murder plot and execute it as fast as greased lightning – a shoe materializing in your hand, a terrible smack against the floor, and back in your seat a full second before your company figures out what just happened. You’re good. You’ve had practice.4

“Got company, huh?” she asks, reaching into the noisy crinkling bag and drawing another couple of fingers full of chips to her opened mouth. You watch the crumbs fall and cringe. You start to say something, but hesitate, fast forwarding the hypothetical exchange of words to the point where you don’t give a damn how good her pussy is; and just knowing how easily you could end up in that place, you’re spoiled on the thought of it… and it shows on your face.5

She catches the look, almost offended but for the fact that, because she’s so clueless, it’s unexpected. She pauses, confused by it, starts to try and figure it out… but her automatic emergency response systems kick in to spare her that headache, and instead employ that defense mechanism which calls forth that stupid look she likes to wear when not wanting to accept responsibility for her behavior. The icing, however, is that auditory pronouncement of synthesized vulnerability and sincerity:6

“What’s the matter?” she asks. 7

You know it’s bullshit; but before you can grind your teeth together, risking the possibility of aggravating that loose crown you’ve been putting off going to see the dentist about, you notice her knees. Of all things. Suddenly they have enough aesthetic appeal to distract you enough to remember why she’s here, in your room, on your bed. You take a deep breath without thinking, drinking in the smoothness of her skin… allowing your mind to wander up to the softness of her inner thighs. Refocused, you take the Doritos bag from her with one hand and, with the other, take her cheese yellowed fingers and bring them to your mouth – not because you like the taste of nacho cheese, but because you don’t want roaches crawling all over you when you go to bed because she’s left food for them all on your sheets.8

The look on her face tells you she thinks you’re sweet, while you sneak a look at her other hand to see if her fingernails are clean… then her toenails. You’re aware of the Doritos bag in your other hand and can’t believe you even let her bring it into the room with her.9

“I’ll be right back.” You assure her, getting up to go toss the bag of chips.10

“Can I use your bathroom?” she asks.11

“Sure.” You say automatically and then immediately wonder if she’s on her period… if she’d leave a fat nasty bloody wad of sanitary napkins in your bathroom garbage pail. “How fucked up would that be!” you frown in disgust, recalling a very old memory that still brings you to the verge of gagging. You reach through the bathroom door and turn the light on for her as you pass it… and listen to the door close behind you as you walk to the kitchen to get rid of the Doritos bag.12

Leaning back against the kitchen sink, you toss the chips and wonder if she’s taking a shit and then, with a sense of relief, remember you didn’t hear the toilet seat drop when she went in the bathroom. You sigh and open the refrigerator, suddenly thirsty. You grab the carton of orange juice, weigh it, and decide you don’t need a glass. As you have the carton turned up and you’re swallowing the sweet acidic heavy liquid, you hear the bathroom door open and rush to put the orange juice back in the fridge – a guilt response held over from younger days, no doubt.13

You peek out of the kitchen and see her standing in the hallway outside the bathroom, probably wondering where you are. Her silhouette from the light in the bedroom is just as bad as a siren’s voice. You head toward her, casually enough to seem cool but quick enough to impress upon her that you are heading back to the bedroom. She doesn’t get it, though, and walks away from the bedroom, taking a detour toward the sofa.14

“Ah-ah-ah…” you ward her off, arms outstretched, before you realize how paternal you sound. 15

“What the fuck is that?” she frowns, ignoring your approach and continuing to the window, closer to being offended than she was before.16

“What are you doin?” you ask irritably, with this bewildered look on your face, a little off your square – frustrated and horny as hell.17

“I just want to see if my car is okay.” She says with an attitude. You swear you see her roll her eyes and snap:18

“If you don’t gitcho ass in the room…” you bluff like a tank gunner with no ammo aiming at a dude with a pistol with a full clip.19

She looks at you for a second while you look at the wall pretending to count to ten to lower your blood pressure. Whether or not she buys the bluff is neither here nor there. She simply huffs and walks back to the bedroom.20

“You better watch how you talk to me.” She pouts, brushing past you… smelling all good. 21

“No this nigga didn’t!” you say to yourself. You are at your threshold. You grab her arms and turn her toward you roughly, loving how soft she is, and plant a kiss on her mouth. While in the bathroom she must have put on that strawberry lip gloss. Her lips are silky smooth and sweet enough to make your dick tingle; and her tongue! That hot piece of flesh is so delicious you can barely concentrate on getting through the door to your bedroom.22

You guys fall on the bed, your weight on top of her, and you reluctantly back off, breathing heavily, and rip the buttons of her blouse open without thinking. She’s shocked and you hope it isn’t her favorite blouse, pretending not to notice the expression on her face and undoing the buttons on her shorts with your frantic fingers.23

The first jerk is sure to leave a whelp on your neck, but it is the second one that rips your tee shirt open. She’s smiling deviously at you, one hand still clutching your torn shirt, and you know she did it because you ripped her blouse. You lick your lips smiling and yank her shorts down over her thighs. She gasps, turning you on, her tits jumping when you yanked the shorts. She has on pink lacy panties and the thighs of a tennis player and lays back on the bed so you can pull her shorts all the way off.24

You toss them over in the corner of the room and kneel on the floor in front of her, burying your face in her washboard stomach. Her hands grab the back of your head and play in your hair, pulling you up. You climb onto the bed, inhaling her intoxicating perfume, hovering over her, before tasting her tongue again.25

Your hand finds its way between her thighs and you exhale heavily at how wet and boiling hot she is. As you stand up to take off her panties, she removes her bra and slings it at your head. It hangs over your face and, as you take it off, she quickly sits up to undo your pants, fumbling impatiently with the belt buckle and almost ripping the zipper out of the crotch. She smiles up at you mischievously when she discovers you aren’t wearing any underwear.26

Just as she takes you in her mouth, you see a cocky ass roach on the wall. “Oh you son of a bitch!” you fume, unable to concentrate on, let alone enjoy the blowjob you are getting. You watch him crawl and stop, taunting you. Normally the little fuckers would be running for their lives, but this cocky asshole was giving you the finger! You try to ignore him until you can’t take it anymore and push her off of you so you can get a shoe.27

She wipes her mouth while she tries to figure out what you’re about to do and when she sees you grab the shoe, she throws her arms up in the air, exasperated.28

“What are you doing?!” she blurts out in disbelief, catching you off guard. You turn to her and notice her titties looking perfectly mouthwatering.29

In a split second you register the question and ask it again of yourself, truly curious about why you are giving more attention to a roach on the wall than to some good pussy right in front of you. You want to try giving her the stupid look, hoping it will magically save you the way it always seems to save her, but figure she can’t be stupid enough to fall for it.30

But it’s too late. You’re already wearing the stupid look.31

“Come here, and put down the shoe.” She beckons you.32

You look at her, aware that your erection is taking a break and then look at the shoe, wondering how stupid you must look to her right now. You’ve got a ripped shirt on, your pants are around your ankles, your dick is limp, and you’ve got a shoe in your hand.33

Numb, you look at the wall. Don’t you know it. The roach is gone.34