You Know What They Say

A short story that starts with a guy whipping it out can only end in disaster.

Things are going the way I planned, until he whips it out. You know, it.

"You like it that way, baby?" he grunts. "You like to do it in fast ships?"

I don't know what regular girls do in situations like this. I mean, imagine if I had genuinely trusted the guy. What if I'd been attracted to him at that party? What if I really had just wanted a ride in his ship? Fortunately, I am not here for social reasons. Getting him to pull out his keys from his pocket, deactivate the alarm, and slide the chip in the ignition of the Lexus S62 Streamcruiser was the sole point of this endeavor. It proved to be as simple as sidling up to him, pretending to totter tipsily on my four-inch heels and grab his arm-- flabby under the sleeve of that Colangelo Sport shirt-- for support, and offering the giggling suggestion that he show me his ride. Naturally, he puffed up with pride. It was the sort of pathetic empty pride displayed by people who genuinely believe their toys are a reflection on how cool they are. These men are the easiest marks.

It's small and pink against his finely woven khaki trousers. It wasn't even sexy, the way he did it. There was no foreplay, no kiss. He just unzipped and pulled it out, apropos of nothing. I feel an unaccountable righteous anger, on behalf of some hypothetical girl who is not me. It could have happened to someone who was innocent. Disturbingly naive, obviously, but innocent all the same. I sigh, and draw my FX18 pistol from my purse. Lucky for me, I am not innocent. I'm here to steal his ship.

Tags: writing, claudia n.