Steve Has an Idea

*
“Fuck, I’m tired, babe. Where’s the water?,” Steve asked. He folded his long frame into the futon. Lying down, he pulled the light sheet up over his nude body with a groan. It was mid-July, and they couldn’t afford air conditioning. The soft sounds of distant traffic puffed through the cheap green drapes of their century apartment. The minimal insulation the sheet provided was unnecessary in the sultry weather, but Steve couldn’t stand to sleep without coverage of some kind. He liked what he called "containment." He wore only briefs, not boxers, for similar reasons.

“Here, hon. Put it on the book over there - I don’t want a water mark on the new table,” Andrea said. She held out the glass, slickly gleaming in the dim bedroom. Drops of condensation depended from its straight sides, and Steve was tempted to guzzle it all right away. Only chlorinated city tapwater, it tasted like mountain spring water if you were thirsty enough. Steve mused that the key for happiness must lie in the denial of desire. When finally rewarded with our needs, we appreciate them even more. He’d drink the water later.

“Those tacos we had rocked,” Steve said. He put his hands behind his head. “I mean, where do we go anymore to get a taco? Taco Bell, and those aren’t tacos. There need to be more taco places,” Steve declared. He had been on a taco kick all day, ever since he had watched “The Doors” on television. At the end of the movie, Val Kilmer closes the film by mumbling, “Come on…let’s go get some tacossss,” in that Marlboro man voice of his. So that meant Steve had to have some tacos. Andrea had returned from work that afternoon to see Steve stumbling around the living room shirtless, screeching “Light my Fire," using their remote control as the "mike." She was a long-suffering girlfriend, the girlfriend of a 28 year old boy. By tomorrow, thoughts of tacos would be forgotten.

“Yes, tacos are good,” Andrea agreed. It was her "oh-kay, it's time for bed, Steve," voice. The tacos had been all right, nothing more. With his customary exhilaration, Steve had consumed five of them in only a few minutes, chased down by a few bottles of cheap Mexican beer, announcing the meal a total success. Andrea went along with it mostly to keep him happy. She wished he would get a job though, rather than stay home and attempt to live up to the image of pop culture icons he saw on TV every day. Not that taco consumption represented a very high standard.

Steve was still slightly buzzed on beer and full of beans. “C’mere, baby! Taco-taco-taco! Lemme see that hairy taco!,” he chanted. He puffed hot air into Andrea’s ear and gave her a little squeeze. She was putty in his hands; he knew she loved when he acted this way.

“Steve…I have to work tomorrow! Stop that,” Andrea giggled. He knew her like himself. She was into it for sure. He pulled her close, and the already hot futon grew even hotter. They kissed, wetly and longingly, with Andrea moaning extravagantly. She had consumed a couple of those beers, too, and Steve knew of no other panty remover so reliable. Stopping suddenly, Steve frowned.

“What is it, Steve? What’s wrong?,” Andrea murmured.

“My butt kind of hurts. I think there is a zit on it…it’s really sore. Can you look? I mean, can you check? It’s been bugging me all night,” Steve said. His face worked as though there was not only a zit down there, but a freaking boil. Steve did not know the meaning of subtlety.

“Sure hon…come on, up,” Andrea instructed motherly. Steve complied instantly, crouching on the bed on all fours. Andrea pulled the sheet down for her inspection. Steve shuddered suddenly.

“Cold, Steve?,” she asked softly. She ran a finger down his flank.

“Just a chill, babe,” Steve replied. His silhouette against the window was stark, angular, thin; a portrait of urban poverty. Andrea checked around, giving his butt a playful little slap. “I don’t see anything, hon…are you sure?,” she asked. She reached around and hugged his waist.

“No, I’m sure…look close. It’s like, inside the cheek, you know? It’s stinging,” Steve insisted. He shuddered suddenly again…odd, given the humidity of the evening. Well, maybe he was nervous. He didn’t get his butt inspected every day. Andrea leaned in, running her fingertip over Steve’s buttcheek, feeling nothing but smoothness.

“Where?,” she asked. “The left…uhm, kind of…ah, inside,” Steve said haltingly. She pried a little, still seeing nothing. “Get close…it’s dark, after all,” Steve’s voice implored in the darkness. She frowned in concentration, and peered closely.

Suddenly, Steve farted. An entire decadent evening of taco eating and beer drinking was contained in the fart, nauseatingly redolent of decomposing animal matter. The blast blew Andrea’s hair back from her forehead, and she fell backwards in shocked surprise.

“BRRRAAAPPP!!”

Steve leaped from the bed, gasping laughter and pointing wildly. “Bah, ha, ha, ha! Oh my god, that is so great! I could barely keep it in! Bwah, ha, ha! You should see your face, holy shit!,” Steve roared. He collapsed on the bed in his hilarity, weeping tears of joy. His sides shook, and he struggled for air.

“Oh, Andrea, I can’t BELIEVE you fell for that! Oh my god, what a good one!,” Steve raved.

Andrea was speechless. She had never in her life expected such an act, such a disrespect. Steve was always a prankster, but this...she staggered to the closet, grabbing random articles of clothing as she went, pulling them on in short, savage gestures.

“Andrea, what are you doing? Come back here! Babe, I’m only teasing…Andrea!” Steve insisted. He patted the bed harder, and then, realizing she wasn’t coming over, got up and went over to where Andrea stood.

“Andrea, stop this, now! It was just a little joke.”

“Steve, that was totally disgusting. I can’t believe you did that. Especially after I paid for your stupid tacos, and then, you…you do that while we were fooling around! What the hell were you thinking?!,” Andrea shrieked. Flecks of spittle flew from her lips. Steve stood stunned.

“I’m going to stay tonight at Jen’s. I can’t stand to look at you right now,” Andrea seethed. Fully dressed, she grabbed her purse and grabbed the doorknob. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, you asshole.”

Steve stared at the door. Unbelievable - it was only a prank! Women. Steve grabbed the water beside the bed and drank it down, and stalked out to the living room. He was glad he had taped “The Doors” earlier.