“He was wooing me. And I was letting him woo. I wanted the woo. I deserved the woo. I needed the wow that would surely follow the woo, but for now, the woo? It was whoa.”
“Fucking Wallbanger,” I hissed, frozed on the spot.
His grin slid off as well as he played place-the-face for a moment. “Fucking Pink Nightie Girl.”
“You done with work?
Yep, at home waiting for you.
Now that's a nice visual...
Prepare yourself, I'm taking bread out of the oven.
Don't tease me woman...zucchini?
Cranberry orange. Mmmm...
No woman has ever done breakfast bread foreplay the way you do.
Ha! When you coming?
Can't. Drive. Straight.
Can we have one conversation when you're not twelve?
Sorry, I'll be there in 30
Perfect, that will give me time to frost my buns.
Oh, didn't I tell you? I also made cinnamon rolls.
Be there in 25.”
“I moaned like a whore in church.
To be fair, I’d never actually heard a whore moan in church, but I had a feeling it sounded a lot like the unholy sounds pouring forth from my mouth.”
“Simon does commando. God bless America.”
“You really have no idea, do you?”
“No idea about what?”
“How thoroughly you own me, Nightie Girl,” he said, leaning in to whisper this part in my ear. “And I know I love you enough to want you to have your happy ending.”
“Get your ass over here right now, you motherfucking scary movie pusher.”
“Sweet dreams and thin walls... Mother of Pearl. He'd heard me.”
“You gonna bang my walls, Simon?” I laughed.
“You have no idea,” he promised.”
“Peeling apples, just peeling apples. Didn’t feel your boobs. No, no, not me”
“Hi, pot. It’s me, kettle,” Sophia snapped back.
“Hi kettle, you have about thirty seconds before this pot kicks your ass.”
“Have you seen this guy yet?"
"Nope. My peephole is getting a workout, though."
"Glad to hear at least one hole is getting some action around here.”
“You know those moments when everything is exactly the way it was meant to be? When you find yourself and your entire universe aligning in perfect synchronization, and you know you couldn’t possibly be more content? I was inside that very moment, and fully conscious of it.”
“Now you listen here, mister,” I said, trying for a more adult tone. “I’m not going to spend every night listening to you try to crash you girl’s head through my wall with the force of your dick alone!”
“The girl next door was meowing. What in the world was my neighbor packing to make that happen?”
“I’m gonna try to steal home.”
I smiled. “Silly Simon, it’s not stealing if I wave you in”
“The right woman for you wouldn't want you to change anything about your life. She wouldn't rock your boat, she'd jump right in and sail it with you.”
“My shirt bunched up around my waist, and the feeling of his hi-there against my hoohah was indescribable.”
“Beneath the sheet—which was already lower on his hips than should be legal —
“I wouldn’t say I know him, but I’m familiar with his work.”
“And Caroline? Speaking fo thin walls?" he said, as he opened his door and looked back at me. He leaned in his own doorway, thumping his fist on the wall.
"Yes?" I asked a little too dreamily for my own good.
His smirk reappeared and he said, "Sweet dreams".
He thumped the wall one more time, winked, and went inside.
Huh. Sweet dreams and thin walls. Sweet dreams and thin walls...
Mother of pearl. He'd heard me...”
“Why do all men seem to think they need to rescue a woman? Are we not capable of rescuing our damn selves? Why do I need to be rescued? I don’t need a man to rescue me, and I certainly don’t need no wallbanging, Purina-fucking, listening-at-my-wall-like-a-goddamn-psycho coming over here to rescue me! You got that, mister?”
I woke up faster this time, because I knew what I was hearing I sat up in bed, glaring behind me. The bed was still pulled safely away from the wall, so I felt no movement. But there sure as hell something moving over there.
Then I heard ……hissing?
I looked down at Clive, whose tail was at full puff. He arched his back and paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.
“Hey, mister. It’s cool. We just got a noisy neighbor, that’s all,” I soothed, stretching my hand out to him. That’s when I heard it. “Meow”
I cocked my head sideways, listening more intently. I studied Clive, who looked back at me as if to say “T’weren’t me”.
“Meow! Oh, God. Me -Yow!”
The girl next door was meowing. What in the world was my neighbor packing to make that happen?
Clive, at this point, went utterly bonkers and launched himself at the wall. He was literally climbing it, trying to get where the noise was coming from, and adding his own meows to the chorus.
“Oooh yes, just like that, Simon…Mmmm….Meow, meow, Meow!”
Sweet Lord, there were out-of-control pussies on both sides of this wall tonight.”
“I’m done with easy.”
“You should print that on cards.”
“Print this—why do you still have clothes on?”
“It breaks my heart the way young girls pick themselves over, never thinking they're good enough. You make sure you always remember, you're exactly the way you're supposed to be. Exactly. And anyone who says otherwise, well, poppycock.”
“I started to roll my eyes, but that hurt. The right one was pressed so firmly against the peephole, you see.”
“I panted like a whore in church. The Church of Simon... where I was dying to kneel before him.”
“O world, that's you!
You are but a widened place in the river
Where Life looks down and we rejoice for her
Mirrored in us, and so we dream
And turn away”
“If you want to be a slave in life, then continue going around asking others to do for you. They will oblige, but you will find the price is your choices, your freedom, your life itself. They will do for you, and as a result you will be in bondage to them forever, having given your identity away for a paltry price. Then, and only then, you will be a nobody, a slave, because you yourself and nobody else made it so.”
“As a child in Atuan, Tenar had learned how to learn. There seemed always to be a great deal to be learned, more than she would have believed when she was a prentice-priestess or the pupil of a mage.”
“No, Miss Palmer. What is bizarre is that I currently have a vagina.”
“Muse of poetry, come to his aid, I thought. Could the man produce one more metaphor of husbandry? He seemed to be trying.
"Green wood," I suggested, but even he sensed that there was something unfortunate about a metaphor for a king in which you dry out your royalty before you set fire to it.”
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