She

He slipped in the door, carefully, quietly turning the latch. His breath reeked of whiskey and those cheap, skinny cigars that men smoke when they don't want to commit the time and money to a real cigar.

It had been a long night. That one girl at the bar was smoking hot, even if she was a brunette. He liked the way her tribal tattoo crept out of her jeans. Her tight jeans.

He paced around the kitchen looking for something to eat before he took a shower and tried to creep into bed with her. He hoped she wouldn't be mad that he had stayed out all night. He worked like a dog all week, and he needed to blow off some steam with the boys. She certainly had no problem spending his money.

A few pieces of cereal found their way into his mouth, and onto the ground. He would swiffer tomorrow.

Boy, that girl was hot. He couldn't stop thinking about how she would taste. He was excited to meet her later that week. He would stop by her work during the day, pretending he was there on business. He was quite the business man, and he could help her out, he had a lot of opportunity. They would obviously have to meet for dinner and drinks to discuss it.

He rolled it around in his mind as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. Playing the tape forward, he knew he could easily charm her. When the mention of his relationship status came into play, he already knew he was the victim of that woman upstairs. He knew she must have some flings on the side. How could she not? He was always away, working, traveling. Ever since she had moved in, he didn't want her anymore. The thrill was gone. She was no longer something to be acquired, but something to be shelved.


Boys just want to have fun. Crunch. Crunch. Ha.

Lizza was her name, with her tattoo, and her tight jeans, and the way her lips wrapped around that shot glass, tongue flicking out to lick the last drops. Oh, he would have her. She wanted him. He was the biggest guy in that bar tonight, tall, successful, he knew his power. He felt drunk with it, with life, with his pursuits. Or maybe whiskey. He didn't care. He had kept buying her shots until she swayed into him on the dance floor, her hips pressed against his hand as she undulated.

He needed a cold shower. Just thinking about her, he wanted to explode. God, he loved that feeling. He pursued desire.

His plates were tossed in the dishwasher as he took his clothes off and headed towards the shower. She always complained if he got into bed smelling like a barroom floor. Soon, she would be dealt with....

The water felt amazing down his back, as he thought of Lizza, and massaged himself. He would have everything life had to offer, it was his right, his duty, to show the world what he could do.

He plunged himself over the edge, muscles clenching as he thought of this new woman.

Engulfed in Ecstasy, fantasy, he never heard the soft the turning of the latch. The gushing water, and the rushing in his blood covered up the sound of the truck starting outside, and the loud bang of suitcases being tossed into the truck bed.

He got out of the shower, putting aftershave on his sensitive skin. He felt great, as a matter of fact, he felt like he could go again, and began humming a little song. He would take advantage of the woman that was sleeping soundly in the next room. She was a looker, and always complied with his advances. His new found excitement began to grow, and he strode down the hallway, into the dark bedroom, a sure swagger guiding his very being. He was a right man.

He slid his body under the covers, gently easing his weight onto the bed. His right hand drifted over towards her.

And his hand kept going. There was nothing but a warmth, as if she had suddenly disappeared.

His mind skipped, not understanding. Maybe she had gone downstairs for a snack. He lept out of bed, indignant at what he didn't know, but by the time he found her, he would have his reason.

At the bottom of the stairs he could see into the kitchen, and there was no light on. There was no movement. When he walked into the dimly lit room, he realized that everything was just as he had left it.

Except for one thing.

His keys were missing.