Tuesdays with Marcus Pt. 03

"I have a massive favour to ask you, dude."

These were the words that greeted me as I opened my door to see who was knocking.

You guessed it: none other than Marcus. I had just gotten him out of my head too, after replaying the sex session I was subjected to all of last night from his upstairs apartment. Ever since he got back from his mom's house last weekend, it was sex almost every night. It started Tuesday and ran all the way up to last night, Thursday. Shelley wasn't home for the first two, but last night she was. And she seemed even more disgusted than I was when she heard the moans coming from upstairs. That's how I knew I wasn't alone in my plight. Maybe it's because she's spent far less time being subjected to his impromptu sex sessions, but she seemed utterly shocked when it started last night. She was more furious than I was.

She had said, "I can't believe he's doing this."

I told her that this was the norm, but she just wasn't here to overhear it as often as I was. That didn't seem to placate her though.

"Hey...man," I eventually said to Marcus. I don't know what to call this guy. "What is it?" I asked with trepidation.

"I have these contractors coming in tomorrow to renovate my place and I just found out the work is gonna be a bit more extensive than I thought."

I simply looked on, confused as to how any of this had any relevance to myself.

"I'm knocking down the wall separating the bedrooms," he carried on, "and just leaving up supporting beams. Wanna turn the master into a full-on luxury suite type thing. Don't really need a guest room anyways. If I have anyone sleeping over, they're usually sharing my bed."

I nodded along.

"What's the favour, Marcus?"

"Well, I didn't realize how disruptive the work was gonna be. Imma have to pull out the bed so it doesn't get covered in drywall dust and shove it in my living room probably. Basically everything. And it'll be a bitch to get to and from the bathroom 'cause they're gonna have it sectioned off due to the new flooring I'm gonna have put down and all the plaster and shit. My place gonna be unliveable for a few days."

"Okay..."

"Since we're buds and shit, do you think I could stay with you till the work is complete?"

"Uhh, gee...I dunno, Marcus. I don't really have the guest bedroom made up or anything; there's no bed. And my couch isn't even a pullout. Plus, Shelley and I haven't been able to spend much quality time together lately, and I was kinda hoping that we could use the next few days for that."

"Oh, I wouldn't get in your guys' way. And I ain't no prude. If y'all are fucking, I'll leave you to it and just put in my earbuds. Music optional," he said with a wink and a smile.

"I...uh...yeah, I don't know. I guess I'll have to ask Shelley first to see what she says."

"Huh. Where is she?" he asked me. "I can smell her perfume," this fucker announced loudly as he stepped into my place, sans extended invitation.

"Is that Marcus, honey?" Shelley asked from the other room. After that, she sauntered out to where we were.

"Hey, girl," Marcus said with his eyes lighting up.

I have to say, Shelley's eyes looked worryingly aglow too. I understand this guy is an objective stud. Tall as fuck, attractive, built, in shape, and (not that this part would appeal to her but) hung like a goddamn horse. I had learned to accept that even taken girls would engage in some harmless flirting with a man like that, as annoying as it was when it was my own girlfriend.

"Hi, Marcus."

"You smell like a fucking springtime treat," he said, paying her the cheesy compliment.

After a small giggle, she thanked him.

"Did I hear something about you needing a place to sleep?"

"Yeah, girl. My place gonna be gutted for the next few days."

"You're welcome to sleep on our couch," she offered, much to my chagrin.

"Baby..." I mumbled before being cut off by Marcus.

"You mean it?"

His glance was only on her, as if I wasn't the one he originally asked.

"I don't see why not!" she cheerily replied.

"Baby," I said a little more assertively. "Can I talk to you a second?" I gestured towards our empty room down the hall.

"Um, yeah." Her words were reluctant. "Just one second, Marcus."

"Actually, it's cool. I'll leave you guys be. See you tomorrow?"

"Haha! Sounds good," Shelley said.

He turned around and left without giving me another look.

Shelley's eyes lingered on him as he walked away from our place and down the hall.

"What the fuck are you staring at?"

She turned to me right away, as I evidently snapped her out of her little trance. If looks could kill...

"Oh, sure. As if you don't check out girls' asses when you're walking behind them. I hate when you get insecure like this. So I'm harmlessly checking out a hot guy--what's the problem? I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

This had escalated much beyond what I thought it would be. Truthfully, I hadn't expected her to have the gall to snap at me like that. Never before has she done that; not over anything.

"Okay, okay, fine. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry. I wasn't mad, just...surprised. I didn't think Marcus was your 'type'."

"Tall and hot. Sweetie, that's everyone's type." After her matter-of-fact response, she turned to walk away.

"Black," I blurted out. After she turned back around, I repeated myself.

"Black?" she questioned. "What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"I...I just...I--"

"Because he's black it means I shouldn't be attracted to him?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well then what the fuck are you saying?" she inquired with a hand now nestled on her hip.

"I didn't say you shouldn't be attracted to him because of that. I said I was surprised you were attracted to him given that."

"I still don't think race has anything to do with this. And definitely shouldn't."

"No, I'm not saying it does. All I'm saying is you've never found a black guy attractive before."

That statement prompted her to scoff.

"Oh, God," she laughed, "You could not be more wrong!"

"What does that mean?"

"I've found plenty of black guys attractive. Especially Terry."

I was absolutely dumbfounded by what she just said. I think my brain took a good five seconds before even processing it. Finally, it formulated the sentence I wanted to say.

"Terry was...black?" I practically whispered.

She clearly found this funny.

"No one can hear you, baby. No need to whisper. Yup, Terry was black!" she said with emphasis, in direct contrast to how I uttered the same three words.

"Is there a problem?" she went on.

"No. I--not really."

"Not really?"

I could feel my throat getting dry. I'm the worst at crawling out of the holes I dig for myself. With every second that ticked away from this conversation, I envisioned the soil crumbling under my feet, sinking me deeper as I looked for something to grab onto.

"No," I finally conjured up.

"No, what?"

"No, there's not a problem with it."

"You bet your fucking ass there's not a problem with it! What would that potential problem even be? Because clearly something crossed into your mind given the way your tone shifted."

"Baby, can we please just drop th--"

"No! I wanna know," she demanded, taking a step closer to me.

"It's just weird. Okay?"

"Weird?"

"Not weird...I don't know. Different."

"Why does the colour of his skin change anything about my relationship with my ex? A relationship you already knew everything about, I should mention."

"Well," I grumbled, "not everything..."

Her eyebrows raised.

"Why is that a detail I needed to tell you. I never showed you any pictures. I wasn't reminiscing. We were talking about our exes and I told you the pertinent information. We were together for a year and half at the end of high school, and we never even had sex."

"Why not?"

"Are we really rehashing this? I told you; I just wasn't ready."

"And he was?"

"Why are we talking about Terry?"

"Just answer me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend."

"And you're asking me this based off of some sort of jealousy, and dare I say racism."

"Racism?"

"Yeah, racism. Somehow, it's some big thing that I didn't tell you that my first boyfriend was black. Just because you assumed he was white doesn't mean you get to be all disgruntled after finding out he wasn't. It should be like if I told you I had pasta on my first date with him, and you had it in your mind that I had spaghetti but later found out I had ravioli. No difference!"

"That's not a fair comparison."

"Why not?"

"Let's just drop this," I pleaded.

"No. Tell me why not."

"I don't know. I...I don't even know."

"What went through your mind when I told you he was black? Answer that if nothing else. That'll tell me what I need to know."

"I was just surprised."

"But why!?" she practically screamed.

"Because I watch porn. I know what it's...like."

"What!? What what's like?"

"You know..."

"No," said Shelly, "I do not."

After a brief pause, I admitted it.

"The size."

"Oh my God!" She was laughing and rolling her eyes. "You're so fucking childish."

"How is that childish?"

"Well, first of all--it's a myth. Second of all--that shouldn't bother you even if it was true for him, because he's my ex. And third of all--I just told you--we never had sex!"

"Did you do other stuff?"

"I can't believe you're asking me about this." She walked down the hall after saying this.

"Did you?" I hollered out to her.

After a few more footsteps, and just before getting to our bedroom, she spun back around with gusto.

"Fine, you wanna know? You really wanna know?"

"Yes," I insisted, trying to come across as confident. Truth be told, I wasn't confident. At all. And I dreaded whatever was about to come next. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I just reiterated to her that I wanted to know when I didn't. But before I could open my mouth and get my paralyzed vocal cords to tell her that I changed my mind, she began authoring a truly gut-wrenching verse.

"I fucking loved sucking that dick. Mmm. It was so delicious. I did it as often as he wanted. I always felt bad for denying him sex, so I always wanted to make up for that by being his personal slut, dribbling all over his thick penis. And if I could go back and do it all again, without the brainwashing from religious parents, without thinking I was maintaining my purity by only sucking his dick, I would go back and ride the fuck out of that cock. Or, what is it you want to hear, that big...black...cock? Is that how they say it in that porn you watch?"

"I...I don't watch it, I've just...seen it. I--"

"Oh, so much better. Ugh. Whatever."

I watched the love of my life walk away in disgust and slam our bedroom door behind her.

Fuck.

I felt like such a fucking moron. If I just kept my mouth shut and let her gawk at Marcus' ass as he walked away, this fight never would've happened. And she was totally right--it was harmless. Not only that, but I do look at hot women I pass on the street. I felt like such a hypocrite.

I slumped down onto the nearby couch and sulked. I couldn't even muster the energy to turn on the TV. Ten minutes--maybe more--ticked away. Finally, I heard the door to our bedroom fling open and slam against the door stopper. Next was the distinct sound of wheels on the hardwood floor.

Curious, I craned my neck towards the sound. What I saw next shocked me. The wheels I had heard belonged to her suitcase. I sprung to my feet immediately. The situation had shown itself to be exponentially more dire than I thought, and blown way out of proportion.

"Baby?" I called out. She glided right along past me and onwards to the front door.

"Baby!" I tried once again. "Where are you going?"

"To my parents'."

"No. Come on, Shelley. Over that?" I asked, gesturing to the spot in the room where we just had our petty argument.

"Yes," she said, plainly. "Over that."

"It was a stupid fight!"

Maybe I should've sauntered over to her and pressed her against the wall, kissing her deeply. Or placed my hand gently over the one she had clutching the handle of her luggage. Perhaps, if this were a play, I would have got on my knees and begged her not to leave. But this wasn't fictitious. This was my fucking life.

"I'll call you in a few days," she told me. "There's a lot you said that I just need to process."

"Please!"

"No."

She grabbed her coat and keys, and kicked her suitcase into go-mode once more. I watched her open the door and disappear into the world on the other side of it.

This can't be real. This couldn't be happening to me. Do I run over to the door, open it back up, and call out for her? Will a final plea from this side of it fall on dear ears? If I were a different kind of man, would I be doing a different kind of thing here?

All that contemplation got me nowhere. I never left the spot I stood on, at least not until she would've been long gone.

I heard nothingness. Nothingness heard me. It mocked me; it knew me. It was me, and I it.

You fucking loser.

--------------

I was in the depths of a dream. Something was banging, thudding. I looked around, but all I saw was darkness. Again it went. And again.

My eyes shot open; with that, my hand sprung for my temple as a blistering ache shot across my skull. I grimaced and tried to piece together my story.

I looked around and found myself alone in my bed. My shirt was off, but my jeans were still on. I could smell alcohol. It was both on my breath and on my sheets. Whiskey. No, that didn't come to me through some grand revelation--I sat up and saw the quarter-full bottle on my nightstand. I only had one bottle in this apartment yesterday, and the seal on it had never been broken.

All of a sudden, the loud thud came back stronger than ever. My first thought was to ask myself if I was still in the midst of a dream. But my ears had finally relayed to my auditory cortex that the sound was coming from my surroundings, not my subconscious.

I stood up wearily and followed the noise all the way to my front door.

"Shelley?"

A smile was happy to find its way onto my face. I unlocked it, and pulled the door wide open.

"Hiya, bud" was my greeting. "Sorry to disappoint," said Marcus.

"Nah, that's--it's alright."

Not only did all the good feeling drain from my body, but I also suddenly felt so exposed upon realizing that I was still missing my shirt.

"Looks like we need to get you to the gym, man," Marcus jeered.

He was carrying a duffelbag and launched it halfway across the room onto my couch.

"Home sweet home, I guess."

"Gee, Marcus, I guess you don't have any valuables in there."

"Clothes, deodorant, a toothbrush, and a box of condoms ain't really what I'd call valuable. So, can I come in or what?"

"Condoms!?"

Condoms!?

"Yeah. Why?" he said, stepping into my place.

I closed the door behind him before issuing a stern warning.

"Marcus, I think we need to set some ground rules here. I like you, but I'm doing this as a courtesy to you, mostly because Shelley advocated for you. You won't be using any condoms in this apartment. Got it?"

"What, you saying you're gonna make me raw dog my date tonight?" he said with a cocky smirk.

"Marcus, hold up."

"What, little buddy? You that much of a prude?"

"First off," I began in a sharp tone, "don't call me 'little buddy.' Second, you're not gonna have sex in my apartment with some random chick."

"Bruh, Felicia ain't some random chick, she's one of the girls I'm seeing on the regular. And you're telling me you've never heard me having sex before? I know your bedroom is under mine."

The stupid grin on his face was only growing.

"How the fuck do you know where my bedroom is?" I pried.

"Well, aren't all the units on this side of the building the same layout?"

He had a point.

"Uh...yeah, I guess you're right. But what does it matter if I've heard you having sex before?"

"Because if you've listened before, you should have no problem listening again. Hey, maybe you even like it. I'm not judging!"

"I'm not answering that!"

"It wasn't a question. But that was definitely a yes," he said through laughter.

"No. The answer is no."

Good thing I'm not Pinocchio.

"Whatever you say." His tone was that of an unconvinced soul.

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

"Jeez, man. It's 10 A.M. on a Saturday morning, I just got here, you haven't even offered me a coffee yet--I'm not about having a spat right now. You know me, I'm a chill, easy-going guy. Why did you even bring up my sex life? Sounds like you have a bit of a preoccupation with it. Maybe since you walked in on me?"

"You're the one who mentioned condoms!"

"Yeah, and? We're adults. You asked me what I had in my bag, and I told you. And then you make it into this big thing. Jeez. Is this a jealousy thing?"

Jealousy?!? Is this guy fucking for real?

Jesus Christ, my head was pounding.

"Why would I be jealous of you!? I have a girlfriend. Actually, I'm the only one out of the two of us who does." I felt a massive ego rush coursing through my veins just hearing those words come out of my mouth.

Hear that, doofus? I'm winning.

"Hey, man, I'm living that bachelor life," he rebutted. "It's working mighty fine for me! Anyways, how 'bout that coffee?"

I rolled my eyes and finally just relented. This conversation had run its course.

"Fine, Marcus. Make yourself at home," I begrudged.

After he settled onto the couch and put his large feet up on my coffee table, I walked away in disgust and gathered my shirt up off my bedroom floor. I walked back out into the kitchen and began brewing him a coffee.

The couch faced the opposite direction, but I stood there looking at the back of his head, working up the courage to add one final remark to our previous discussion. Finally, I had it queued.

"You know, some people might have the respect to ask for their host's permission to have sex in their home."

Not two seconds passed before Marcus next spoke.

"So, why'd you think I was Shelley when you opened the door?"

I couldn't believe this fucking guy. It took me a good minute and half to find it within myself to say what I did to him, and he needed a second and a half to completely ignore me and take the conversation in another direction altogether. Unbelievable.

"Where is she?" he asked again.

"It's nothing," I fibbed, struggling to hide my dejection.

Sensing my tone, he turned his torso around to face me.

"Aw, what is it, little--er, I mean, big buddy?"

My nerves grated.

"We had a stupid fight."

"About what?"

I felt my tongue go heavy and a pit grow in my stomach. There was no fucking way I was going to tell him the truth. I tried imagining how that would play out. Me telling a black guy that we fought because I was taken aback that my girlfriend's first partner was black. And that didn't even compare to the reason the fight started--because I caught her checking out his ass.

"Stupid...relationship stuff," I finally told him.

"Ah, so specific," he replied with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I'm just not in the mood to talk about, man. Here's your coffee. How do you take it?"

"I like it creamy. I know a lot of people like it black, but that ain't for me. Hell, the girl I got coming over tonight likes it black." The smirk on his face told the story of a not-so-subtle subtext.

He came and took a seat at my breakfast nook as I poured some cream into his mug.

"Marcus, I'm serious, man. Can't you hold off for a few days. I've gone quite a lot longer than that without sex and it turned out alright."