(idea) by junkpile Tue Oct 31 2000 at 16:15:30

If he'd told me we were going to argue I would still have gone over. If I'd known he was going to think and say nasty words about what I wore, I would still have worn it; would not have hitched my skirt any higher to rail him, but would not have conceded, either. He forgets I am my own fierceness; it's not for him, though he may certainly look. And he does.

I left his room and went home to my apartment. I walked fast away from him. Left him holding unopened wine, baffled, maybe. Maybe he'd seen what was coming, maybe he knew he drove it.

But before that there was a short conversation about motives, him, he thinks motives are what get people places they want to go.

The conversation is not a real conversation. It is an amusement to him.

But before that there were his eyes when he opened the door, they traveled down me, yes, look, go on, it's been done before. It gets tedious. He enjoys looking; everyone enjoys looking; no one asks if I like it, no one thinks I can recognize him as soon as his eyes start traveling. Oh. You're one of them. All right, look. Had your fill? Not yet, I see. I'll stand here freezing in your doorway till you're done.

I like it! 1 C!