7.
 They sat kneecap to kneecap. He could feel her warmth in his knees. He longed to hold her soft fingers. "There's a million genders, aren't there, Marie?"
"Maybe six billion," she said wisely, with humorous lips and coy eyes.
"As many genders as there are people," he said. "It's not just fuck, fuck, fuck, pardon my English, not hump hump hump, that's just the way the plumbing works."
She smiled. "That's just first gear. Would you like to come over this evening?"
"Huh?" Could this be?
She held out her arms.
Should he? Would it destroy his watching? Was he afraid? Would Steve touch him?
"Charlie," she said.
He trembled, stepped closer. Her arms were surprisingly strong, her hands gentle, as she pulled him to her. He closed his eyes. Their lips brushed. He heard her breathing (eager), smelled toast and tea on her breath. She whispered, "Do you shock easily?" She exerted a minute downward pressure, somehow, wrist or hand he didn't know, and his lips traveled down her shirt. His eyes opened upon a spoilt print of fine freckles the color of ancient photo blotches. There in the crevice, he kissed her skin. "Yes," he said, "yes yes yes."
"Good." She pushed him away, or rather steadied himself against his shoulders in rising. "Come over at seven, Charlie. Please? Steve will make us something to eat..."
He raised a hand, unsure. "The only thing.."
"Yes?" She stopped, benignly puzzled.
He felt his face burn. "Steve."
A short plosion of breath. "Oh." A laugh. As if to say, is that all? She touched his cheek tenderly. "Don't worry."
That evening, as Charlie crossed the mooney street, his palate had a metallic taste. He would not eat anything, he knew, for anticipation of her. A thousand genders, a million. Some, like himself, specialized in watching. Others, dull drones, married, performing sexual mechanics once or twice a month to procreate the race; others yet, perhaps mating in threes or even fours. We'll see how this goes tonight, Charlie thought, maybe it will be better than just watching through windows.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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