Bleating Off - 9. That Thing You Do

“I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love;

I’m in love with a wonderful guy.”

“His name is Rene.

He is a tax attorney for a major oil company… you know the one… their trademark is the skeleton of a bottom feeding sea creature. He is witty, brilliant and most of all the gorgeous son of a bitch loves me too. His hair is nice enough. He is taller than the men I normally am attracted to, but if he can live with it, so can I.

I could tell you his eyes were vermillion, teal, or copper, but they aren’t. I could say his profile was up there with the Barrymores, or that he was statuesque, or that his visage was that of a Greek god, but I just won’t. He’s mine and if I tell you any of that you’ll try to take him away…”

“Jonah!” He calls from the next room. “Who are you talking to out there?”

“It was some Jehovah’s Witness. I got rid of them, Rey.”

He steps out of my study wearing a pair of low-slung sky blue chinos. They were skin-tight. His shirt was a dark tan Henley. The color of his hair and the tone of his complexion were set off by these amazing colors.

Tonight will mark the first time Rene and I have slept together. ‘What? Are you daft? Of course we’ve screwed each other to the walls, our respective beds, my kitchen table, my desk (35 minutes ago, than you very much), The back seat of his car, my Range Rover, and many times in each of our showers and tubs. I meant to say tonight would be the first time we will sleep through the night together.’

“What say after dinner we take the rest of the evening off and get started up in your bedroom?” He asked.

“I’ll see your getting started in the bedroom and raise you a hummer and an okay hand-job.” I countered.

“If you’ll raise that hummer along with a pretty good b j instead, I’ll fold right now.” He wrapped an arm around me and slowly rolled me into him.

“Deal!” I said. “But know this Rey. No b j is a bad b j.”

“And know this Joe…” he frowned, but his eyes were smiling. “If you are bluffing on any of this raise, I’ll… I’ll take a cane to you.”

That’s when I heard music pulsing from the study.

“You found my Buble stash:”

The singer begins:

“When marimba rhythms start to play…”

Rene spins me out away from him and takes my left shoulder with his free hand. We begin to…Sway…

.    .     .

Dinner is simple fare, a small Italian round loaf, a Caesar’s salad, and a magnificent Bolognaise sauce floating with sausage and mushroom filled ravioli. This was accompanied by a fairly nosy Pinot Grigio.

“The meal was sterling Jonah. I wish I could cook half as good as you.”

“You’re full of it Rene. You saw me open all those containers."

"You didn't make the ravioli, and that sauce?"

"Zia Ramona did. You saw the label on the bag. I threw the salad together, and did make the trifle I'll serve up in an hour or so."

.     .     .

The witching hour approached. Rene and I had sorted out cleaning up the leavings of dinner and were quite pixilated from sampling après wines and a Martini nightcap. We almost sloshed climbing the stairs.

We showered and did the going to bed cleansing and brushings. I wore a pair of silk sleep shorts. Rene only wore an oversized tee.

In bed and under covers we turned and adjusted as we accustomed ourselves, each to the other's sleep making habits.

We moved against each other, and with each other, in a dance of repose. Ultimately it is Rene on his side with his back tucked in and under me, my left arm over him, tucked beneath his crossed palms. This is how I remember falling asleep.

Some time later I awaken. Rene, as I, is sleeping flat on his back. His head is tightly wedged against my Arts and Crafts style headboard. There is a clicking, champing sort of sound, rather loud coming from his mouth. He is grinding his teeth.

I roll onto my left side, and quickly drift off.

A bit later it begins. First, his hands, palm down begin swatting the mattress...lightly to begin with...downright violently as the minutes pass.

His feet begin to rise and fall in sort of a goose step cadence at first. They mimic his palms kicking at the mattress and as time trudges arduously onward into the night, his kicks become more violent.

The clock reads 1:07. His butt is now taking to air as his hands and feet continue their assault on my bed. When the clock reads 1:42 his next act begins.

"Caw, caw, caw, caw!" He cries out rather robustly. The volume and intensity of his bird imitation rises as seconds crawl slowly to minutes and they move slothfully to hours. I grab a pillow, thinking I’d beat him senseless with it. Instead I cover both ears with it in an attempt to smother the noise. I get out of bed once and relieve myself. While there I tried stuffing my ears with little wads of toilet paper, but no dice. There were no sleep aids in the medicine cabinet either.

Back in bed I tried rousing my maniacal bedmate with a shake and a light tap, with no luck.

I look at the clock it is 2:48. I glance at my bedmate. His body is in constant motion. His face is flush from over an hour of strenuous exertion. His skin has a thick sheen of perspiration. I reach a hand over to wipe his brow. Just that simple touch is enough. His arms and legs go still, and his shouting has ceased. He begins a labored, and loud series of snores, lasting for several minutes, and then he sighs and turns on his side. After that, only silence reigns. At some point I slept...I guess.

I sit up abruptly with my eyes wide open. Rene is recumbent on his back again, only this time his knees are drawn into his chest.

“Gotta make a poop!” He mumbles. “Where’s the potty.” His face is tense and darkly flush with blood.

“Gotta do just a little bit more. Mommy will be glad.”

“Un-h-h-h-h!”

There was no odor, thank the gods. I reached over and brushed a hand across his brow. Peace and quiet returned. I slept again.

Again I am tossed from sleep by the demon possession next to me

“Shit! (I include this one word for effect. Understand the blue symbols will hide many words I find too offensive, and believe the reader may find further offense. -the author-) F*&k! C^%t! C^%t! Penis!” He screams, and many, many other obscenities follow.

Lights began to appear in my neighbor’s windows. I reached over and gently brushed his forehead with my finger.

The clock read 5:11 the last time I looked.

.     .     .

I had a skillet full of sausage links sizzling as I sipped my firs cup of coffee.

'Thank the gods for coffee and pork sausages.'

I heard overhead floorboards creaking as Rene makes his way down the stairs. I know my eyes are carrying steamer trunks. His face is fresh, a pink glow from the warm bedding I guess. His eyes appear clear.

"Good morning Rene." I say and rise slightly to kiss him.

"Your bed is so comfortable Jonah. I feel like I slept a week."

"I'm glad," (one of us slept) I replied.

I took up the sausage and loaded the griddle with batter.

"Coffee, juice, Rene?" I asked

"Coffee please." He said. "Maybe I can have a glass of milk with my waffles though."

"No problem."

We carry our plates and dishes to the sink. I wipe off the table. Rene fills the sink with suds and begins to wash up. I take a towel and begin to dry.

"You know Jonah, I think we are very closely matched. We have similar professions. You like 1960s spaghetti westerns and our musical tastes are similar. You dance very well and you have great wit. I think by acclamation you are a great match for me.

I smiled. 'How was I going to suggest lots of sex but separate sleeping quarters?'

"Did you know that you snore Jonah?" I coughed loudly to cover the incredulous retort I was bound to let slip.

"It's the cutest little snore. You even have this tiny quiet whistle as you exhale."

The words Armageddon and four horsemen are being added to my vision describing his sleep/assault in my bed.

"But then you have a snort. It is much louder. I think it wakened me around 5:30."

"So, what are you saying Rene?"

"For the present...maybe... You know, Jonah, I care for you a great deal, but I don't think I’ll get a good night’s sleep in the same bed as you."

'Pot/kettle, bitch' I thought.

"You think we should stop....

"Hell no you idiot," he shouted. "That ass of yours alone is worth a bit of insomnia."

I snorted.

"There...that's the little devil." He points an accusing finger at me.

"Yeah but maybe the alien environment...you sleeping in a strange room and a strange bed helped." I offered

“No,” he was adamant. “Its that goddamm snort, Jonah.”

"Well, why don't we do the next sleepover at your house?" I suggested. 'And I'll bring all my video equipment to tape all those crazy ass things you do...Mr. Loud Snort...I'll show him.'

*Apologies to all for all my mistakes and thank you CIA.