The Woman Is Hot
by Hal Jaffe
The woman is hot, hot.
She won't suck my cock anymore. Or even wax my back.
We're talking about Claire?
What's wrong with your back?
It's hairy. You've seen it.
Sounds like you're a little uneasy with your manhood.
Correction. Hairy back is freakhood not manhood.
Some women like a hairy-backed male.
No. Not me. A hairy back on a male is like a fat guy with his ass crack showing. Turns me off.
What I see is you sitting there with your flavored coffee feeling sorry for yourself. I mean she hasn't ditched you yet, has she?
Who knows? When I get back to the condo there could be a fax waiting for me.
What would it say?
Dude is a dud. Woman is hot, hot.
Why would she repeat "hot" that way?
Twist the knife. Shishkebab another male.
Get a grip. Maybe all she wants to do is change the . . . parameters of the relationship.
Instead of sucking your cock and waxing your hairy back maybe she wants you to lick her pussy and do the housework.
Do the housework?
Share the housework.
You said "do."
Slip of the tongue. Calm down. You're agitated. You've always been agitated.
Well, maybe there's a woman out there that likes an agitated male. With hair on his back.
No chance. Women go for manly males who are at the same time soft, not afraid to show their so-called feminine side.
Not depending on your male cock. Doing your share of housework. Occasionally getting down on all fours.
All fours so that . . .
She can fuck you in your hairy ass. I assume your ass is hairy. Or is it just your back?
No, ass too. Don't you remember?
I never saw your damn ass.
Hold on. What about that time after the zoo? Watching the chimps mastur--
I never went to the zoo with you.
You sure? Well, I guess it was someone else. It all seems so complicated. I used to get along well with women. Not only lovers, but friends.
You're a woman. And a friend. We still friends?
I guess so. Why not?
Sort of a lukewarm answer. Maybe I shouldn't even ask you this.
Right. Do you like me now--spinning into the millennium--as much as you used to like me?
What does millennium have to do with it? Are you suggesting that because women are finally getting a little attention it has to do with some freakish atmospheric change accompanying the millennium?
Please answer the question.
Do I like you as much now as I used to? The fact is I never really liked you that much. Once--a lifetime ago--I had a crush on you. Which is not the same as liking you. When the crush thing eroded there wasn't much left. To tell you the truth.
Some freakin' truth. If I'm such a shit how come we phone and e-mail each other? And have flavored, fat-free coffee twice a week at Starbucks--like we're doing right now?
I don't know. Habit? I'm a habitual person. Compulsive even. Look, women are doing better but we still have to deal with the real world.
"Real world"? Can't you hear how banal that sounds?
Not banal, simple. A simple truth. You're too sucked into your egomania to see it.
So you don't enjoy our ritual coffees together?
How could I? You speak incessantly of yourself. Your male cock. Your hairy male back. Your hurt feelings. When was the last time we talked about me?
This morning, on e-mail. You were complaining about your supervisor at work.
He's a chauvinist dick, okay? But that's superficial.
Uh-huh. What about a few e-mails ago when you asked my advice about that muscular Korean in the health club you were flirting with?
He was flirting with me.
He turned out to be a horse's ass.
You went out with him?
We had a Diet Pepsi after working out.
What was wrong with him?
You tell me. All the time we were talking he was staring at my boobs.
What were you wearing?
I don't remember. Yeah, I do. A see-through Nordstrom number. Bra-less. What does that have to do with it? If I feel sexy it's my own business.
Can we get back to my thing for a minute? Have you been in touch with Claire?
You mean recently?
No. The last time I saw her was like a week ago, maybe longer.
You haven't talked with her since then?
No, not really.
What does that mean?
What is this, interrogation?
You either talked with her or you didn't.
Right. And if I talked with her it was all about you. Sucking your male cock and waxing your hairy male back.
Interesting that you turn that into a negative. Have you renounced sucking cock now that you--as a woman--are getting some attention? To use your words.
That's an offensive question.
Yes, bozo. And I'm tempted to drag your hairy butt to court.
Why don't you? You're probably packing a miniature micro-phone under your bra-less see-through Nordstrom thingy. That's all the evidence you need, right? Put me away for life. Hard time alongside all those other harassers and chauvinists. Then you can nail that muscular Korean who was staring at your boobs over a Diet Pepsi. Shit, after a while you'll clean the street of all males. Except for those softies who get down on all fours for their hard-assed mistresses with their strap-ons.
You're too much. If I was Claire I'd end the relationship by fax too.
What would you say in your terminating fax to me?
I'd say: You're an agitated egomaniac with a two-track mind: "Wax my back. Suck my cock." And you're not even hung that good.
Whoa! You sure know how to hurt a guy. I thought none of that counted anymore, being a macho male and so forth. And how do you know how I'm hung? Has Claire been talking about me?
She doesn't have to. Women understand each other. It's in the blood. Hot, hot, like you said, coursing through our veins.
And through the veins of mother earth. What's left of it. Because you women are so in tune with what fundamentally is. Am I right?
You're right, Freako. This millennium you're hung up on is the beginning of the end for your unhung cock and hairy male ass.
Look, I'm sorry. I'm hurting. Despair, melancholy. Like what Hamlet had. And Kierkegaard. Can't you--for the sake of our long friendship--find it in your heart to comfort me?
You're not hurting. You manufactured a grief and now you're massaging it, jerking it off. And stop staring at my boobs. Look, I'm leaving. Take care of the check, okay? I paid last time.