Walk A Day In My Underwear: Yellow, Blue, Mint Green Polka-Dot Cotton Disco Boyshorts (Underwear Series Project #1)

I want to run a marathon.

I want to dance on the top of my bed listening to Donna Summer alone in my room on Youtube. Or maybe with the boy I have a crush on. Ruining the folds on the bed with rhythmic steps, and chaotic choreography, while I swig glasses of white wine sprinkled with molly, and pull all the black heads out of the pores on my nose with nasal cleansing strips.

I want to jump off a cliff. Not because I'm suicidal, but because I want to learn how to fly. I mean, doesn't everyone? Not all of us have the time or the money to learn how to fly a plane at this point in our lives; most of us are just trying to get from point a to point b, and have fun while we are doing it (at least I know I am.)

This morning, after I got out of the shower, I looked at my ass in the mirror. The green elastic bands lifted it up and made it look plump in a good way, which brought a smile to my face because it made me feel attractive.

Now, at work, in the office, sitting in an gray swivel chair, I feel my butt deflating. I feel the pattern of the threads being etched into the skin on my cheeks.

One of the truck drivers pulls out a full pill bottle of Xanax and asks me if I want any.

"How much?"

He looks around then back down at me and whispers,

"A blowjob."

A smirk stretches across his face exposing yellowish green teeth, this morning's cigarette, and last night's beer.

He leans in, and the smells of what he has recently consumed become more prominent.

"Sorry don't take money."

I want to become a boxer, and learn how to make someone eat out of a straw for three months with a wicked left hook.

I look down and pick up a piece of paper on my desk that said, "138 Ridgewell Avenue" and hand it to him.

"No thank you. Here's the address for your next delivery."

His smirk transforms back into a straight line, as he shrugs his shoulders, pockets the pill bottle, takes the paper, and walks out the glass front door of the office.

At the end of the day, my boss, who's thirty years older than me, with dyed black hair puts his wedding ring on my shoulder and asks me if I want to go out to dinner, a movie, a drink, and then the hotel room this Friday night.

"No thank you, I got plans to bake some chocolate chip cookies with my mother, but here's that business memo from corporate that you wanted before I left."

"Oh....ummm, thank you."

He pauses and scratches the grey stubble on his chin. He realizes he forgot to shave this morning, but it doesn't matter.

"Well, hey, my friend's got this yacht and next weekend he's throwing a party, you know. Open bar. Great seafood. Wonderful people. The crème de la crème of the rock quarry industry will be there."

"Maybe. I'll have to see. But just to let you know, I'm a vegetarian."

"Well a 'maybe' is always better than a 'no.' I'm sure they'll have salad. Come on it'll be a good time."

I don't move or say anything. He scratches the stubble on his chin again. Maybe it's a nervous tick?

"Just keep me posted. Alright?"

"I'll let you know, but I gotta go to the restroom before I leave, excuse me."

He pinches my deflated ass as I walk by with his right thumb and index finger.

I look back at him over my shoulder, and see him staring at me with a shit-eating grin.

"Just let me know. You have my number. You know where to find me."

In the bathroom, I turn the faucet on cold and splash some water on my face, then wipe it off with a paper towel, and throw it in the trash can.

I look at myself in the mirror. I see myself in a hotel room, wrapping a hundred dollar bill and his wedding ring around a strap-on dildo, and depositing the valuables in my boss's colon without any lubrication, then having the truck driver suck my boss's ass juice off the tip of the dildo. Ass to mouth.

Looking in the mirror, I see that I have the potential to become a dick too; I choose not to.

When I got home, I take my dress off and prance around the house in my underwear listening to, "Brick House" by The Commodores, as I cook Kiwi tacos for dinner. He will never get to me. These men will never get to me. Because they are the toys, and I'm the human being. Because this is only temporary. In a couple of years, they will be alone on their death beds trying to pleasure themselves with wrinkled hands, but it's not working because they can't get it up without the assistance of pills and money. I'll be the one still dancing, but not alone. I'll be the one dancing with the boy who's sensuous fingertips massage the knots out of the notches in my spine, just because, just because, just because.

We both believe in true love.

"She's mighty mighty lettin it all hang out,"

Tonight, I am sexier, stronger, and more confident then I ever have been before.

Two weeks later, I handed in my resignation from the rock quarry.

Two years later, everything I just described to you came true.