Carmen and Trevor had fallen so suddenly to making love, to barebacked screwing after splitting a bottle of Japanese whiskey, that they had not discussed the matter of his ejaculate. Trevor felt it was unwise to potentially saddle Carmen with a child, especially given how much red meat he had been eating as of late. In fact, his diet was terrible and had once been the subject of a heated conversation with his ex-wife. This same discussion had led to his eventual ouster. Yes, Trevor was newly divorced. Trevor was lonely. He was eager not to ruin the evening with unilateral transmission.
They had met hours before at a wedding in Lincoln, Nebraska and then had gone drinking afterwards.
“I’d love some corn-fed dick,” Carmen had said at the bar during an interval in their conversation, at the exact same moment that Trevor had thought about heading home and ordering kebabs.
When it was time, Trevor hurriedly uncoupled himself from Carmen and ejaculated onto a nearby houseplant.
“Pervert! What is wrong with you!” Carmen screamed as she hit Trevor in the face with a foam pillow, breaking his nose. Trevor had to go to the emergency room to have his nose tended to, reset and bandaged.
“Please will you drive me?” Trevor asked.
Carmen refused to drive him, dressing herself and standing quietly with her arms crossed, signaling that she wanted Trevor to leave her apartment with some haste.
“Can we have breakfast tomorrow?” Trevor asked. “I didn’t want to mark you as chattel or possibly impregnate you. I’ve been primarily on a diet of frozen steak fingers, dipped in tartar sauce.”
“I’m on the pill, you fucking idiot. You’ve ruined the evening.”
Trevor made peace with himself in the parking lot after smoking a cigarette. Then he proceeded by car to the hospital. He was dexterous, or so he thought, but ended up losing control of his Subaru and crashing fatally into a street lamp at the corner of 14th and P Street.
Trevor’s ex-wife was asked to eulogize him but forcefully declined when she learned of the circumstances leading to his death. “Classic Trevor,” she whistled into the phone and then hung up, returning her attention to the naval exercises she had been observing from the main balcony at the Rock Hotel, Gibraltar.
Avee Chaudhuri strenuously denies embezzling funds from the Holmes Lake Fishing Association.
Back Patio Press 