It's late one evening in an uptown apartment. Two lovers rest on a couch watching a movie. The movie is a comedy about a white cop and a black informant.
The two lovers stretch on the couch, the man behind the goddess cradling her in his long muscular arms. They're watching a scene near the end of the movie where the white cop is visiting the black informant in the hospital. At this stage of the film, the two are no longer strangers traversing different realms but are now friends bonded by bloodshed.
Currently the cop and the informant are jabbering nonsensically about the shootout at the bad guy's hideout they just survived. The cop is harassing his buddy about getting shot while defeating the enemy.
The man on the couch ignores the movie, for a moment, and leans over his lover to stare at her striking features and to admire her beautiful pale skin, complete with freckles covering her face. The man leans into the back of her head and smells her long auburn hair. His lover feels his physical presence on her head and responds by nuzzling him while reaching a long slender arm behind her to rub her man's bicep. The man kisses the back of his lover's head and returns his gaze back to the television screen.
The cop is now harassing his friend, who is hefty in proportion, about something other than the recent raid they survived. The cop confesses while his friend was asleep, presumably from an anesthetic, he snuck a peek under the informant's hospital gown. The informant appears to be displeased about the admission and asks the cop what he is talking about. The cop mentions he had to know if the rumors were true.
The cop doesn't elaborate but the gist of the confession is that he wanted to know if the rumor about black men's superiority over white men in respect to the relative size of each group's genitalia is true. The cop is telling a joke so he caps off the confession with a punch line, he says, "Yeah man, I had to know. And I've got to tell ya, rumors aren't always true."
The man on the couch, while his lover rubs his bicep, let's out a short and crude but loud laugh. The laugh generates a response from his lover. She turns into his chest and stares into his blue eyes and asks him what he finds so funny. The man sits up and grabs a cup of water lying on the nearby glass coffee table.
The man knows his lover means no disrespect. He knows she is always curious about the things playing inside his head. On other nights, the man would gladly sum up his disposition. Tonight however, he is going to do something else.
Instead of explaining his hatred for all stereotypes concerning all races because, to him all stereotypes are damaging for the relation of mankind. It is hard for one person to be embraced by another person if the one person is constantly being reduced to the summation of hateful finalizations. A man is not what he is conjured to be. What accounts for a man is dependent upon his actions, real calculable motions, not sick fantasies.
On most nights, the man would explain this principal of his but recently he wrote a story for a certain men's fitness magazine. In the magazine, the man theorized about infusing passion into a relationship. Prior to writing the article, however, he never tested his theory to ensure he wrote an accurate piece. The goddess lying in his arms, whether she'll be happy about it or not, is about to be subjected to an assessment.
The man takes a small gulp of water from the cup in his hand. He passes it over to his lover who is reaching for it, indicating her desire to quench her thirst. He looks at her and plainly states, "You know what I was laughing at. The white cop was making fun of the black guy for having a small dick."
His lover, looking pensive, states, "Don't make it sound so simple. You were laughing because the cop was poking holes in the rumor about black men's penises."
"What are you talking about?" The man asks, playing stupid.
"You know what I'm talking about. Quit acting stupid." His lover responds.
"I'm not sure what you're accusing me of but it doesn't surprise me you'd stick up for some other guy's dick size." This is a clever and mean thing to say but spoken with intent. The man is trying to illicit a certain response so he can conclude his theory true. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, does it?" The man asks as he shoves his lover's legs off of his lap. He rises and stretches as the goddess looks at him, displeased with his behavior.
The man shambles into the kitchen, behaving as if he is utterly clueless and uncaring about the exchange of words taking place.
"Don't walk away from me, were discussing something here." His lover calls after him. Trying to placate him into obedience she offers, "Honey, I'm just curious about the thoughts in your head. You know this."
But the soft words fall on deaf ears. She hears her man rummaging in the kitchen, opening and closing random cupboards. Finally she notices the sound of a magnet pulling from a cold source. She pulls herself up and stretches. Her sundress falls to her mid thighs. She walks into the kitchen to find her man bent over and practically inside the refrigerator.
"Baby, what are you doing in here? I wasn't trying to..." She's attempting to apologize to her man when he cuts her off.
"Weren't trying to do what? Upset me? Act like I'm an asshole for no apparent reason?" He's becoming more and more aggressive with each sentence spoken. He starts to throw random drinks and food containers from side to side, desperately trying to find something.
He isn't really after anything in the refrigerator. Actually, he isn't after anything physically present except for his lover. He wants her but before he's willing to acknowledge his desire he wants to hear something or see something from her. He wants a clue she is responding the way he wants her to.
He needs her to behave a certain way because he knows if she does, if she plays the way he wants her to play the sick little game he is secretly officiating, she'll be the benefactor, the victor, the one holding all the medals and trophies at the end of the day.
Finally, the man grabs a container of water and pours himself another glass. He sips from it and turns to face his lover. "You always do this." He levels against the goddess.
"What are you talking about? I always do what?" His lover asks, starting to become defensive.
"You always have to take the other side in whatever argument. You like to make me feel like shit." The man claims as his eyes narrow and his lover's jaw drops open.
"Listen Endy, I was just asking about you because you laughed in such a harsh way about some bullshit stereotype about dicks and ethnicity...and..."
The goddess in a short burst of furry is condemning with her mouth, in brutal but legitimate words while concurrently pleading with her eyes and her luscious lips, singing songs meant only for her man. Endy hears the songs. He sees what his lover is gesturing and this is what he wanted.
He needs only to lie in wait from this moment forward. He needs to create a moment of pure tension and then he'll be ready to move.
He cuts the goddess off, "And you wanted to say I'm wrong and so is the movie and black guys really do have large cocks, right?" This last bit of nonsense is spoken with a tinge of jealously.
Endy storms out the kitchen, past his lover and as he exits he adds, "You'd know, wouldn't you?" And the deed is done. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to witness his success, although, he wanted to catch a glimpse of his lover because he wanted to see her, not as the words stung but to behold her beauty in the kitchen light. He wanted to see her pale freckled skin and her legs protruding out the back of her skirt and her ass poking forth but he resisted.
Instead, Endy walked to the sliding glass door leading to the patio. He opened the door and stepped out onto the carpet lined cement porch. He didn't shut the door or open the blinds before hand. He only stepped out and stared up at the sky and waited for what he knew would happen.
A wind rises from somewhere and meets Endy as he stands on his balcony. The moon is brilliant and full, soaking the world with its' wonder. Endy stands on the thirtieth floor of his apartment high rise. All complexes near, cower below his gaze. The city glows orange from the abundance of streetlamps polluting the night. A few stars struggle for dominance against the bulging moon and the ugly city light. Venus is also there, winking on the lower horizon as to say she is watching and waiting for the inevitable just like Endy.
Inside the apartment he hears his lover stomping around. The man takes a drink from the cup in his hand. He steps forward and rests his hands against the steel guardrail at the peek of the cement wall keeping him from plunging to his doom.
Endy is staring at the moon with his cup in hand dreaming about the ancients and their obsession with celestial objects. He wonders how many wasted away under the immense glow of the moon, a glow much like the one the moon drenches the world with tonight.
How many raised their glasses into the night air, whispering prayers to the hollow craters and dark ravines on the face of their chosen goddess?
He wonders how many of them would have died to taste the seas and rivers of molten lava frozen on the surface of the moon. The man sees a valley in the moon and dreams of his lover and her curves and he imagines licking her there, on the balcony underneath the gaze of the ancient divine.
Endy thinks of the men that hopped across the skin of the ancient goddess glowing above him. He wonders if they ever stopped to pay thanks to her like so many once upon a time did from afar. He wonders if they felt as he does when he graces the goddess he serves, the one currently stomping around, bothered, inside his apartment.
Endy concludes they couldn't possibly know or feel what he feels when he is with his lover. They were cold and calculated hoping along their designed path. He is able to explore the warmth of his goddess. In his mind, Endy has conquered more than those who've traveled space and claim to hold views of the Earth like no other. He says to himself, "Let them have their views. I own a view far more spectacular."
