"He looked at me and said, all serious like, 'Madam, I want your company not your pussy."
"Why didn't he want your pussy, was he a fuckin' faggot?" said Nubia.
"No," said Martha Adams as she spotted Mark Morris looking at them, her, Nubia, Michelle, and Cloris, sitting all in a row at the County office on Tulome, talking about Martha's date the Saturday before. Martha glared at Mark as she had done with her children when they were small. This broke his stare as he mustered a slight shy smile and diverted his eyes back to the current issue of The New York Review of Books. Martha turned her head to Nubia and whispered ,"He said that he wanted a friend before a fuck buddy."
"...and what is wrong with a fuck buddy at least a woman can get some without all the other shit men put us thru."
`"Amen to that sister." Michelle and Cloris chimed in."
"No, he didn't want sex, he wanted connection."
"That is a fancy word for fucking; all men think about is getting pussy, just like my uncle Fred's old coon hound. That dog humped every bitch human or dog in three counties. My uncle had his balls cut off and that hound still humped. That's how he died humping a... ." said Nubia.
"Are we talking about your uncle or the hound," Cloris said
"Both. Uncle Fred died of a heart attack while he was at Susie's down near the river back home. My momma said that when he died all the dogs howled together, like they were treein' a coon. "Cloris, and Michelle all were holding the laughter back so hard that tears were streaming down their faces. Finally Cloris then Michelle broke into laughter and laughed so hard that the whole office heard it. A heavy sister behind the counter looked at them, smiled and said," Ladies can we keep it down there."
"Yes we will," Martha sternly said. As she waited for the women to compose themselves she glanced at Mark. He was staring down at the paper with his lips stretched in a smile and turning bright red. Martha got up and walked over to him. She picked up a canvas messenger bag that was in the seat next to him and sat down. He took the bag and put it in a empty seat on the other side of him. Mark looked into her eyes and smiled, Martha smiled back.
"We are pretty silly aren't we?
"Yes you are."
"What do you have in the bag?"
"A book of short stories by Rick Bass and a short story I am working on."
"You a writer?"
"Yes, I am."
"Been published?"
"Not yet."
"How long have you been writing?'
"About 40 years."
"And you haven't been published?"
"A couple of small press things but nothing too big."
"Long time to wait for a drink from the well."
"Yes it is."
"Do you love doing it."
"It is not a matter of love it is just something I do, like cleaning the kitchen or building furniture."
"So you think all men think about is pussy." Said Martha as if the word "pussy" was a name for her child or grandchild, a word. No more, no less.
"I would have to say yes."
"You are not supposed to say that. You are supposed to lie."
"Why?"
"Women want the chase to be coy. They don't want to tell some poor fool that they are not going to fuck him because it might hurt his feelings. Only when the fool demands pussy do they finally realize if they are going to fuck him are not. If they were honest with themselves they would have to tell that they knew were going to fuck him within the first 3 minutes that they met him. We be a bunch of cold hearted bitches."
"You said it." said Mark.
"You've been burned too?"
"Yeah."
"How bad?"
"Not too."
"How long were you two together?"
"13 years too long."
"Any kids?"
