Love in the Time of COVID
by Jeremiah Beaty
Jaqueline twirled the wine glass via its long stem. Her thumb rolled the stem across the tips of her first two fingers. She stared at the red contents, from a recently opened bottle of some no-name pinot noir. She smiled at me. She sniffed and then sipped the wine. “Edward,” she said. “Thanks for the wine. You know me so well, what with the cheap stuff and all. You never disappoint.”
I squirmed in my chair to settle in. Jaqueline’s patio furniture was not the most comfortable. I couldn’t even say if it was decorative. I never asked why she picked out such uncomfortable pieces. I held up my own glass in salute. Mine was stemless. I had broken more than I care to remember. Jaqueline banned me from her stemmed glasses over a year ago. “What are good friends for?” I asked. I sipped my own red liquid. It was decent, for its price. “You know I love social visits. But you mentioned something really funny to tell? I always love a good story.” I sipped again, holding the wine in my mouth for a few seconds.
Jaqueline sat unmoving, a veritable statue. She had crossed one leg over the other, crossed at the knees. She looked very demure holding her dwindling wine glass. Jaqueline loved a decent, no-frills pinot as much as I did. More so, if I had to guess. One of her quirks, one reason I loved her so well. Her summoning me last minute for a story was another reason. She always did this. I never regretted partaking in this ritual.
“You remember that guy, Thomas?” Jaqueline asked. Thomas could be any number of guys. Jaqueline was prolific with her men. She wasn’t a slut per se, she just liked to go on lots of dates. If I looked like her, I suppose I would too.
“Forgive me, my dear Jaqueline. Who?” I asked. I refilled my glass. Wine flowed easily on Jaqueline’s porch.
“The one who loves to Facetime me and get dirty. I mean, we did that the first night we met.” Jaqueline refilled her own glass. “We’ve never actually met. Facetime was good enough and infrequent enough that maybe I figured he had a piece and I was a distraction. C’est la vie, right?”
That narrowed it down. Jaqueline shared a lot. I remembered this one, although not the name.
“I saw him last night. He got me so hot and bothered on Facetime that I couldn’t contain myself and asked to see him.” Jaqueline flashed a wan smile and then shook her head. She looked off into the distance, probably staring at the October sky. The weather was great for patio wine. Not hot. Not cold. The weather never deterred me from any patio wine. She knew this.
I sipped my wine. It really grew on me. I thought one bottle might be enough before I arrived. I should have brought more. “And?” I asked.
“He texts me the address and says to come in the front door and just keep walking and I’ll see him. I did. It wasn’t well lit, but looked like a clean place. I walked and came to the living room. It was dim but I could make his outline on a couch. I could make out boots. Attached to legs. Looked like he was sitting kinda wide-legged. I was getting excited.” Jaqueline smiled wide and took a sip of wine.
“He was ready for action,” I said.
“It gets better. I was getting that warm and wet fuzzy feeling down there. He was wearing boxers. Mind you, it’s very dim in there. Light coming in from some window from the outside. I could barely see anything.”
“Mm hmm,” I said. “He was waiting for you. In boots. I know guys that fantasize about women in cowgirl boots. Or heels. It’s a thing. I guess it is for y’all, too.”
“His cock was at full attention, poking out through the boxers. He must have been playing with it. It was dim and I so wanted to see more of it. What I could see, it wasn’t ugly.”
“Wasn’t ugly,” I chuckled. “Is that the bar now?”
“They’re cocks, Edward. They’re not beautiful high art. They’re utility in the flesh.”
“You would say that.” I winked and drained my glass. She was nearing the dregs of hers.
“My eyes adjusted more. Get this Edward – he was wearing a mask! And I’m not talking about a flimsy N95 mask. A full-fledged, gas-mask looking thing! I didn’t know to run or what.”
“Oh my god, Jaqueline,” I said. “You did.”
Jaqueline nodded. Her face was flushed, whether from the wine or this embarrassing disclosure I wish I knew. “It turned me on. He kept it on the whole time. We didn’t even talk. I just rode him hard and came twice. Edward, what is wrong with me?”
I stared at my glass. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I really wanted to ask Jaqueline if she even knew it was Thomas underneath the mask. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
Jeremiah is an aspiring writer of flash and very short fiction, an out-of-work accountant, and recently paroled after serving four years, ten months, and three days inside. He fell in love with the flash format during that time and still scribbles out stories when he finds inspiration. His incarceration experience sometimes bleeds over into his fiction work. Jeremiah can be reached for inquiries about his work at zornundox@yahoo.com.