Free The Video Watcher by Shawn Curtis Stibbards Page A

velvet-covered tables, turquoise and silver jewellery, past the entrances to sex shops, mannequins in bondage gear in a window, past a busker who coughed and began “Sweet Leaf” on his acoustic, past an arcade, past this man in a brown business suit with padded shoulders who yelled in front of a movie theatre “Just as in the days of Noah… just as in the days of Noah!”
    And all the while the smell of marijuana came steadily on the breeze and my hand in Maria’s glanced her hip, and for a second I felt connected to the city.
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    Two goths with a German shepherd sat beside the door of the McDonald’s on Smithe. On the way in, I tossed the change I had in my pocket in their turned-up fedora.
    A Japanese woman was waiting in the line-up, her arms crossed. She had high black boots and a mask-like face.
    Maria was hungry. I got two apple pies.
    As we sat and ate, we talked. I asked her how to say a few things in Spanish, and I said them, and she giggled. She looked at me and asked if I had a girlfriend. I said no. I asked her if she had a boyfriend. She said no.
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    The house’s porch light, shining through the passenger-side window, silhouetted Maria’s head. She turned to face me. I didn’t say anything. She leaned over and kissed my lips. We kissed again. Then one more time. I enjoyed the feeling of the kisses. We kissed gently three or four more times and we opened our mouths and I put my tongue in her mouth and felt her tongue reaching for mine. I didn’t know what to do, so I moved my tongue around and around. After doing this for a while, I got bored and wondered if I could touch her breasts. With the Spanish women, you’ve got to take them. This repeated itself in my head and I imagined recounting the scene to Cam, and felt the need to make it more interesting. But still I was nervous. If she stopped me, I would feel cheap and dirty. I placed my left hand gently against her stomach and moved it gradually toward her breasts, expecting to be stopped. I reached inside the bottom of her T-shirt and again lay my hand against her stomach. The skin was soft, it was hot and smooth. I left my hand there a minute, while I kissed and hugged her. I slid my hand toward her breast—I felt certain that she would stop me. She didn’t. I grabbed her breast through the rough lace of her bra and squeezed it three times and pulled back the cup and pinched the nipple. The nipple was large and firm and I flicked it back and forth with my finger and squeezed the breast. I thought this is what she wanted me to do and I felt excited, but not as much as I thought I would. Doing this, I realized that I was forgetting to move my tongue in her mouth. All this was exciting for a few minutes, but then I was again bored. Almost without me even noticing that they were doing it, my fingers began to play with her nipple much as they would a small coin in my pocket or a spring. After another minute, I pulled her bra cup back in place. I got out and went around to the other side and let her out. As she stepped out of the car I felt weird, like it was the first time I was seeing her that evening. The person whom I’d been kissing and whose breast I’d fondled seemed like someone entirely different.
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    During the midsummer long weekend at the beginning of August, I seemed to be the only person left in Vancouver. Kris was at a real estate convention in Whistler, Alex was at her family’s cabin in The Shuswaps, Damien was at home but only wanted to stay indoors and play Nintendo, Sadie was on the Island, and whenever I called Maria the male roommate said she was out.
    As for Cam, I’d called his house over the past two weeks and left at least ten messages on his machine. He hadn’t returned one of them.
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    The Police’s “Message in a Bottle” was on the poolside radio. I swam six laps, then crouched in the shallow end and held my breath. Everything was silent