Free Moved by K.M. Liss Page A

note, I consider it to be more a form of self projection
and beautification. It's quite acceptable for a modern young woman,
as I am, to indulge in things like this. I could understand his
objection if I was having big chunks of metal embedded in my ears,
nipples or genitals, a bull-ring at the end of my nose, or tattoos
on my eyelids. But I'm not. I'm very tasteful about it.
    The smarting soon
wears off and I run my finger over the stud very carefully and
softly and smile cautiously with inner joy, at my sparkling
acquisition.
    Then I elbow Mason
with a hard prod to get his attention again.
    I give him a quick
flick of my eyelashes, and what I hope to be an extremely sexy
pout.
    He laughs at me. “What
the hell was that?”
    “I was trying out my
sexy diamond stud look. Did it work for you?”
    He stops and drops his
cigarette stub on the floor, grinding it into the paving slab with
his boot.
    Litter bug...
    But not only that, I
really wish he'd have the strength to quit this unhealthy and
disgusting habit. I can't stand the smell of it on his breath.
    I finally get his
attention, after he kicks the stub away, into the road.
    “Hmm, well that kind
of look's not gonna work on me, is it? I don't even notice you're a
woman a lot of the time.”
    “Oh thanks a bunch,
buster,” I grind out under my breath, unimpressed, yanking my arm
out of his and storming off in a huff.
    I can't believe he
just said that.
    He catches me up and
links his arm back through mine. “For fuck's sake... don't sulk.
You know what I mean... You're my bud,” he offers sincerely.
    “I know we're pals,
but I never, ever forget you're a man,” I point out,
reasonably.
    “Of course you don't,
not looking the way I do,” he replies, tongue in cheek.
    I thump him and then
laugh, and so does he.
    It's all a big joke.
He doesn't take himself seriously. Or much else in life either.
Apart from the crew and dance.
    Mason's a funny type
of guy.
    In between being
sarcastic and mean.
    The funny side of his
nature is why I continue to share his flat with him after six
months of too much togetherness. Because we really do spend way too
much time together.
    Actually, I'm being
unfair. Although he has fallen short in certain areas of his
character development, he's a nice enough person at heart. He's
honest and has his thoughtful moments. What's more, he's a great
cook. He's unusually clean and tidy around the place, for a guy, as
well. That's a very big plus, because I know most aren't. All these
things count, I suppose.
    The rent he charges me
is pretty cheap too. Actually, that's the real reason I live with
him, I remind myself. Yeah, that and his cooking. My stomach
rumbles at the thought of food.
    “Anyway... what's for
dinner tonight?” I ask hungrily, my mouth watering. I am constantly
amazed at the variety of things he can dream up with pasta,
tomatoes, cheese and another X, Y or Z ingredient.
    “I'm going out to eat
with Summer. I did tell you.”
    “Oh yeah, so you did.
I just didn't listen properly. On purpose. Anyway, I thought you'd,
been there, done that... 'So stupid she was annoying' ... that's
what you told me. 'Five dates was four too many'... or something
sweet like that?”
    “I thought I'd hang in
there for a few more days. While there's no one else on the
horizon. And yeah, she is kinda dumb, but the rest of her's okay.
And she likes Chinese food, and going to the movies, that's
something in her favour. So, she'll do, I suppose.”
    “ She'll do, I
suppose?” I repeat, in a mocking tone of voice. “ Look, I
may be wrong here Mase, but her tits, movies, and a quick Chinese
aren't a great basis to continue a relationship, are they?”
    “It's good enough for
me and far more than I usually base it on.”
    He has a valid point
there, because hair colour and chest size are usually all he
bases it on. Other considerations such as personality and sense of
humour seem to be irrelevant.
    But perhaps he's
finally reached a turning point in