A Day Off 5

"Wake the fuck up, will you?"

"What?" John, still half asleep, did not immediately understand who was shaking him awake. "Carrie?" he squinted, his eyes adjusting to the unpleasant light of morning. "What are you doing here?"

"Why are you still sleeping, anyway?" she answered his question with another question, an annoying habit of hers that he had not missed in the last few months. "It's not the fucking weekend. Shouldn't you be at fucking work? It's ten o' fucking clock."

"Ten o'clock on my day off between consulting jobs," John answered, still waking up. He took a look at her. She was in a t-shirt which he recognized as previously having been one of his, a pair of cutoffs short enough that the pockets were visible, and a pair of flip-flops.

Yep, definitely Carrie,

he thought

Still hot, still a fucking bitch

. "I was planning on sleeping in, but since you have so kindly dropped by unannounced, what can I do for you, dear?"

She made a frustrated noise and crossed her arms. "I came to get my stuff, asshole, remember?"

"Ah," said John, "weren't you going to do that like a week ago? Forgive me if I'm not really dressed for company." He got up, found a t-shirt and put it on. He considered that plus his boxers a sufficient level of "dressed" for his current company.

"Yeah, you were busy," Carrie had a look of supreme irritation on his face that caused John to try to recall the night in question.

Oh, yeah,

he thought.

That "second date" with Riley.

"Sorry if I wasn't here when you came over, must have just missed you."

"Oh, you were here," Carrie said, her eyes shooting death rays at him.

Ah, shit, I knew I should have closed the curtains.

He almost said "Sorry you saw me buttfucking a trans girl," but decided against it.

"Anyway I want my shit back and I don't know what you did with it," Carrie said, saving John the trouble of pretending to be sorry for the show.

"Ok, I don't know what stuff you are talking about, but if it's not visible, then it's probably in the gym. I don't think I threw anything away, so if it's not here you probably lost it."

"Gym? You mean the junk room? The one that's full of junk?" She was not amused.

"Yeah," John said, managing to not be annoyed about this quibbling over terminology. "Where all the junk is. And probably your shit. So why don't you go look through the junk room?"

"Fine," Carrie said. "And put on some pants. I don't need to see your cock hanging out while we're putting stuff in my car."

"I was unaware I was necessary in this process," John said, and, deciding he could sacrifice the one day off for the sake of not having to deal with another fight, added, "but ok. Can I make some coffee first? I kind of just woke up."

Carrie rolled her eyes at this and left the room. John watched her go for a second.

She may have her problems, but that ass was not one of them.

John put on some pants, set the coffee maker, and retreated from the loud rustling noises emanating from the junk room to his sanctuary, the bathroom. He did have to piss but having completed that in relatively short order, he waited out the coffee maker by messing with his phone. Messages from both Riley and Liam. Riley:

free tonight?

not anymore

you're taking me out for drinks

this day already sucks ass, I need alcohol and 🍆

Liam:

hey daddy

want to netflix and chill?

that means fuck, btw

What's a man to do

thought John. He decided to rank the two "invitations" by urgency. He replied to Riley first:

I'll bring my best eggplant

Then to Liam:

I'm not THAT old

busy at the moment, surprise visit from the ex 🤬

Riley unsurprisingly did not answer immediately, but Liam did:

maybe I can scare her aware with my gay cooties 🦠

John laughed, but the coffee maker's beep reminded him he needed to get off his ass at some point.

I highly recommend against this strategy

He removed himself, reluctantly, from the bathroom. This time on his way back to the kitchen, he noticed a box, empty save for a few knickknacks he vaguely recognized from around the house, with "Carrie's shit" scribbled on one side.

At least she won't be going home entirely empty-handed.

When he got to the kitchen, he poured himself a mug of coffee, and then, considering the ramifications of standing here enjoying himself while Carrie dug through boxes of junk, poured a second cup for her, and brought both with him to the junk room.

"Coffee?" he offered. Carrie had taken the liberty of emptying multiple boxes that had previously been perfectly fine containing long-forgotten items accumulated over months and years, and strewing those items all over the floor.

She took the mug, one he realized only now was hers, from his hands. "Well, I found my yoga mat, but I don't know where everything else is. It's all just piles of your shit."

You're welcome for the coffee,

he thought. "You mean my exercise mat?"

"For all the Yoga you do?" Carrie said sarcastically. She took a sip of coffee.

"I use it for other stuff," he said. She was annoying but also annoyingly cute. "But if you want it, it's yours. That mug is also yours, I think."

"Eh," she said, her stance softening visibly a bit, "I have lots of mugs and you probably need extras with all the girls you bring over here. Gotta give them at least a cup of coffee before you kick them out on their pretty little asses."

"And you don't need extras for all your new boyfriends?"

She made a little "humph" noise. "Anyway, I was going to ask for that couch back since I bought it but now you can keep it." She left unsaid but John inferred the "because I saw you fucking a girl in the ass on it."

"That's very kind of you," John said, adding mentally

especially since I

bought

the couch after you had

picked it out

. "Do you want some help going through these boxes? That is, if you can stand being in the same room with me. If you'd rather I'll just clean up after you're done."

She eyed him sideways, with an expression on her face that was significantly less angry than he had become accustomed to. "I would appreciate the help," she answered, and gave back the now largely empty mug, and after a second of visible consideration, "you're not that bad to be around. Most of the time. When you're not being a dumb asshole."

"Aww," he said, sarcastically. "You're very sweet. When you're not being a stupid bitch."

She rolled her eyes and went back to the boxes. John took the mugs back to the kitchen.

She was back on her hands and knees, digging through what appeared to be an entire box full of old bills or perhaps other documents, by the time he returned. He took a second to stare at her little, round ass.

A very nice ass,

John concluded,

and people think Asian girls don't have nice asses.

It had been the first thing that attracted him to her a year or so ago and he could still remember it, in a bar he had never been to, although that was typical at the time, since he had only recently moved to the city. She had been dancing with friends of hers, spilling whatever terrible girl drink she had in hand as she did so.

Too bad for the guy who has to clean up after her,

he remembered having thought,

but that ass is would be worth spending all day mopping floors for.

Ironic, he conceded, that he was now the one who was inevitably going to have to spend his day off cleaning up after her, like some kind of cosmic payback for getting that ass for a while.

Not that there was nothing else to like about her besides the ass. She was generally attractive, and, more than that, had been a lot of fun, especially in those early days together where it was mostly just goofing off and sex and surprising each other just by being somebody new and sex and sex and sex.

The relationship had gone the way of all things,

John conceded,

and maybe some of that was sexual, but that couldn't have been the whole thing. Too many nights falling asleep together watching some terrible movie without either of them making a move for it to have been a purely sexual fling that just burned itself out.

His contemplation led him to sigh involuntarily, which inadvertently alerted Carrie to his presence. "Are you going to help or just stand there with your dick in your hands?"

"Well if nobody else is going to touch it..." he said. He joined her looking through the documents, which seemed to satisfy her for the moment.

After a minute or two of just looking at the papers, he thought to ask "What exactly are you looking for, anyway?"

"Nothing, exactly," she said. "Just seeing if there's anything here that belongs to me."

"If it belonged to you, but you don't even remember it, why does it matter if you get it back?"

Carrie thought for a second. "I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter." She sat up on her knees and sighed. "I guess it was a dumb idea. Whatever, just keep the shit. I'll take the yoga mat, sorry. You can throw out anything you find that you don't want."

He felt kind of bad for her, sitting there dejected amidst a pile of paper that she was no doubt resigning herself to now having to clean up for no reason."Ah, nah, it's not dumb. When you left you were pretty angry. You probably did leave some stuff here that you should get back."

"

I

was angry? When

I left

?" she was feigning anger. "That's not how I remember it."

"Ok, we were both pretty angry. Point stands. There's probably something here you forgot and I'm not busy. I'll help you look. And anyway I can probably just trash all of this shit; I have no idea why I was holding on to it, anyway."

She smiled that cute little smile he hadn't seen in months. "Yeah, you're probably just still not over me. Holding onto things that remind you of me. You know. That's a thing that guys do."

"Oh, yeah, surely that's it," he said, layering on the sarcasm, but without making it hurt. "I just, you know, just keep old bills in this box here because it reminds me of all the good times we had..." he glanced at the pile, "...enjoying natural gas."

She laughed. This, despite being his goal, surprised John. It had just been a long time since he'd heard the sound.

"Anyway," he said, "I'll check this box over here. Who knows? Maybe you left some of that K-Pop shit you love here."

"Hey, it's not shit," she said, feigning anger, "It's good. Just because you are jealous of those hot guys..."

"Or maybe I just always wanted to fuck them all," he suggested, jokingly, as they each returned to rummaging.

"You're right, probably that," she said. For a moment they both just searched, no one saying anything. Then she added, "I guess you're only into guys now, huh?"

"Not only," he said, "and not really now, either. I've kind of always been open to the idea, just never let myself try it."

"And, so," she said, pointedly not looking up, "since you started fucking that tranny I guess you just found what you wanted all along?"

"Not how I would characterize it," he said. The slur annoyed him more than anything else, but he knew this was not a thing to fight about, not right now. "I like that

trans girl

," he emphasized the more correct term, "but it's not

the

thing I was looking for. I didn't stop liking pussy or anything."

Carrie had stopped pretending to look for anything while he talked, but said nothing.

"I like lots of things, lots of types of people. I like having fun and, yeah, I like to fuck. I don't think that's a big deal. I mean, maybe you're not into it, you don't like sex as much. That's fine. I'm sure you'll find a nice straight boy who will have nice straight missionary sex with you every Sunday night, and that's fine, too. People like what they like. But like, get off my dick, alright?"

He had found himself getting gradually more worked up about it as he talked, which he did not like. He ended his little tirade with a sigh of disappointment at having let her get under his skin again.

She was silent for another moment, and then, finally, she said, "It sounds more like the problem is that I'm

not

on your dick."

Now it was John's turn to surprise Carrie with a laugh. "Yeah, you're right."

She returned to halfheartedly sifting through papers. "See, I told you you just weren't over me. It's not a surprise. I mean, we both know that no matter how many

trans girls

you fuck, you're never going to get over this ass. It's just not realistic. Sorry, John." To punctuate her "apology" she wiggled her ass back and forth.

She's not exactly wrong.

He had already figured out that he was probably cursed for life with always wanting more when it came to sex.

You might call it an addiction,

he supposed,

though hardly the worst kind.

He had to admit that he had spent a lot of mental energy in the last few months trying to get that ass out of his mind and had not yet entirely succeeded. "It's a pretty nice ass," he conceded.

"Not as nice as that trans girl's, I guess," she said. He noticed her conspicuously trying to hide a glance in his direction.

"I don't know about

that

," John said. He thought he noticed another little wiggle from Carrie at that. "But, it helps that she doesn't mind me touching it, I guess."

"Hey, I let you touch my ass all the time," Carrie objected.

"Eh..." he said, willing to let the conversation stay comfortably away from a fight.

"What?" Carrie said. He was unsure if she was genuinely annoyed or just playing. "I'm pretty sure you grabbed my ass within the first hour after we met and I didn't object, did I? Pretty sure I fucked your brains out that same night."

"Yeah, I believe you recall it correctly," he conceded.

"So?"

"So what, exactly?"

"So, is her ass better than mine?"

He suddenly felt like a criminal sweating under the hot light of an interrogation room. "No," he managed.

This seemed to satisfy her. Breathing a sigh of relief, John went back to sorting stuff. The current box appeared to contain nothing of value, so he had just opened another when she replied, "I guess you meant that she doesn't mind you

fucking

her ass, then."

John drew in a deep breath. "You really want to talk about this? I thought we were getting along nicely for once."

She looked at him and shrugged. "I mean," she started, "obviously you like fucking her ass. I just wanted to know if hers is better than mine. I don't see why it should be a problem. We're not together any more, you can say yes. It's not going to hurt my feelings."

He could tell from her voice that everything but the first sentence was a a lie.

"Ok," he said. "No, her ass is not better than yours. If you really want the truth, you have an amazing ass. But you already know this. I'm not sure what your goal is here with this particular line of questioning. She also has a very nice ass. It's not really a matter of better or worse; I wouldn't be able to rank them, honestly. I feel like this really isn't about asses, so I don't know why we are talking about it. In fact I think I have said the word 'ass' so much that it's starting to sound weird to me. You also, to the best of my recollection, anyway, have never been particularly interested in asses or anal or talking about asses or anal so I don't think that's what you really want to talk about."

She sat silently, listening to him, and remained silent after he had finished. Finally she said something. "I just wanted to hear you say, 'She has a nice ass, but yours is better. If you had let me fuck your ass like she does I would have stayed with you.'" She paused and then added "Or something like that. I guess."

"Oh my god, is that why you think we broke up? Because I wanted anal and you didn't?"

"I think it's part of it," she replied, seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Oh, baby, no..." John trailed off, not happy that he had called her "baby" for the first time in months. "We had problems, ok. I'm sorry if I was always, like, licking your asshole or trying to shove my fingers in it during sex. I just like buttholes, obviously. Just a weirdo, but I should have been more understanding that you weren't into it. So sorry, but that is not why we broke up."

She smiled. "Ok," she said at last. "I'm dumb, I guess. I mean, I should never have doubted this ass. I don't know what came over me."

"Eh," John replied, "seeing your ex fucking another girl in the ass can have that effect."

"Some kind of effect, anyway," Carrie said. She sat up on her knees, sighed, and put her hands on her hips. "This is all just shit," she said. "I give up. You can keep everything."

"You're going to give up, just like that?"

She stood up and moved closer to him. "Just not in the mood for dumpster diving. Maybe it's just all this old stuff bringing up too many memories of, I don't know, natural gas or whatever."

He chuckled despite himself and rose to his feet beside her. "Fair enough," he said, "bad memories and all. If you want I'll look through the boxes later and bring over whatever I think you might want."

"Not

all

the memories are bad," she said, a strange smile on her face. "You brought back a couple good ones. That first night, etc."

"Oh, I see," said John, now very aware of the space, or lack thereof, between them. He couldn't help noticing how intensely her eyes studied his face as he spoke. "So, if you're not in the mood for rummaging, what are you in the mood for, reminiscing?"

"Something like that," she said.

It's interesting,

thought John,

how even when the tension builds to what seems like the inevitable, it always comes as a surprise.

The impetus for this thought was Carrie suddenly shoving her tongue into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him deeply in one fluid but sudden motion.

For a moment, he just stood there, accepting the kiss as much as returning it, and letting his hands explore once again the shape of a body they hadn't felt in months. His hands moved up and down her back, up to her neck, and down to that ass he'd spent so long trying to forget. Then a little voice in his head rudely interrupted his fun.

This is a bad idea, dude.

Shut the fuck up, voice.

She's unstable, dude. Stop thinking with your cock for once.

Alright, alright. But fuck you, anyway.

He pushed her gently away. "Uh, so, this is a bad idea, right?"

"I don't care," Carrie said, stepping back to him and wrapping her arms around his back again. "I haven't had a real dick inside me in three fucking months and I'm going to explode. Just stop worrying about it and fuck me like you fuck that little tranny slut."

Still a bad idea, dude.

Shut the fuck up.

He returned her kiss, his hand applying gentle pressure on her head, pushing it towards him. Their tongues danced in each others' mouths. With his other hand, her drew her to him by the small of her back, pressing himself against her. She reacted, her own hands feeling up and down his back. She ground his thigh into her crotch, forcefully working herself into a growing frenzy.

She was already working his shirt gradually up his back when he grabbed hers and yanked it upwards. She reacted by releasing him to allow the shirt to come off effortlessly. He tossed it aside while she unhooked her bra, which she let fall to the floor. He had his shirt off before her bra touched the floor, and he threw it aside as well.

He pressed against her, kissing down her neck and shoulder. Her hands drifted up his back and rested gently on his shoulders as he lowered himself to begin sucking on her pert C-cup tits. Her smooth skin felt good on his lips, her taste familiar and welcome. The warm flesh of her nipples reacted by hardening as he sucked one, then the other, then back again, squeezing, playing, sucking, licking. She threw her head back and moaned.