My Little Lion

“Hurry up and hide in the closet. Here, take the hammer,” She says, handing me her parents' old, rusted hammer.

“Does it really have to be the closet? Can’t I just hide in the bathroom and get him in the hall?”

I hate dark spaces, tight and confined. Even though the closet is harmless, ever since that kid at the cement factory got his head taken clean off in a confined space, I avoid them at all costs. Call me superstitious, or whatever you want (you can even call me a Coward or a Pussy, if you're some pseudo Alpha Male Andrew-Tate-humper), I really don't care.

“Just do it. He'll be here in a minute.”

I look in her eyes, knowing there's no time to argue, and even if I do, if things don't turn out the way she wants, I'm just going to take the blame for it in the end. Then I'll never hear the end of it. I start walking towards the closest, ready to face my fear, and then a thought hits me; I turn around with a smirk.

“OK, I'll do it. But, you know,” my smile turns to cockiness, “You know what I'll want later.”

I give her a little head nod and see her eyes widen and the expression on her face change.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Well yeah, I think I have a bit of negotiating power here,” I say, playfully slapping the side of the hammer in my palm.

“Just, just get in the closet. He'll be here any minute.”

“Come on, Baby, just say it. Say you'll do it for Daddy. Say you'll put on the outfit later....The little slut necklace, too.”

Her eyes get even wider, and she takes a step closer towards me and leans in and says in a half-whisper, behind gritted teeth: “I am not having this conversation with you right now. Are you insane?”

Seeing her eyes as wide as they are, her big, bushy, brown lion-mane hair, with the long strands that droop down half her back. Sometimes, when she's like this, she looks like all hair and fury, with barely a body there. But it's there. It's a good one to boot, which she accentuates in tight-fitting T-shirts and yoga pants. It drives me crazy, and she knows it.

“What's wrong with having this conversation right now?” I ask. An obvious question I know the answer to, since her friends and family are hidden in silence in the other room and could possibly overhear us.

“Just get in the closet.”

Now, I'm going to tease her. I think I have to, now that I have her all flustered. An opportunity like this doesn't arise very often.

“No, I won't do it... not unless you be a good girl for me later. Let Daddy wrap that leather whip around your neck and dominate you.”

I stare at her and can see steam practically coming out of her ears in coordination with her cartoonish fury. It's funny how small women can get mad and act tough. In reality, they can't do much about it. That's what makes it funny. Before she can say a word, her mother walks into the room.

“He won't be here for another half-hour now. Bonnie just got a text.”

She turns around and looks at her mother, her mouth open, unsure of what to say. Her mother's face changes.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything is fine, Mrs. Davis,” I say.

There's an awkward silence, and it’s obvious from her mother's expression that she doesn't believe a word I said.

“I don't know, Mother. I think James is having second thoughts about playing along with your little prank.”

“Oh, you don't want to do it, dear?”

For such a sweet old lady, she seems so heartbroken over what I (in my opinion) thought was a really weird prank to begin with.

“No, no, no. It's not like that. I'll do it, no problem. Just umm, yeah, half an hour then?”

“Oh it's going to be a hoot!” she squeals in delight, turning around and gliding out of the room.

Joanna rolls her eyes and follows her out of the room, and I know I'm in shit now. Following her, I grab her wrists, breaking her stomping strides through the hall before she can meet with her family and friends to confer the next steps in their ridiculous plan as they await the birthday boy.

“You're not mad at me? Are you?”

“Let go of me,” she says, pulling her arm from my grip.

“Please, talk to me,” I say, grabbing her and stopping her in her tracks. She looks back at me, and I can see tears in her eyes.

“Come on, let's talk,” I say, guiding her into the bathroom before she can descend the stairs.

I close the door behind us, and she stands with her arms crossed, head down, with a pain in her eyes: a real hurt I hate to see.

“Baby, I was just joking around. Are you really that mad?”

“You don't take me seriously! You think I'm just some sex toy,” she says, loud enough in my face to make her point, but not loud enough that anyone outside the door could hear. “Here we are at my parents and you're playing games? Trying to shame me?”

She's in my face with her finger, pointing at me like it's the tip of a gun.

“Woo, woo, woo! It's nothing like that! I can't help that I like the kinky games we play. It's how we met.”

“But no one knows my secret side. My family sure as fuck doesn't. And you know that by making me uncomfortable, by doing what you did, you're exercising some goofy little power over me. It's all a game to you!”

“What, that you like S and M? What's wrong with that? You talk about that with your friends, don’t you?”

“But my parents, though...and my sisters there in the next room? You think you're smart when you play your stupid little games? I'm not gonna put up with your shit anymore. I really think it's time to end things. I hate the way you make me feel!”

“What? Over that? You want to end things over that?”

“Yes, over that.”

She turns around with her arms crossed, facing the toilet and the window. I look at us in the large vanity mirror: me towering over her, and her, the bushy mess of hair and crossed arms.

“There is nothing wrong with playing the way we do... enjoying the things you like...It's not like your family isn’t a little wacko themselves. Your parents want me to jump out of your brother's closet in a Scream mask, holding a hammer, to scare him on his birthday. You really think that's funny?”

She turns around and points her finger up at me again.

“No, I don't. I think it's stupid too. But you said you'd play along, and then you pulled that shit, and now everything is awkward because you constantly make things awkward. You make everything a joke. You think life is one big joke!”

“I'm sorry? What else do you want me to say?”

“There's nothing you can say, James, because it's the same old shit with you, time and time again.”

I roll my eyes, avoiding her gaze. She's blowing things way out of proportion.

“You act like I always do this. Remember the time I got drunk on New Year's and said that mean shit to you...I apologized to you immediately. You wouldn't talk to me for days, but I found a way to get in touch with you and apologize because I care. Now that we're in a relationship, you still bring that up! All the time!”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn't have taken you back after that anyway. I was right then, and I'm right now.”

“We weren't dating at the time! Holy fuck, I can't believe I'm stupid enough to have brought that one up again. I really walked into that one.”

“Yeah, you are stupid.”

“Fuck that. You're stupid.”

“No, you are.”

“No, you are. And you're small. I don't care how many Tai-Chi and kickboxing classes you take; you could never beat me in a fight.”

“I could too....Well probably not....”

“You wanna try?” I ask, slowly walking towards her with a smile.

“No.”

“Come on, honey,” I say, getting right up close in front of her. “Give it a try.”

I slowly grab her hands and turn them into fists; she watches me do it, without resisting. I put her hands up in front of her, as if she were a boxer.

“So, you ready to fight now? You gonna give me a good ass-kicking? You know, I probably do deserve it.”

She smiles and shakes her head.

“Shut up.”

“Come on, give me a little whack.”

I take her wrist and guide her fist to the side of my face, touching it slowly.

“You're so stupid sometimes,” she says, smiling bigger with the faintest sound of a laugh.

“Oh? Did I get you?

I turn her hands over, open them, and start rubbing the inside of her palms, gently.

“Did I see a smile there?”

She turns away from me, but I can see it: she's smiling. I bring her hands to my face, kiss her palms, and hold them there.

“Maybe punching isn't your thing? Not everyone is a boxer. You're probably the type that likes giving a good old-fashioned bitch-slap, am I right?” I ask, taking her hands and slapping them across my face. She starts laughing.

“You're so stupid sometimes; I don't know why I even find that funny.”

“Probably because you're immature.”

“You're immature,” she says, still laughing,” This is what I have to deal with. A six-foot-three toddler.”

“Hey, that's six-three-and-a-half. You know, as a big toddler, I have to count the halves.”

She continues laughing, and I guide her arms around my neck and stoop down into her for an embrace.

“I'm sorry, hun,” I say. She doesn't respond, but I give her a kiss on the cheek anyway. She doesn't pull back. I give her another. Then another. Then one on her mouth. I pick her up, hands on her ass, hold her up, and we start making out.

“I want you now, you big jerk,” she whispers in my ear.

“You got it baby.”

A minute ago, she was worried about her parents catching us talking about sex; now we are fully doing it in their bathroom with limited time to spare. I walk with her into the shower to muffle the noise and close the shower door, then smush her up against the wall. Kissing the supple soft sweetness of her neck, I hear her moan. She loves that. Pants down around my ankles, her yoga pants and panties pulled down, we become one passionately. Her moaning gets louder and louder, and my voice is increasingly getting louder with my dirty talk, whispering in her ear all the nasty things I'm going to do to her for the rest of our lives, when suddenly, our fun is broken up by a loud knock at the door. She gasps, and I hold her in mid-air, suspended above the ground, and the weight of being caught in such a vile act with a boyfriend her parents have only recently started taking any semblance of a liking to. Another knock echoes through the bathroom, and we remain silent.

“Are you kids alright in there?” her mother's voice asks from the other side of the door.

I put her down, and she quickly pulls up her pants and walks out of the shower.

“Umm yeah, we were just... we had to talk in private, Mother. We'll be out in a minute.”

She checks her hair in the mirror and composes herself, takes a deep breath, looks back at me (still standing in the shower with my pants down), and walks out of the bathroom.

I pull up my pants and think about our relationship. We go from fighting to loving, back to fighting again within minutes. I think about the future and all the fun we’re going to have together: all the teasing and fighting. She’s going to keep me on my toes for the rest of my life. I don’t care what anyone says: I’m going to marry that girl one day. She’s my little sex lion, with all the anger and confidence to rule any jungle. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.