 J. D. Roman's alternate personalities (of which there are many) will be published this year in Calyx journal and in the anthologies Ripe Fruit: Well-Seasoned Erotica and Shameless: An Intimate Erotica. J.D. has been a Hedgebrook resident, the Seattle Writers Association’s essay contest winner, and the Redmond Association of Spoken Word’s fiction contest winner. Read more of J. D. Roman's work in Mind Caviar fiction. E-mail J. D. Roman.
Slake For Bubba I watched her drink my beer. Parked outside, her bike pawed the ground. Her choker matched the Harley’s saddle. Wet leather and chrome studs. A monochrome T.V. weatherman flickered in and out of focus, droning on about the high-pressure region holding our city hostage. The bartender looked over. “It’ll only get hotter.” Tattooed flames flickered from beneath his shirtsleeve, licking at his damp and bulging bicep. She set the empty glass down in its perspiration pool. I signaled for another. She hooked her boot heel over the footrest. “Not another girly Hefeweizen.” I tried to pay for the fresh pint. The bartender gripped my wrist across the bar. “You’re new here.” “It’s not your money we want.” She drummed her long nails, slippery red, on the foaming glass. His calloused paw possessed me. “Bet you’ll earn a sip.” “Maybe.” She wiped my upper lip with her thumb, scratching my cheek. “You’re sweating.” Body heat trapped in animal hide mixed with desire’s loud smell. I eyed my beer. “I’m thirsty.” She grabbed my hair, pulling my face to her crotch. A denim swatch cut a musky river through her black leather chaps. Her zipper teeth grazed my lips. The jukebox throbbed. Lights flickered. A fan whirred. Footsteps sounded behind me. I waited for a taste as she drank her beer. Copyright
© 2001-2002 J. D. Roman. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
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