On a Date: Beach House

A beach house in Malibu. She was housesitting for a wealthy family and not only slept in the master suite, but had taken to the homeowner's closet, wearing silken robes and party dresses. The kitchen was a mess, soiled dishes stacked in gray dish water, garbage overflowing from the compactor, and the constant mewling of underfed house cats...

I asked if I could use the restroom and, per her instruction, went down a window-lined hallway where, after evacuating my bladder with horrible inaccuracy (the toilet seat would tell the tale of a male visitor), I wandered into what appeared to be a young girl's room. The walls were a light pink, the furniture was white wood and wicker, magazine clippings and polaroid collages peppered every surface. I opened her underwear drawer and inspected the bright thongs, and lacy panties. I overturned the whole lot and found a pair of cotton underwear marked with overlapping brown stains from menses past... I looked through the base of her closet and found a pack of cigarettes in an abandoned tennis shoe. I put them in my pocket to throw them away- she shouldn't be smoking. I found her diary in a desk drawer and looked through it; the entries were sporadic, maybe five in total, the last of which piqued my interest. It was only one line without a date. It read:

"Faina gave a blow job to Alex Balian after New Moon."

I closed the diary and put it away. I laid myself down on the girl's bed and imagined Faina and Alex together, perhaps hidden amongst the landscaping of the local Edwards Cinema, Alex's memory of the latest installment of the Twilight saga fading into flashing lights as Faina, caked in make-up, tugged mercilessly at his skittish dick... perhaps afterward, Alex would buy her a diet coke at the concession stand to get the taste out of her mouth...

"What are you doing?" The house sitter asked. She had a plate of fish sticks. I had an erection beneath my jeans.

"Waiting for you."