Superficial

A short story

Photo by Michael Tucker

Julia rolled off Alvin and a resonant thwack echoed off the bedroom walls as their sweat-coated skin separated.

They stretched out naked on their backs.

She reached for Alvin’s hand and entwined her fingers with his. “Give me a sec,” she said, her lungs scooping up much-needed oxygen. Sec.” She then squeezed Alvin’s hand, smiled broadly, and let her heart continue to beat to a rhythm of triumph and exultation.

After a minute she turned onto her side, pressed her body against Alvin, and wrapped her arm around him. “That was amazing, babe. You’re the best lover, better than ever before.” Her hand glided along his back.

“I’m glad. It’s okay that I’m, um, better?”

“Of course, and you can be the same better next time.”

“The glasses are okay?” He pressed the bridge of the spectacles against his nose so they fit tighter, though if they didn’t fly away during sex, they weren't going to slip off now.

“Sure. If you want to make love while wearing glasses, then I’m all for it.” Julia raised her voice slightly and called out, “Siri, play ambient music.”

A chorus of string instruments accompanied by a mellow saxophone filled their bedroom.

“And if you want to tell me why you’re suddenly wearing glasses while we make love, I’m all ears.” She nestled closer against her husband. “Maybe not just ears.” She grinned.

“You’re always amazing to me. I mean, every time you give me mind-blowing orgasms, the way you touch me and move and moan and scream, I just wanted to do the same for you.” He brushed her thigh with his fingertips.

They simultaneously shivered.

“That’s sweet. And sexy. But I still don’t understand what the glasses have to do with it.”

“I—” Alvin faltered, scrambling for words.

I can lie and say that I thought something new would be fun, and wearing glasses during sex is new. Maybe I should try to change the subject? Transitioning into another topic would be easy, especially because she’s happy and fulfilled. But next time? And the time after? Eventually, I’ll have to fess up, so better to come clean now than be accused of hiding the truth later. Better. I’m sure she’ll be okay. The sex was great. That’s what matters.

Alvin inhaled sharply, held his breath for twenty seconds, gulped, and then blurted, “These are Marilyn Monroe glasses.”

Julia reached over, pulled Alvin’s glasses off, and examined them in the bedroom’s subdued lighting. Black plastic temples and blue-colored metal rims, a very modern vibe. Julia didn’t think this kind of eyeglass was made in the 1950s when Marilyn Monroe burst into stardom, but asked anyway, “You bought Monroe’s glasses at a second-hand shop?” She frowned.

“No, these weren’t hers,” Alvin replied.

“Then what do you mean?”

Alvin held his breath again for several heartbeats. “These glasses make the person I’m looking at look like Marilyn Monroe.”

Julia clicked her tongue. “Explain.”

“When I wear them, you look like Marilyn Monroe and that makes me—makes me—um, more excited. I mean I know it’s you; I’m kissing you, touching you, feeling me inside you, but you just look like her and that stimulates me even more and—”

“Stop.” She raised her hand like a traffic cop.

“Oh shit. You hate me.”

Julia retreated to the far side of the bed, grabbed a fistful of bedsheets, and squeezed. “No, I don’t hate you. I know every man has his little fantasies—”

“They sell different glasses. Not just Monroe, but Beyoncé, Gal Gadot, Isabel Durant, Sophia Loren, and—.”

“Just shut up, Alvin. You’re not helping your case by talking.” Julia’s voice was no longer soft and mellifluous; her bitter tone scraped against Alvin’s eardrums.

“Okay.” Alvin wasn’t sure if he should nudge closer to Julia, but quickly decided it was best to stay still and silent. Goosebumps covered his arms and legs. His feet felt numb.

“I’m going to have to think about this. I’m tired now. Thank you for the multiple orgasms, but I’m a little shocked. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Are you—?”

“I’m not going to divorce you, but I am going to expect some things. I’ll figure out what they are and let you know. Marilyn Monroe. I need to look like Marilyn Monroe for you to get hard. And why did you pick her and not some other starlet? You have a lot to explain.”

“You know I get hard without the—”

“What did I say?” She slapped her palm against the wooden headboard, which was like an exploding grenade. “How much were those glasses, anyway?”

“Five thousand.”

“Five thousand dollars? Sheesh. Expect a deeper conversation after the sun comes up and my mind is clearer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ll see how sorry you are. I’m going to try to sleep now.”

Julia propped herself up against the pillow, pinched her contacts, carefully placed them in the silver case on her night table and thought to herself, Five thousand is a lot less expensive than my Liam Hemsworth contacts.

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If you enjoyed this story, I think you’ll also like Opposites Attract.

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