It was the eve of my marriage. My friends, men from my college days, hired a stripper. They showed me her picture in the back of the Village Voice. I got a little excited. Her photo was glossy, smooth…she looked like an angel. A naughty angel. My friend, Malcolm, brought some weed to my apartment. We all took turns hitting the bong and sipping Bourbon. Then the doorbell rang. I staggered and opened it.
“Hi, I’m Eva.” She looked a little rough. Some lines, wrinkles, marred her face. Her eyes were a dull blue. She had on a trench coat cinched tight at the waist. She was a thin girl. She did not have the voluptuous curves I imagined. She walked in on high heels.
“You need to take those off,” I said. “My neighbor downstairs is eighty years old.” I don’t know why I cared about Mrs. Washington at all. After I got married I was moving to my wife’s co-op in Soho. Eva shrugged and slid off her shoes. My friends stared at her in confusion and delight. When a single woman walks into a room full of men certain magic takes hold. Penises get hard involuntarily. Eva stripped off her coat. She was nude. One breast was larger than another and a little lopsided. Her torso was long and flat. She had no pubic hair.
“Who’s the married boy?” she asked.
I raised my hand. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you bad,” she said with a pout. It was a statement and not a question. I thought of Mary. My wife to be. She would cancel the wedding if she knew Eva was here. “What you want me to do?” Eva had a slight Russian accent. I wondered briefly if she was being trafficked. I was a good guy. I donated to Amnesty International and Doctors Without Borders. I knew about current events. I had empathy. But the raw nude woman before me only made me yearn.
“Hey,” said my friend Cory. “Pee on the bed.” All my friends laughed and then I did. Eva shrugged and stood on my bed, squatted and urinated. A steady, purifying stream of kink. I laughed and then remembered I had to sleep in that bed.
“You pay now,” said Eva.
“What?” asked Cory. “All you did was pee.”
“Pee sex act. You want more you pay.”
None of my friends wanted to pay and I was tapped out with the wedding so Eva put on her coat and high heels. Cory handed her a $100 and she left. Keith, who was vaping, started laughing and then we all were laughing. Cory laughed harder.
“I got it on video. The peeing. Dude, you have your own pee-pee tape. Like Trump.”
Cory played back the video. Luckily I wasn’t in the shot.
“I’ll send it to you,” he said. “It will delight and keep you warm when your wife clams up and doesn’t want you to touch her anymore.”
I laughed and was oddly delighted that I had a video of Eva peeing. It would indeed warm me on cold nights.
THE END