Further Adventures of a Hot Chick - Part 1

By Sonia Ramos Rossi

OK, OK, so Boyfriend sits on the couch watching his bloody football, slurping beer, and not paying sexy me much attention at all. I don’t mind. I’ll just go and open my own bottle of wine, thank you.

Actually, I’m quite understanding when it comes to football. It’s not that he doesn’t love me or anything; it’s just that he used to be a semi-professional footballer, so it’s very important to him. He could have been a professional y’know. Had trials for one of the big national teams. I can’t disclose who. He did give me a sexy look as I went to the kitchen, which made me feel quite good actually. I look especially desirable from behind.

Cold Bollinger from the fridge, now that’s the business. There’s a chilled champagne glass in the freezer compartment. The anticipation is making my mouth go dry already. The cork gives a satisfying pop as it flies out of the bottle. Another mark on the ceiling, but I don’t care. No, really, I don’t. The flat belongs to Boyfriend. Well, he’s renting it. He says that in the current market conditions it makes more sense not to buy. He should know because he’s a Corporate Executive Finance Lawyer. Did I tell you that before?

Renting makes it easier to change address, too. We move into a new flat every six months or so. Something to do with taxes. We put a different name on the contract every time. His company pays the rent so I don’t care. No, really, I don’t. Thank God I don’t have to do any decorating or cleaning or anything like that. Boyfriend makes sure there’s a new kitchen and a new bathroom, and gets the bedroom ceiling mirror hung.

One of those funny little Latin American girls comes in to do the cleaning three times a week, but I do have to shout at her a lot. Her English isn’t very good, so I speak very loudly and slowly. I’m sure she puts the air conditioning on during the day, even when I’ve told her not to quite a few times already. She pretends not to understand and just starts spouting Señora this and Señora that. How dare she. I’m a Señorita, for fuck’s sake.

I’m going to get one of those spy cameras installed so I can check up on her. One in the bedroom too; I’m convinced she’s bringing her Juanito back for a quick shag in our bed (extra king size, satin sheets, super springy mattress). I’m not having her waving her podgy little legs in the air in MY bed and looking at herself in MY mirror, wearing MY heels too, no doubt. Hope I catch her. I’ll give her Señora. Better talk to Boyfriend about it first, though.

When the glass is full, I place it carefully on the kitchen table and contemplate it. God, it’s almost indecent how I love those little bubbles, the way condensation runs down the side of the glass. The first sip is always glorious, the cold making its way slowly down into my flat tummy. I can feel it all the way down. Yup, I could do that all day.

I pour a second glass and carry the bottle through to the bathroom. He’s on the phone as I pass through the lounge, talking about some ‘business’, waving a cigarette around in his hand and jabbing it into the air as he makes his point. I try not to listen too hard or to seem too interested; I’m a career girl, after all. I have my own important job to worry about, thank you. I do catch the word ‘bastard’ as I swish past. Wonder who he’s talking about. Someone’s going to get in trouble if I know Boyfriend. I do wish he wouldn’t wear that string vest around the house.

Bottle of bubble-bath in the tub and the taps on full blast. The sexy Manolos, the Versace suit and the silky Stella McCartneys end up in a heap on the floor, and I slip under the bubbles. I deserve this so much after my hard day at work, and it just feels so, I don’t know, just so, sexy, y’know?

• << TEX Home
• 1
• Page 2
• 3
• 4
• Next >>