Page 133 of So This Is War
“I did not draw you.” Although I did do a rough sketch the other day, and the guy turned out to look like Levi, but that’s not anything he needs to know.
“Shame, I think I’d be a pretty good drawing subject.”
I cross my arms at my chest. “Oh yeah, what makes you think that?” I ask.
“Well, for one”—he holds up one finger—“I’m built like a god. I’m handsome and firm, tight in all the right places, which is great experience in drawing for you.”
“Very fond of ourselves, aren’t we?” I ask.
He winks. “Very. Second, I know how to sit still. I’m pretty good at it. I’ve been sitting still almost this entire flight until I came back here to see what you were doing.”
“Wow, that is very impressive.”
“Tell me about it. And last, I’m easy to please. Set me up with a pose that shows off my junk in a beautiful way, hand me a bologna sandwich, and I’m good to go for at least an hour.”
Trying not to show just how idiotically charming he is, I say, “And what exactly would that pose be?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I shake my head, the movement causing my hair to fall in my face. I reach up to push it behind my ear, but Levi beats me to it.
He lightly moves my hair across my cheeks, his fingers skimming the sensitive flesh, and then behind my ear. Stunned, I look up at him as a wave of goosebumps erupts on my body.
Leaning in slightly, he says, “We’d acquire a stool. I’d strip down to nothing, and then I’d prop one leg up on the stool as if it was a rock and I was claiming what’s mine. My balls and dick would proudly be on display. If I were erect or not would be up to you. Either way, my package would be handsome to draw.”
I clear my throat. “Wow, that’s quite the image. What, uh, what would I do with this drawing?”
“Give it to me of course so I can hang it above my fireplace. Is there really any other way to honor the masterpiece?”
“How do you know it would be a masterpiece?” I ask. “What if I make your dick too small and your balls too large?”
“Nothing is too large.”
“Two soccer balls dangling between your legs isn’t too large?” I ask.
“Never.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “What a load of crap.”
“Art is interpretation, Wylie. If you choose to draw two soccer balls or two dingleberries, that’s up to you. It’s up to me to decipher that choice and analyze it.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on drawing you, so we don’t have to leave you to decipher anything.”
He sighs. “Shame, I was looking forward to soccer ball testicles.”
I shrug. “I guess you can’t have it all.”
He smiles at me. “I guess not.”
“Mr. Posey?” We both turn to see Jessica standing in the aisleway. “Is there anything I can offer you? We land in about thirty minutes, and I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Does he look uncomfortable, Jessica?
Does he look like he needs you to offer anything?
Does he seem to be pained in any way?
The answer is no, no . . . and no. So begone.
