EWB: Enemies With Benefits

by N.R. Walker

“What—and I mean this with as much sincerity as possible—the actual fuck? You want me to hate-fuck you?” Hate-fuck. That made me smile. “Yes.”

Marshall gawped at me. It was almost comical. “Then you need a new therapist.” I had one of those too. I’d had several therapists, psychologists, and even one psychiatrist. I knew what my issues were, I knew from where they stemmed, and I knew all too well how to soothe them. “No, I need someone who can’t stand me to hold me down and fuck me.”

“Oh, wow,” I said. “Is that a new eyeshadow colour? I hear mangled plum is all the rage this season.”

Taka strode in, doing some sidestep dance to “Lover Boy” by Billy Ocean while Millsy laughed his arse off. “You’re not funny,” I said. Millsy replied by singing “Let’s Hear It for the Boy”

“That’s not . . . that’s not what it is.” His eyes met mine. “So it’s like a work bromance,” he said, nodding. “But the b is silent.”

“To include what? Dinner? Yeah, because like I said, if I’m going to fuck you like you want me to, I need to know you’re up for it. That this isn’t some downward spiral of self-destruction and you don’t care what happens to your body. I happen to like using your body as a fuck-toy, and I need it in good working order. Christ.” He let his head fall back with a frustrated sigh. And I found myself smiling. “A fuck-toy? In good working order.”

it seemed anything was allowed. Our ‘lines not to be crossed’ were more like zigzags drawn by a squirrel on speed.

The fries were stacked at the side, covered in chicken salt.

??? WTF is chicken salt?

“No,” I blurted out. God, the look of hurt on his face struck deep in my heart. “I mean, marriage, in general, is not great. A legally binding contract tied to a religion I don’t believe in doesn’t make any sense.”