“Babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think before dinner you could–what the fuck are you watching?”
“I’m watching a movie.”
“A movie?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of movie, exactly?”
“It’s a film, actually. An adult film. Cause I’m an adult.”
“Really? Really? Are you serious? Come on, turn this shit off, it’s dehumanizing objectification.”
“What? I’m engrossed in this story. A young, admittedly attractive nurse is concerned about her male patient, so she wants to take care of him.”
“Oh my–”
“And she said she’d do anything to make him feel good. Sounds like a noble goal for her. Really going above and beyond. Dedicated nurse, that one.”
“Luke. What is this? What’s going on? Are you okay? Seriously. Can you please turn it off? Are you having a breakdown?”
“Listen, listen. I’m a cinephile, okay? I watch films, adult or otherwise. Not everyone is a cinephile, and that’s okay. Some people are bibliophiles. Right, Claire?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Wait, is this about the books I read? The romance books?”
“As it happens, I bought my own copy of one of your books, out of curiosity, and read it myself. For me, I think it’s perfectly reasonable and healthy in a relationship when sometimes you go off and read about the handsome elf prince growling and throbbing and thrusting, and sometimes I’ll go off and watch the nurse moaning and whatever else she does.”
“Holy shit, Luke, you’re so pathetic. Now turn it off before she starts–fuck you, I’m outta here. Fuck you, Luke, we’re done.”
She stormed off and slammed the door behind her. Luke watched the rest of the film. He thoroughly enjoyed it before feeling a sudden flood of shame.
Lefty Forrester 