by Chase Eversole


It goes a little something like this: It was when you’d still managed to get out of bed and walk the two miles to work at Applebee’s on days when I had class and Cait said she was at work or over at a friend’s place or at church. She skipped church a lot when we all lived there. You didn’t notice how much. I’d tap on her bedroom door and push it forward to a smirk disappearing under her teeth. We would sit on her bed and talk about The X-Files and how she’s going to be the next Tina Fey until one day I decided I wanted to see how comfortable her mattress and her pillows and her blankets were and she said I could only stretch back if I could make the rest of her disappear, too. Her sheets were thick and warm and didn’t budge when she rocked her hips and pressed down on my belly as I slid my hands up and down her frame that was nothing like yours. Before the move-in I talked about how I didn’t like tall girls but I didn’t know then what I know now. I’d ask her to keep her Chucks on. When she climbed on top of me she cast a shadow on the wall that curved onto the ceiling. Afterwards I’d recite your horrible jokes and there was something about your words being spoken that made it all feel like a victory. She came home from her runs hot and shaky, pining for a shower, and since you hardly came into our bedroom when I was awake I cranked the TV and pulled the door shut and I would massage conditioner into her hair and whisper all manner of things until the water went from hot to cold to hot again and we lost the feeling in everything. We’d walk into the living room afterwards and you wouldn’t have moved. On the sultriest days of summer when you were asleep during the day I’d turn the AC off in her room and when she asked why I said I wanted to see her shine. She asked about what you’d think and her words made me harder and I looked up to her face and gripped her thighs tighter until my knuckles were white like wool and it was loud and bright and red with marks all over and when we both came I thought of you but I couldn’t remember your name.


Chase Eversole’s writing appears or is forthcoming in Thickjam, The Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle, The Brazen Review and other places. He can be found online at

Please follow and like us:
Load More Related Articles
  • A Poor Idea of Pillow Talk

    by Jaime Faulkner A Poor Idea of Pillow Talk I ask him what I should do with his body shou…
  • The Distance of Funeral

    by Matt Gillick The Distance of Funeral A silent film actor died a few days ago. The mourn…
  • Waiting for Death

    by Anna Kapunga Waiting for Death Smell the flesh in the vents Blue sky through the grid l…
Load More By lipstickparty mag
Load More In Art/Lit

Check Also

A Poor Idea of Pillow Talk

by Jaime Faulkner A Poor Idea of Pillow Talk I ask him what I should do with his body shou…