The Compliment

She makes some humming noise, like she's savoring. You're so attractive, she tells me. I laugh. And people tell you to follow your instincts.

It's not that I found it funny. Or maybe I did a little. I'm at the place now where I can say, OK, sure, I'm not a half-bad-looking sort of guy. But who just goes ahead and says that in bed? Disrobed and exhausted and you couldn't be any more vulnerable.

Her look was judgmental, her skin glistening. I said thank you. I couldn't say it back. There was no real reason for me not to, other than I just simply couldn't.

She turned away from me. Would rather look at a blank wall. Can't say I blamed her. I thought about what I could say, something else, something more than thank you, something about her, what she does well, something, anything. After a few minutes she said, you know what, she's got to go home. I told her she could stay. She just got dressed.

I hugged her at the door and she didn't move. She hugged me back, I guess. But she was stiff, solid, like I'd frozen her up. There's just no pleasing some people.