Picasso's Promise

Episode 33| 'lil show

song above: Captain Hook by Megan thee Stallion

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After Thanksgiving break, I was convinced that there was a problem with Picasso. There wasn't a need to sound the alarms; his problem was not something I saw as a flaw. I had spent the whole break at his place, and with the amount of time we shared, it came to my attention how consistent the problem was.

What was the problem, you may ask? It was the constant reappearance of what he referred to as his 'third leg.' I take back what I said before, considering this not an issue. There was a flaw in hearing my boyfriend refer to his boner as an addition leg, sprouting from between his thighs. The joke, hilarious to him and his friends, was claimed his junk was large enough to be considered a limb. Which, I must say, should show how bloated his ego was.

I might just need a needle to deflate all that air in his head.

The frustrating thing for me, honestly, wasn't the weird pet name, but rather that he'd announce to me if I'd done something or worn something to cause him to get hard. At first, the remarks made my face feel hot, praying no one heard his statement, and shielding a grin. But it became a growing—no pun intended—problem between us that only led me to annoyance.

"You don't make any sense, Sydney," Noora said, touching my forehead as if I needed my temperature checked. "Let me get this straight. You're mad that your boyfriend is attracted to you? I literally hear girls complain about how they wish their guy was more direct and driven about those things. Is everything alright in your head? It would be labeled a problem if he didn't, uh, you know, get hard at all."

I swatted her hands away from me. "I'm not saying that. I don't have an issue with him being attracted to me. It's that, quite frankly, it's bothering me when he declares in the middle of a fucking shopping mall that he's got a stiff one in his pants because I decided to wear a tank-top."

She furrowed her thick brows, scrunching her lips upright. "Oh...kay...that's hella extra for no reason. You got me there."

"He's kind of an idiot when all that blood starts rushing out of his head, but it's part of his charm...well, I keep telling myself that it is at least," I puffed, throwing my hands down to my lap.

Today was the last weekend before going back to school. Earlier during break, Noora told me about a party being held by some students from Maddison Prep. Since the party Noora wanted me to attend was on Sunday, I figured it was best to visit her on Saturday to make known my plans. As much as I missed Noora and my old crew, I wasn't going to some random party for a student I wasn't friends with just to skip Danielle's birthday.

I had promised Danielle weeks prior, meaning that my word was stuck to the person I agreed to first. That was my own rule, mainly because I hated it when people flaked on me. It was also why I still had a nagging negative feeling still hanging over my head about Picasso not showing up for our first date.

"Enough about me and my untrained boyfriend, how are things for you at Maddison Prep?" I asked, slipping slowly on my ice water. "You've been awfully silent about the boy from math camp."

"Ugh, do not remind me about that. You don't have to check up on me when it comes to boys, because as the universe has proven—time and time again—that I can't get passed the texting stage of a relationship. We exchanged numbers, talk, video chat even, and then he'll disappear after flirting and promising to take me out on dates. It's the same bullshit."

"Don't give up, Noora. You haven't found the right guy yet."

"No, I think it is time to throw in the towel. Life has a way of playing tricks on people when it comes to love, and I seem to be the main attraction at the Bad Luck Sad Fuck convention." She threw her glass back, chugging down her drink.