Vanity. Ares

men in such a way, being that Beckett was the
complete opposite: a tall, scrawny, bum looking
white guy in his twenties — his moustache and old
tweed jacket that he seemed to always wear gave
me such a bad impression.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AA
Of course, it would not have taken Freud to
deduce that she had a slight penchant for the
“Exotic” black man and all that “thrust” as she put
it herself. “Their thighs look like they can really
thrust,” she said, seeming to just speak without
much thought. As she spoke about 'them', I
wondered if I was attracted to her, but I
concluded that although she had a rather nice
body that I thought was voluptuous — thick
thighs, which made it apparent that she probably
did not miss a meal — I was not so attracted to
her, as I found her skin perhaps too milky white
and her face childish, too round and full of
youthful innocence. When I added that Black
people had good genes, she did say, with a
childish grin: “Yeah a lot of them wear Levi’s.” I
found this quite stupid, but again polite rather
than totally stupid at that time, I gave her the
benefit of the doubt. Eventually we parted ways,
me into my bedroom and her bobbing up the
stairs perhaps to Beckett, maybe awaiting her with
more pranks in mind, I assumed, as he seemed
very jaunty and bubbly; always ready to be
distracted, perhaps with a trip to the shop or some
weed. It seemed he had some sort of job in the
local Tesco Supermarket, but mostly he hung
around the house a lot; they lived right above me
so I would hear noise much of the time when I
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