Vanity. Ares

here, right now. She can rape me up as much as
she needs to,” I said, trying to be amiable. I
thought it was a funny joke. I remember Anais
chuckling at the words, but Carly seeming
unimpressed, butchly slouching her shoulders and
walking to another side of the living room with a
grimace, as if I had interrupted her interview with
Oprah. She was upset with me, but I thought we
had patched things up, when myself and Carly
later that night spoke and I apologised, although I
probably did not mean it, however I told her that it
must have been a misunderstanding. “A
misunderstanding?” said Carly. “Well, is rape not a
man thing?” I said, just off the cuff. She replied
that I was out of order and that feminist’s fought
for years to remove such prejudices. “Such
prejudices,” I remember Carly saying. I found this
shocking, that a woman wanted equal opportunity
even in regards to rape! Rape! I would have
thought they would want to devalue the female
rape, if it exists, but she seemed to differ.
Though at the time I thought we were offay,
as I remember then telling her that she was right
and then a little later laughing at the same time
when Beckett came to tell us another story of
Anais’ dippyness — of which the polite impression
I first got was slightly waning by that time, though
not totally; she still had the detritus of the benefit
of the doubt. So on the Monday after the previous
bad night of Maria’s rejection and the lonesome
sleep, according to Beckett the water was not
under the bridge, but flooding, in regards to
Carly’s feelings for me. I shrugged and said to
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