Do What You Do When You Did What You Did To Me

Jermaine didn't like his name. It made him think of Jermaine Jackson and he was no Jermaine Jackson. It was also ironic because his last name happened to be Jackson. But who he really despised was Randy Jackson. He of the skin-tight, striped pants that resembled an esemble worn by a man who was attracted to other men.

But I, your humble narrator, digress.

Jermaine was in love. He came to this realization when, while tying his new polka dot ascot and carrying on a casual conversation with himself in the third person, he mentioned quite unexpectedly "I believe Jermaine Jackson is in love."

This new nugget of information both frightened and thrilled him at the same time as he was not dating and had zero prospects. He tweaked his hardened nipples with ardent fervor as his mind wandered toward the future. Apparently there was hope. He left his duplex basement apartment that morning on a mission. For he was a man in love with someone somewhere somehow and he was about to find her some way.

"You!" he bellowed at the first woman he saw on the street. He stuck his index finger in her face an inch from her nose. "Come, let's have some pretty babies together. I took the day off."

"I met you before" she mentioned calmly. "Yes, your name is on the tip of my pleasure giving tongue. Don't you have some has-been, Las Vegasy name? Conway Twitty? Wayne Newton? One of those guys who does the thing with the white tiger? We took a knitting course together and I remember a bunch of us getting together afterward for the sole purpose of laughing at your name and outfit."

"I am Jermaine Jackson. Let's dispense with the gettin' to know you chit-chat and get to the business at hand. Come. My duplex basement apartment is within walking distance."

"What would your husband say?"
"Husband?" Jermaine blushed. The sneer on her face told Jermaine he was being insulted but he was too smitten with the thought of having an actual mate to be bothered with such semantics. "No, my lady, I am single. Single and free to make love the whole afternoon away like a drunken, wretched Kaola Bear of the Australian outback. Full of eucalyptus leaves smelling like hot Halls Menthol Cough Drops melted all over your naked, humping kaboshka!"

"I have to be honest with you. While your offer sounds very romantic and I'm basically taken aback by your...poetry, I really don't see myself being with a man whose clothes I'd want to borrow when everything was done."

"What's a blouse here or a pair of thongs there when we have what the world would die for? Love! Unabashed, hard core, hip thrusting, musty, post coital, you sleep on the wet spot, sticky, gooey love?"

That was unexpected. She was at once taken aback and at the same time repulsed about having to sleep on the wet spot. However, she sensed he was sincere and it looked like they wore the same size shoe.

"I will take you up on your offer Sigmund - "
"It's Jermaine."
"...and spend the next 10 minutes with you in unabashed bliss in your duplex basement flat. My name is Reebie but you can call me LaToya if you're nasty!"

"Tito it is then", Jermaine said proudly, hooking his arm into hers and leading the way. "And you have no idea how nasty I really am..."

"Oh, Jermaine!" she blushed as he led the way.

They made passionate love all afternoon and resumed in the evening. Reebie left with a newfound respect for spontaneity along with 2 handbags, a Pillbox hat and an unworn Irish kilt.

Jermaine looked up and watched as her satiated ankles passed by his window. He was definitely in love. Or was he just hungry? He was confused.

"Let's order some takeout Jermaine and set the record straight once and for all."

He ordered Chinese and while feasting knew it was definitely love. An hour later he was confused again.

"One things for sure, when what's her face comes back tomorrow I'll know for sure where this is all headed. And I'll have some lotion ready for those ankles. Damn!"