Deleting Henry

by Iris N. Schwartz 

It was the least sexy sentence she’d ever heard: “Hold yourself open for me.”

Was he a low-tech gynecologist? (Imagined advertisement: Cut-Rate Gyno: No speculums. No need! Just hold yourself open.)

Mindi snickered. Henry was her fiancé, and just this week he’d taken to uttering that horrible combination of words. He requested top ninety percent of the time, and looked past her face the entire three minutes he was inside her─as if expecting foxier babes to cruise through the bedroom.

As if a prettier woman would put up with his jackrabbit fucks. Messy lip-locks. Perfunctory foreplay.

Why did Mindi? She’d met Henry, a cable TV repairman, at a “Curvelicious” singles dance. Droves of horny men, more often than not fat-fetishistic, scouting out “large and lovely ladies.”

For weeks after they met, nothing but compliments, Broadway plays and musicals, dinners at three-to-four-dollar-sign restaurants. Took a little time for Mindi to realize they’d wound down to lunch or a snack at nondescript diners, then yawn-worthy sex at his place. Followed by Henry handing her two twenties for a cab home.

Mindi wanted a man to pay attention to her. Listen to her problems. Take her places. Make love to her with ingenuity and stamina. Not care if she put on weight. Hmmm. One out of five.

“Hey, Minds! Ya comin’ out?”

Mindi pictured herself about to exit his apartment, stopping to say, “Henry, hold your door open for me.”

“Minds!” Henry couldn’t sleep until he “got relief.”

How was he her fiancé? Had they set a date? Had he given her a ring? Hell, he hadn’t given her an orgasm in two weeks! She remembered the day, two Saturdays ago. He’d made no mention of her purple negligee, or her black-and-lavender feather boa─new, expensive purchases. He hadn’t even bothered to take them off, just pushed material out of the way to poke at her breasts and vagina.

“I’ll be right there.”

Mindi took her toothbrush from Henry’s medicine cabinet. She brushed her teeth, then inspected the dental tool. It was a foldable, flimsy item Henry had bought for her. She tossed the toothbrush into his garbage bin.

Mindi grabbed her clothes from the back of the bathroom door, got dressed, and walked out of the bathroom.

The TV was on in his bedroom. Her fiancé’s shriveled penis spilled out of his shorts. Dried semen appeared on his stomach. Hog-like snorts erupted from his distended mouth.

She snapped a photo with her I-phone.

“Minds?” Henry rubbed his eyes and stared up at her in the unwelcome light.

Mindi left the apartment without his cab money. Held the door open for herself. Pressed the button for the elevator. She’d probably trash the photo.

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