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I put the panties on the bureau absentmindedly. ‘You told me you had a review. That go okay?’ he asks. I take a sip and nod yes. I don’t want to chit-chat. I’m dying to say, ‘Will you please fuck me, Ben Sheppard? Fuck me anyway you want. I trust you to do it right.’ Instead we sit on the couch and I say, ‘Yes, there’s some areas for improvement, she says, but overall I’m near the top for my department.’ ‘Congratulations,’ and he puts out his wine glass and we toast my ‘exceeds expectations’ quarterly performance review. I’m lost in the stubble on his chin. Each silver hair seems to be standing at attention and reflecting back whatever color in my living room it catches. I’m not helping the conversation. After another silence, he says, ‘My week wasn’t so great. I had to recommend to the company that they let a guy go. They did. He just wasn’t going to learn my machine.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Yeah. Makes you feel like crap but better that he learns his limitations now instead of after.

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