"Now it's time for a breakdown..."

Did anyone get the obscure early 90's song quote in the title?

**********

Friday, December 31.

I'm not really in the mood for celebrating tonight.

Steph and I haven't spoken since last night, and I am wondering what is going to happen to us. I don't think our fight was a "dealbreaker"; I think all serious couples have to have one big fight before they are really a true couple. If neither of you gives a shit, what do you have to fight about?

I am surprised she didn't call back after she stormed out. I figured she would cool off for an hour or so, then come back, or at least phone me. But it's been almost a full day. Maybe she is dumping me, but I'll be damned if I am going to call her to find out.

I guess I was kind of an asshole, making demands on her that I knew she could not live up to. Asking her not to talk to Meg about us? That was just silly. After all, as Paige (that hot little vixen) points out, I blog about Steph's naked body on a regular basis, so who am I to bitch? But then again, none of you know who I am....

Of course, none of this lets Steph off the hook. I think she totally overreacted. She just lost it! Although, she did offer to speak to Meg about not blabbing to Heidi.

I know girlfriends like to talk to each other. I think Steph is really happy with me, and she just wants to share that with someone. I guess I don't care if Meg knows about what's going on, and I might not even care if Heidi knows, but I sure don't like the idea of Heidi dishing to me about my own love life while I'm trying to work.

I think Steph and I can work this out. In the meantime, I'm not even sure I want to go to my neighbor Kevin's new year's eve party.

9:00.

I've been working for hours. Still no call from Steph. I don't want to ring in 2005 sitting at my computer, so I decide to walk over to Kevin's and check out the party.

The party is really hopping. Twenty or so people are milling about, laughing loudly, munching on chips and baby carrots, and of course, drinking.

"Stevo!" Kevin says, slapping my back. "You in, bud?" He gestures to the dining room table, at which a group of men are staring intently at two-card hands.

"Yeah, what the hell?" I say. I pour myself a Jack Daniels and Coke and ante up. Kevin slides over four piles of chips.

About eight hands later, I win a huge pot. I don't know exactly how much I have, but I am way ahead.

My phone rings. I grab it. It's Paulie.

He's drunk. "Steverinooooooooooooo!" he screams. I hold the phone 12 inches from my face and can still hear him.

"Lemme take this, guys," I say, and walk down the hall to the family room. I'm drunker than I thought; I almost fall getting out of my chair. My ears ring; my head spins. I put a hand against the wall to steady myself, then float into the family room, next to an eight-foot Christmas tree and a roaring fire.

Cherise is sitting there, on the couch.

Cherise is my neighbor Joe's neice from Tennessee. She's visiting for the holidays. I've met her a couple of times, and I don't know her too well, but I do remember that she has an ass to die for.

Paulie and I chat for a few minutes before the connection gives out. I snap my phone closed and wait for him to call back.

"Hi, Cherise!"

"Heyyy, Steve! Ah didn't know you were here!" she says, in a delectable southern drawl. She stands up and kisses my cheek.

She stands about 5'4", and has beautiful cafe-au-lait skin. Her body is just as hot as I remember: Big, perky breasts, a tiny waist, and a sweet-looking bubble in the rear.

I don't usually find myself attracted to black girls. It's not that I am prejudiced; I'm just not normally infatuated. Vanessa Williams, Halle Berry - I find them gorgeous, of course. And guys, if you don't want to stick it to this hottie all night long, it's time to check the testosterone levels.

I've slept with black girls before, two or three of them. But they weren't the door-knocker earring-wearing, street-slang talking soul sistahs you might be imagining. These were chicks who lived on cul-de-sacs and hung out with girls named Carrie and Dakota. They acted whiter than the white girls. One in particular always used to say, "Omigawd! Are you TOTALLY serious?!" Meanwhile, all the white girls were trying to act like Missy Elliot and Lil' Kim.

But I digress.

She's wearing a low-cut sweater with cream-colored stretch pants. I know I shouldn't stare at her cleavage, but I'm doing it anyway. I'm enough of a pervert when I'm sober; booze just lowers my inhibitions to the point where I don't give a shit if she sees me staring or not.

"So what are you plans for the new year," I say, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Just goin' back to Tennessee, ah guess. Ah think ah'm gonna go back to school."

"Oh, really? Great! For what?"

"Nursing, maybe. Ah haven't made up mah mind yet. So how bout'choo? You gonna do anything crazy?"

"What, you mean like get something pierced? Doubt it."

"DO it!" she says. "Get an earring. You would look HOT with a diamond stud. Just like this one," she says, flipping her earlobe.

"I already HAVE a pierced ear," I say, pinching my left lobe. "I just don't wear one now."

"Lemme see," she says, examing the left side of my face. "Oh YEAH! It looks like it's still open! Here, put this on!"

She pulls the diamond earring out of her left ear and hands it to me. I put it in easily.

"Whoooo!" she says. "You're just a party animal now, aren'tcha?"

"I guess. So do you have anything besides ears pierced?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm," she says, with a tight-lipped grin. She grabs her right breast; it's full and round, like a boccie ball (non-guineas, look it up on Google).

My dick twitches. I look down at her marvelous melons, and feel my face go stone serious. I can see her in my mind's eye, naked, on all fours, her tits hanging from her chest like ripe oranges.

My stomach bottoms out. My breath catches. "Can I see?" I ask, smiling.

"Uh-uh."

I never forget anything when I am drunk, but I do feel oddly detached. I'm watching myself, and listening to myself, like a sportscaster doing color commentary: "Yeah, looks like Stevo's gonna be going for the hard close tonight!"

This would be easy. She'll be gone in a month, and may never be back. We don't know any of the same people. I would use protection. Tomorrow, I'd go my way, and she'd go hers, and no one would be the wiser. It's a fucking freebie! Where is the problem? Where are the consequences?

I'm twelve-year-old Steve, again. I'm greedy, selfish Steve, who doesn't know anyone's needs but his own. I'm overeating Steve, who stuffs his face long after he's full, because it tastes good, and because he's not thinking any further than five minutes into the future. As drunk as I am, I know these things.

I know I shouldn't pursue Cherise. I know it's wrong. I know that things are going well with Stephanie, better than they ever have with anyone. I know that, if I am ever going to grow up, relationship-wise, I will have to avoid temptations JUST LIKE THIS ONE. I know that this is a test, and that I can pass the test, and that I must. And still, I see her alluring smile, I hear her melodic voice, and I feel her irresistible pull...

"Do you want to go for a walk?" I say.