Dave met Lisa in the back room of a bar. She wore a black skirt and a red tube top, and she looked back when his eyes trolled around the room. Lisa sucked on a cigarette like she didn't really smoke unless she drank - hard, showy pull, quick exhale - but she had learned to bulge out her lips when her cigarette was lit for her, and when Lisa had girlfriends light her cigarettes at the bar, Dave, a full-time-yet-low-volume smoker, found it sexual. Her face was broad, her blonde hair formed around it like a mushroom cap. Long black boots wrapped her calves.

"I'm an advertising major," she said as they ordered beers.

"Business," Dave said. It was really exercise science, but Dave was a little too overweight for the truth not to draw a disbelieving look, then a giggle.

Later, as they sat on one side of a booth, Dave ran his hand across Lisa's backside. He spanked it. She swung around and took his hand, guiding it to her crotch and pressing downward into the open space between her legs. Dave's hand never reached any sort of flesh but Lisa made it seem like the movement gave her deep pleasure. They exchanged wet kisses and firm gropes, and Lisa sat on Dave's lap in the back seat while when of Dave's roommates, Charlie, drove them home. Lisa, facing front, bobbed up and down against Dave's crotch, locking her legs on the outside of his with the heels of her boots. She moaned and sighed; Dave, drunk, smiled and nodded, while Charlie's friend Ben, also in the back seat, smoked a cigarette and watched, tugging at his baseball cap. "Shit," Ben said. "Shit."

"We're gonna fuck hard," Lisa said to Dave, not in a whisper. Charlie catcalled. Ben grinned and blushed. Derek, in the passenger's seat up front, slept with his head nearly outside the window, cold air blasting the inside of the car, making Lisa's nipples hard and erect.

"You said we'd fuck," Dave said. But Lisa had eaten part of a soft taco in Dave's kitchen just before the trip downstairs. He pushed for sex, though, pulling a condom out of his the mini-fridge beside his bed as proof that he believed in protection.

"You have condoms in your fridge?" Lisa said.

"Keeps them better," Dave said. "You feel more this way."

"Who told you that?" Lisa said.

Dave said lots of guys did it, but he mentioned specifically Charlie.

"Gimme a ride home," Lisa said.

Dave said he was too drunk to drive. He didn't have enough gas in his car to take her anywhere, anyway. "You owe me at least something here," he said.

Lisa snorted and crossed her arms. But she looked back at Dave, waiting. And she did relent, after several more minutes of Dave's pleading, agreeing to use her hand on him, which after all the talk wasn't nearly enough to do anything. Internally Dave tried to thrust through some sort of climax but he couldn't, and he flopped down on his bed.

"That was fun," Lisa said, massaging her hand.

"You're a tease," Dave said. He lit a cigarette stained with beer, hacked on it, and threw it in a plastic cup. "Just leave."

Lisa started to curse and yell; she had nowhere to go.

"Your slimy fat ass is too fucking gross for me to fuck," she said.

She continued with more insults. Dave returned the favor, mentioning her streetwalker boots. Charlie banged his foot on the floor from upstairs. Eventually, Dave and Lisa were both ready to pass out they were so tired, so Dave tossed a pillow and a dusty quilt from under his bed at Lisa.

"Hit the couch," he said. He pointed to small loveseat outside his bedroom door.

Lisa cried, and, just then, Dave realized she had a fish face, with walleyes and wet lips that hung out like rolls of tobacco drying in the sun. She looked, Dave thought, a lot like he did.

Dave awoke to the afternoon sun; he craved breakfast toaster pastries.

He noticed Lisa wasn't on the basement couch, but she was in the living room recliner just beyond the kitchen upstairs, watching a movie, eating chips and drinking Dave's last bottle of lemon sweet tea.

"Get outta here fat hog!" Dave yelled. The barbecue chips were Charlie's but Dave said he wanted his tea back. Lisa spit the tea that was in her mouth back into the bottle, screwed the cap on and hurled the bottle at Dave. She threw it much harder than Dave had expected; it bounced against his chest and thunked on the floor, unbroken.

"Hit the couch motherfucker," Lisa said.