Page 39 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

"Are therapists supposed to be flat-chested?"

I shouldn't dignify him with a response, but I have to take my leggings off next, adding to my apprehension.

"With a rack like that, you shouldn't have to work a day in your life."

"Some women enjoy working and don't want to use their breasts as an excuse to have no control over their lives."

He chuckles. "Funny."

"What's funny about it?"

"You sound like some sort of feminist."

Hoping it will turn him off, I respond quickly, "So what if I am some sort of feminist?"

Men call any woman who carves a path outside of their bullshit a "feminist". After years of failed dating experiences, I'm well accustomed to men lobbing the word at me like it's a slur to give a crap about what happens to yourself and others who share your gender.

"It doesn't matter if you are," Ethan responds calmly. "It won't change how good my dick will feel inside you."

When I glare at him and see him smiling like a maniac, I realize that I fell for the whole point of his teasing. I turn away from him and slide my leggings off. Giving him a full view of my ass might not be the best coping mechanism, but if I have to look at the country boy's face, I might just spit on him.

He's bringing out Amanda from Chicago instead of Dr. Yancey, although I won't pretend like we weren't some of the fancier black folks in my neighborhood. I still had to throw hands a couple times. Having a little money never stopped people from making fun of my skin color (too dark), my hair (too nappy), or my interests (too academic and nerdy).

I experience instant regret once my leggings hit the floor.

"Hot fucking damn," Ethan says, groaning as his head touches the tiled walls with a thud.

"Close your eyes and think of baseball," I respond sarcastically as I brace myself for his reaction to shedding my underwear next.

"No," he says. "This is like Christmas coming early. Perfect tits and a nice big ass."

"You know I can hear you, right?"

"Yes," Ethan says, punctuating his response with a boyish and irritating chuckle. "It'll help you to know what type of effect your ass has on me."

I can't take it anymore, I turn to throw my balled up leggings at him, but he catches them deftly and presses the crotch straight up to his nose, taking a big, purposeful whiff of the fabric that spent so many hours lodged between my sweaty crevices.

Men are disgusting.

"It smells like pussy," Ethan says, taking a second big whiff, like he's proving a point. I don't dignify that comment with a response either, but when I turn the shower water on, he can't accept the fact that I'm ignoring him.

"Take those panties off next," Ethan says. "I need something to sniff on while you get clean."

He wants to make me glare at him. I turn to face him, glaring the way he wants, but punishing him by crossing my arms over my chest so he can't use the opportunity to leer at my boobs.

"Advice as a therapist," I snap at him, sounding very much like a pissed off woman instead of a calm, collected therapist. "Talking to women like this is a great way to end up single and dying alone."

"I'm thirty-seven and haven't had a girlfriend since my twenties. That ship sailed, sweet cheeks."

Ew. Why does he have to call me sweet cheeks? Ethan presses my leggings to his nose again. I roll my eyes and turn around, unhooking my bra instead of the panties he just begged me to sniff.

He can still look at my ass like this, but what little power I can take back denying him a full view of everything means the world to me. I have one more article of clothing to go before I unpin my hair and step beneath the water. My curls desperately need a finger-detangle and some moisture so they stop laying flat and making crazy poofy shapes on the side of my head.

My fingers hesitate as they hook around the waistband of my underwear. I won't make the mistake of tossing these at Ethan. If he wants to sniff my panties, he'll have to get them himself.

I allow my underwear to drop to the floor and Ethan doesn't react - at first. I fidget with the shower door and the second I gain a false sense of security and convince myself he was only joking about the panties, he makes his demands.

"Hand those panties right over, sweet cheeks."

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