Pimple Crusher

Usually by the middle of each work week I discover a large pimple or two growing out of the center of my back. I'll suddenly feel itchy and strain one of my arms trying to scratch at whatever is bugging me. Occasionally as I'm scratching away at something I cannot see back there, my fingers will suddenly feel wet. Under my nails there will be a pulpy mix of white curd and deep red smears that was contained in a monster zit. Other times I don't notice that a pimple or two is there quietly incubating on me until the weekends when I'm spending time with Autumn.

Autumn is a funny creature. All of my past girlfriends have had interesting little quirks and habits that make them unique from one another. One of Autumn's goofy quirks setting her apart from the rest of the pack is that she likes to find and destroy any pimples growing on my back. Since we only see each other on weekends she seems to take particular pleasure in popping them, like it's some sort of holiday bonus. Usually just before bedtime she will ask to inspect me, so I'll roll over on my stomach and patiently wait while she does her thing. It's kind of funny, like something you'd see from the pages of an R. Crumb comic book. Autumn is the comic book character that busts zits with her fingers in an intense state of purpose. When Autumn finds and crushes a pimple that produces a heavy amount of gunk she frequently will blurt out a triumphant, "Hah!" Other times she just makes a few self-satisfied chortles and as I look up to see her reflection in my bedroom mirror I notice there's a pleasant smirk on her face.

Pimple eradication doesn't always have a happy ending though. Sometimes Autumn can't seem to muster up enough strength in her fingers to force a zit open. In those cases she gets frustrated and uses her hands to push downward on me with greater force rather than press her fingers together from either side of my blemish. As I end up being jammed into the mattress I have a harder time trying to breathe. Autumn's fingernails begin to dig under my skin which is damn painful. With a concerned tone to her voice she will ask if she's hurting me. Even though I can barely take in a lungful of air and tears well up in my eyes, I usually manage to tell her "I'm fine." I'm supposed to be tough, after all. With my face down in pillow I'll mumble at her to push her fingers together instead of straight into me to which she always replies with frustration, "I can't." To myself I think, "Girl fingers are supposed to be stronger than that." Oh well. If Autumn doesn't hit paydirt in five minutes or so she will give up with a disappointed, mopey sort of movement. But that's okay though because she can always try again the next evening.