Slippery: a Definition

        Slippery. That's what he was. Slippery. Slippery as an eel, as a sidewalk in winter, as a polished slide, as. . . as . . . as. . . Well, what else is slippery besides a tall man with blue hair--yes, blue hair. 

"It's what men do these days," she would have to explain to her mother. "They can do anything they want."  

"Always could," Mother would say.

Well, that's true. Always could, always would.

She hated his blue crown of hair, hated the bright blue eyes under it, the day old stubble that outlined his chin, his perfect teeth, the look in his eye, the slippery look when he saw her, when she opened the door and saw him there, the "oh"--the involuntary "oh" slipping right out of her mouth and heart, so he knew, he knew--not that he would ever doubt. Doubt was not in his lexicon, his experience, his packet of knowledge, while she knew doubt oh, so well. So he knew he had slipped into her heart whether she wanted him there or not.

Slippery as an eel.

Well, she had never touched an eel, or even seen one. She liked the exotic, made her interesting--maybe it wouldn't be so bad.