Monday, November 23, 2009

flash fiction friday #10

a day gig plus evening rehearsals plus moving plus editing all this week, so i got an early start and fff-ed earlier than usual. inclusion clause trigger, inspired by a comment on my last fff: dirtier, messier, sloppier, wetter, read...

i surveyed the damage – far messier than anticipated. even after 13years of marriage i would never have guessed he could be filthier than i’d (sadly) grown accustomed to, with me gone just 3weeks. even looking past the wreckage of this last fight, the place was foul. i sighed and started cleaning, wondering if our dance of death was worth wading through his dirty linens and dirtier drawers…
i thought about what i was working toward with each swipe of the cleaning rag and swish of the broom. i had already committed to this act so i administered some small pleasure to get me through this nasty bit, playing my favourite records of his treasured collection while i worked on his dirty countertops and dirtier dishes. i listened to his mighty shadow, his al green, his andre tanker, his david rudder, his michael jackson – and yes, it took that many albums to get that pigsty clean enough for what i knew came next. at least he was no longer my pig…
i cleaned the bathroom last, to stevie wonder, so i could bathe immediately as i was done. i needed to wash the stink off my hands, from my skin, out of my hair. i knew this routine so well i’d put towels in the wash when i started, so i had something warm+clean when i stepped out dripping wet and ready for part deux.
i dried myself, wrapped myself in another dry towel, keeping dreadlocks tied up with the damp one for the moment, and sat on the now-clean couch with a recently-washed-glass of wine and amy winehouse on the turntable. i relaxed and read the paperwork for the last time, then finally signed my name on our divorce. drama done, i sat back with the bottle of wine and waited. the makeup after our fight was the only thing left, and we now had a clean house to do it in. we’d do it all over that house.
i knew he’d be awhile. the eye i swung a fist at a few hours prior would be showing its bruised colours by the time he turned up – he knew i’d want to see it – the makeup wasn’t as good without evidence of the fight.
i lay on the welcomingly soft cushions and as i worked my way through the wine and winehouse (appropriate in so many ways) i catalogued my own sore spots – no obvious bruising, he knew better than that, but there were aches already and the few places he knew he could really hurt would show colours by the end of the night. this would be the last time we played this game and i wanted it to be a night i’d remember gladly – after all, this was the only thing he ever did right, the only way he ever gave me what i wanted. he was a shit husband in every other regard and it was a testament to how well he did this that we lasted 13years. but tonight would be the best yet – hotter, wetter, sloppier, rougher, sexier than we’d indulged in before. i wondered if he had any idea, if he was nursing his drink somewhere, feeling the swelling of his eye and realising that this fuck would be the fuck to end them all.
i ran my fingers gently over my bruised thighs and ass, thinking about the fact that nobody else would know these marks existed when i went to work, walking around out in the world with my secret, soreness amplified and expanded after the events still to come tonight. the thought of our imminent romp sent my fingers higher, exploring tender areas yet to be penetrated, pounded, spanked, banged, bruised. i was already wet and knew i’d be instantly wetter when i heard his key in the door, so there was nothing wrong with taking advantage of this moment for myself. all my toys were at my new flat, but i was so excited i didn’t need any assistance.
i sucked+licked my fingers and played with my clitoris, imagining his tongue doing exactly what i wanted, swirling and writhing, flicking and licking…
i wished my fingers could suck like his mouth and felt a huge rush as my fantasy became being able to use my own mouth on myself – maybe it was narcissism, but who knew better what i wanted? the dry towel wrapped around me had fallen loose and was probably developing a wet spot under my ass, but i knew we’d use it the rest of the night once he got back anyway. i plunged my fingers deep inside myself and rocked my hips against them, my clit now rubbing against the heel of my hand. my body rose to meet my imaginary lover, and the friction of my clitoris against my hand combined with squirming fingers quickly made me convulse with the beginnings of my 1st orgasm.
as i rode the wave, utter relaxation washing over me, i wondered if i really needed to wait for him – i could make this night unforgettable all by myself…


walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger crazyfool said...

you write so beautifully. even when the subject matter may not be so beautiful (except for those last few paragraphs). i thought this was great. conflicting and sexy.

12:33 pm  

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