Friday, September 16, 2005

fiction #10- "presents aren't promises/kisses aren't contracts" part3.

jj's intro for flash fiction friday hasn't been posted yet, so in the meanwhile, here's another installment of the already-written work:

"But then just as you have her ready to drop everything and come over, you almost change your mind. Something makes you realize that she won’t satisfy you any more than the one who just left did. Maybe what you need is to talk to your wife. But then maybe backpedalling is the last thing you should do. And something about the voice in the phone reminds you of her anyway, so maybe you can make do with a sound-alike. You can hear that voice on the line, asking if you’re ok, and in that second you decide you have nothing to lose. Even if she doesn’t satisfy you exactly the way you want, you can adjust the mood of the scenario to suit your purposes. And maybe it would improve this otherwise shitty day you’ve been having so far.
You re-enter the conversation, smoothly reassuring her that you are more than alright, that your momentary pause was one laden with excitement at the thought of her making herself an actuality at your door and a naked reality shortly thereafter. She inhales it as fast as you can spout it and tells you she’ll be right over. So much for finishing her workday before playtime. You’re reminded of how good you can be when you make the slightest effort. It didn’t take much to hook a wife and it takes even less to hook a casual sexual encounter.
While you wait for the slut to arrive you briefly contemplate bathing or cleaning up in some way, then you realize it doesn’t matter whether you look sharp or not. She’s already on the way and once she walks in she won’t walk back out without your permission. You will be more than magnetic enough to compensate for not cleaning up. So instead you visit your bar for some social lubrication, which will only increase your animal magnetism anyway. She’ll never notice the smell of the previous woman on you through all your charm.
She takes long enough that you have three screwdrivers – no ice – before the doorbell rings, thinking the whole time about her voice and how it reminded you of your wife. You’re hoping that the similarity will be just enough to draw you in, without making you feel like you’re living a deja-vu. You’re imagining her as the physically perfect version of your wife, firm and smooth in all the right places, and mentally more malleable. The more you consider what you need right now, the more it seems that what would make her absolutely wonderful is being eighteen – the right age for body and mind in your world. And if she could keep the talking to a minimum too, then you might even let her stay awhile after you use her. At eighteen, she’d be good for some time yet.
You’re conjuring pictures of her in all sorts of tantalizing lingerie, posing just for the camera in your head, and you almost love her by the time you hear the chime of her arrival. Your doorbell may have never sounded sweeter, even with the customized tones you paid so dearly for. You walk over to open the door, realizing for the first time that she may not measure up to the way you’ve cast the role in your head. It would be sad to have the performer unable to fill the part at this late stage in your show.
You hesitate, thinking about how you’ll handle her if she’s not what you want, because right now you don’t want something else, you want the thing itself. You are unwilling to negotiate because you’ve already been disappointed once today, and if she is wrong you’ll take care of yourself, and then call your wife tomorrow. It would hurt to admit that your wife is the one you need, even for just one romp, but not enough to abstain. You know you are not up for dealing with second best right now.
You inhale, exhale, and open the door. And standing in your doorway is just right. She does remind you of your wife in a good way, so even if she is obviously much more than eighteen you think you can work with this. The more you look at her, the more she reminds you of the thing itself, so you’re glad – you won’t be making the phone call of shame."

walk good.


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