Second time by Ramona Brad (readict .txt) 📖
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- Author: Ramona Brad
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laughing while she leant to undress him finally.
He moved into her embrace, her breasts so much bigger now burgeoning under his ribs, he'd forgotten just how small she was. He looked down at her eyes clear as ever but with that depth, looking up at him through blackened lashes, the subtle pinkish eye shadow on the creases of her lids when she blinked.
He remembered fucking her how she joined in his conceits pretending to be his secretary – very bourgeois, they'd laughed – or strangers meeting in a pub, maybe that planted the seed, the boots and lingerie she wore for him, but now was nothing like that, it was her wrapped around him strongly, pulling him deep as she could. It was a feeling out beyond the drugs but taking those with it, pushing him deep and flat out, everything in him. Their bones bumped, their flesh stuck together; smells of him and her, seaweed and baked bread, sweet sweat, deodorant entered the sterile unadorned room and made it different. Every time he came into this room, he was thinking, as he felt her all over him, her grasp and thoughts and flesh around him, she would be there.
He didn't want to collapse on her, but felt like it after climax like a flare gun going off in him, ripped him up, and he managed to fall back away from her. Everything in him was suddenly mute, gone, and he woke up to find his ex-wife and recent lover slapping him gently. ‘You blacked out,' she said, and for the second time, ‘You OK?'
They lay back then side by side, eventually covering up their aged and pushed out, mottled and dented body and flesh, half covering up: he could still see and touch her grown, flopping breasts. How the bulb light curved around her face, that cheek-and-nose shape, the tiny point of the nose like an apple pip in sight again.
It had puzzled her this insistence on him she'd thought she'd left behind, but in the clinch she couldn't kill it. She had shaken him because she couldn't, he must have noticed the change in her, she thought, but she saw how he was oblivious, high and away from her. She hadn't got what she'd come for, and couldn't name it anyway and now felt content to have him coming down beside her, his speech and movement slowing down. Imprint
He moved into her embrace, her breasts so much bigger now burgeoning under his ribs, he'd forgotten just how small she was. He looked down at her eyes clear as ever but with that depth, looking up at him through blackened lashes, the subtle pinkish eye shadow on the creases of her lids when she blinked.
He remembered fucking her how she joined in his conceits pretending to be his secretary – very bourgeois, they'd laughed – or strangers meeting in a pub, maybe that planted the seed, the boots and lingerie she wore for him, but now was nothing like that, it was her wrapped around him strongly, pulling him deep as she could. It was a feeling out beyond the drugs but taking those with it, pushing him deep and flat out, everything in him. Their bones bumped, their flesh stuck together; smells of him and her, seaweed and baked bread, sweet sweat, deodorant entered the sterile unadorned room and made it different. Every time he came into this room, he was thinking, as he felt her all over him, her grasp and thoughts and flesh around him, she would be there.
He didn't want to collapse on her, but felt like it after climax like a flare gun going off in him, ripped him up, and he managed to fall back away from her. Everything in him was suddenly mute, gone, and he woke up to find his ex-wife and recent lover slapping him gently. ‘You blacked out,' she said, and for the second time, ‘You OK?'
They lay back then side by side, eventually covering up their aged and pushed out, mottled and dented body and flesh, half covering up: he could still see and touch her grown, flopping breasts. How the bulb light curved around her face, that cheek-and-nose shape, the tiny point of the nose like an apple pip in sight again.
It had puzzled her this insistence on him she'd thought she'd left behind, but in the clinch she couldn't kill it. She had shaken him because she couldn't, he must have noticed the change in her, she thought, but she saw how he was oblivious, high and away from her. She hadn't got what she'd come for, and couldn't name it anyway and now felt content to have him coming down beside her, his speech and movement slowing down. Imprint
Publication Date: 03-21-2010
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