Tuesday, June 7

Her Stars of Laugh

With laughter—‘This is too much.’ I emitted that sort of breathless laugh that is usually saved for afterwards, but I could not contain it, perhaps offering it to her prematurely, before it was deserved. I laughed some more, because she was not stopping. She grinned at me, obscured, up over the length of my torso. She continued. I laughed and arched my back, twisting my hips to get more comfortable, while imposing more of myself to her tongue and lips. I laughed.
My alarm goes at seven o’clock every morning. The snooze button lasts nine minutes and, with two presses, I am up to seven-eighteen. We stirred just before the alarm, waking each other up. Sleepy mouths give the stiffest kisses; ironed shirts off the hanger. Someone bless my blinds because they do not shut out all of the light, so that I could see her—
‘Good morning.’
‘Morning, you.’
The bed smelled of her. We had twenty minutes before we should shower. The bed would still smell of her afterwards.
Wet fingers dry quite quickly in bedroom air. She wet them down to my wrist. I have feminine wrists, always fearful of them breaking but – touch wood – they have not snapped yet, but accented my active hands as and when. She climbed on to my thighs and held me against her heat. She spat. She did not need to spit, but it pleases us both when she does. Spittle dribbled down. With a flick of her own feminine wrists and a thrust, she took me so that all my sparkle was suffocated in immediate pleasure.
‘Woah, woah!’ I said, lifting her off, handing her a condom. She slapped me, which I remembered because I am not one to hold grudges or get even. Except I held the grudge. I got even. It did not take long, not in the grand scale of the universe, but our dinner from the night previous was energy enough. She screamed and continued screaming. I told her to be quiet but she was not in the mood for listening. I summoned more of last night’s dinner and bore my grudge, telling her to be quiet but she could not be quiet. Builders are not allowed to work on Sundays or before eight in the morning. Evilly I forced my hand over her mouth and showed her that I was not one to hold a grudge.
Slowing and quieting, she collapsed and laughed at me.
‘Fuckin hell, you’re loud! I have neighbours, you know.’
She grinned. She had her own grudge. She started exercising her right to hold a grudge. She threw the condom across the room; I made sure to remember its location so that it could be cleared away later, but small streams of her spit were already forming down the creases of where my thighs smooth into my hips. She had three points upon me, impatient in their furor. She kneeled on the floor as I upon the bed stared at the ceiling, chuckling in ecstasy.
With laughter—‘This is too much.’
She was vindictive; I learned that in the time it took for me to come. She spat it back onto me, providing a minor relief to the fury with which she carried on. It was the enthusiasm of my body that permitted her so, in peeps and glitter. She kept going; somehow tiny muscles beyond my control were satisfying her desire for explosions, simultaneously encouraging her remorseless brutality.
I laughed. She smiled at me with lips made for smiling.
Empty, I kicked her off.
‘Stop! Go get in the fuckin shower.’
She smiled.
I watched her go to the shower, wiping her chin on the way.
When I stood up, gravity shifted. All of the fluids on me changed direction, from three o’clock to six o’clock. I stood in the middle of the flat with rivers forming and breaking all over me. Tiny streams drying. Tickling. I spotted the condom. I looked at it, but I did not move. Motionless, with everything running over the bones of my ankles.

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