Posts Tagged ‘lust’

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Scenes from a Hat: Substitute

January 27, 2009

Scenes from a Hat: Substitute

by M. E. Ellis

A pillow for a breast, a cigarette for a cigar, a candle for a lamp. Substitutes.

Out, out into the night now, coat collar up, fists in pockets, cap low on my brow. My gaze darts, ears listen, nose keen to catch her scent, her beautiful, well-mourned scent. I will have her once again.

She stands on the street, hands upon hips, head cocked, lips a sultry pout. Similar, so similar that the sight of her invites a lump to my throat. Could it be…? My approach doesn’t startle her. Far from it. She has been waiting for me…hasn’t she?

“Hey, sugar,” she says, candy-pink lips a wide smile. “Wanna fuck?”

No. No, I don’t, but I return her smile, nod, nod like the sucker she thinks I am.

“Come on, then.” She jerks her head towards an alleyway between the buildings behind her, lit only by the streetlamp in its mouth. The lane stretches into infinite darkness, where my imagination places many girls like her, their backs against the wall, legs spread, or on their knees, maws wrapped around cocks that don’t belong between professional lips.

She turns, sashays into the alley, shadow’s jaws closing around her. I follow, my footsteps precise on the rain-slicked cobblestones, my heartbeat accelerating. Ten, eleven, twelve footsteps later, and she stops, a grey figure, no discernable features.

“Here will do.” Her loud whisper floats, rebounds off the mouldy walls. “Fifty for full, twenty for a hand job. I don’t use my mouth.”

My broad frame fills the width of the alley. “You should do. Doing so would shut you the fuck up.”

Her sharp intake of air stutters in her throat, the release of it a breathy laugh. “What?”

“You didn’t hear me the first time?”

Eyes, they almost glow in the dark when as wide as hers, you know.

“Yeah.” She snorts, laughs again, and a clicking sound breaks through the cocooned air.

“Are you chewing gum?” She. Is. Annoying. Me.

Substitute. Substitute. Substitute, substitute, substitute

My fist connects with the end of her nose. She squeals, sinks down onto her ass, the proverbial sack of shit, legs bent at the knees, hands steepled over her face.

“You’re not her, are you?” My nostrils flare. An ache so vast threatens to overwhelm my airy mind, threatens to thicken the descending red mist. “You…tricked me. You…almost had me…believing—”

My boot heel greets her temple, and she releases a muffled, blood-garbled shriek. Her torso thuds sideways to the damp stones, her body the pose of a cadaver left to rot.

Which she will be after I’m done, for her breaths grow short, and her appendages spasm, inciting twitches to her fingertips, her feet.

Sarah? Sarah, where are you? Come back. I need you. I can’t…can’t accept any more…fucking…substitutes.

She won’t listen. She never listens.

But I’ll keep looking, and I’ll find her. Oh yes, I’ll find her.

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Scenes from a Hat: Rejection

November 13, 2008

Scenes from a Hat: Rejection

by Anthony Owens
Editor: M. E. Ellis

Her breath eased into the night, and the covers fell over her in toasty supplication. She danced through dreams of starry nights and warm summer breezes, but the chill of the autumn moon winds raced across her exposed skin. He crawled into the bed beside her, and she dreaded his touch. Don’t. Just don’t. Her thoughts wandered to a place overcast with doubt, suspicion, and mistrust. Please, don’t touch me. I don’t want you. You know I don’t. Just leave me alone. She breathed heavy with anger and anxiety. He pulled up the covers and draped them over his warm body, but the cold air attacked her, and her feet fell prey to the frigid air.

“Hey, baby. I love you.”

He wrapped his leg around her, snuggled close, draped his arm over her belly, and nuzzled his mouth against her neck with a soft and pleasant kiss. She didn’t answer him. His hand slipped beneath her nightshirt and just under her supple breasts, and she knew beyond doubt that within seconds his wretched hands would be on her nipples.

Just stay off me. Go away.

He moved in closer. She abhorred his warmth and thickness pressed against her thigh. She just wanted him to roll over and go to sleep. She wanted him to leave her alone. His breath emptied any thoughts of love or lust from her body, and his fingers drained sensuality from her skin. She once loved him, lusted after him, but no more.

“Jas, come on baby, roll over.”

She pretended to be asleep, but she knew that he could tell she was awake. Her skin still responded to his touch, despite her efforts to force it into calm. The subterfuge broke, and hiding no longer seemed possible. Her eyes opened slowly, and she turned to face him.

“No, Alan. I don’t want you. Leave me alone.”