New  »   Sunshine Jen  ·  Post-Modern Drunkard  ·  Poop Beetle  ·  Robot Journal  ·  Gator Country
Search...

«« past   |   future »»



this never happened

It was springtime and it was raining, so we opened the windows and drank white rum from the bottle all day in our little double beds. Outside, the sounds of traffic and rain were like a lion's roar only...what's that? Separate beds? Yes. It was terrible too. There was a moment, early in the afternoon (I had already switched - temporarily - to black coffee from a thermos sent up from the concierge), when she waggled off the bed onto the floor between us. On her knees, her dark hair sexy in its drunken silly bedhead style, looking through dresser drawers for a deck of cards. She came up with a Bible instead, holding it in her mouth, she jumped onto my bed and pretended she was a dog, snorting and giggling, burying the Good Book deep in my covers.

But that was it. She lay exhausted across my lap for a good two seconds, staring into space and winded from laughter, before she remembered she was low on alcohol and jumped back to her bed. I hadn't planned on anything sexual, but one builds up certain hopes, y'know?

Somewhere more local, her husband was sleeping through an afternoon TBS movie, spilling microbrew all over the arm of the new chair she had picked out herself.




«« past   |   future »»

comments[2]
all comments

post #178
bio: blaine
perma-link
3/21/2005
11:45

wish list
archives
first post
that week
XML/RSS


Category List
amber
April - National Poetry Month 2008
blue
green
periwinkle
red

Favorite Things
eating
· Autumn's first apples
listening
· What It Is! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves boxset
reading
· Collected Works of Jack London
watching
· Spring Migrants