The End?
By
Melanie Fox
Word Count: 500
She
re-entered the room in his favourite outfit - the see-through white lacy bra and
the cut-off jeans. He smiled a pre-orgasmic smile - one that used to symbolise
'love' and now emphasised his yearning. He did not know when it would disappear,
and did not concern himself with anxiety. Yesterday, she reminded herself, was
supposed to be the end.
She pecked him on the
lips before moving hers to a site just to the left of his Adam's Apple. He knew
she was moving faster than she used to, but she still loved feeling her power
grow hard as she kissed him there. She thought he knew. Even these moments had
become difficult now, and she was sure that her need for lubricant had given
away her loss of desire. He, also, thought he knew. She used to be so wet.
She moved towards his chest as
he unclasped her bra. She loved this chest, one that had held her through times
of laughter and pain. Even death. She loved hearing the beat, touching the
strength, feeling the warmth. She kissed his nipples as hers became exposed. She
felt his eyes attempt to catch a glimpse as she rolled to the side to hear the
beat.
Her
movement down the stomach was fairly swift - something that used to symbolise
'love' through 'desire', and now symbolised her standpoint. Over time, she knew,
what had once felt natural had become routine. He groaned and grew as her
breasts brushed over her strength.
She paused to tease his
naval. She knew this feeling - it had happened last time as well. Except then it
was she who wanted it too much. She still did not understand the man who did not
want to explore with her, why it was such a misdeed. This time, though,
everything had been explored. Yesterday was supposed to be the end.
His eyes were already closed as
she reached her target. She restrained the impulse to sigh and began with a
vigorous rhythm. He felt her devotion to the task and was convinced it was an
act of love, a renaissance of life's best partnership. He did not know when it
would disappear, and did not concern himself with anxiety.
His breathing reached its
plateau as his hands reached her head. She remembered the first time - one of
'love', 'lust', and 'friendship'. She had not yet endured the guilt of
departure. Today, however, apathy had shown its intent. She thought he knew. He,
also, thought he knew.
She felt it grow that little
bit more, the last exertion required. Tired, bored, disillusioned, she
continued. Faster, wetter, softer, tighter. Anything to make the end nigh and to
continue this lack of discourse and intercourse.
He came.
She Swallowed.
He smiled.
She left.
