I wrote this on 02.08.07 and read it at Glass Eye this month. I haven't fixed grammar issues such as verb tenses so please forgive.
Fly paper hanging in the doorway of the kitchen as the dim light barely illuminates the hall leading to the bedroom. You can hear her moaning from the obvious pleasure caused by their rutting. The seediness of their impulsive decision to fuck only encourages their primal instincts.
He was ugly. An overweight drunk in his forties with a paunch that came from eating too many delicatessen sandwiches as evidenced by the grease stains on the front of his shirt. And having just met him in line while ordering take out only supported the theory that he had a fondness for deli meats and cheeses from heartland Wisconsin. And his ugliness was only exaggerated by his pocky skin and hacker's cough that expelled a stale breath reeking of ashtrays and ass.
But there she was...fucking him in his apartment. And she was more than enjoying it. He was the best lay she had had.
All 250 pounds of him pushing her against his cheap dresser. From behind nonetheless. She can see him in the mirror. Eyes closes and scrunched. His mouth hung open and spittle creeped from the corners as his face contorted from the pleasure he was feeling. She could see his chubby hands grasp her hips. He clung to her with pinching claws. And fuck! It turned her on more.
Her hands pampered from weekly visits to the Korean woman at the spa held the sides of the bureau tightly. Her knuckles strained against her skin. Any tenser and the bone may have ripped thru the surface.
Her skirt had been pulled up and out of the way so that he could access her. Dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat; and her eye make-up was bleeding down her cheeks. Despite her charm in the bourgeois social circles, she was fucking a nameless slob she had met twenty minutes before.
He was behind her in the store when she stepped backwards into him. She never apologized nor looked back. She let the push of the lunch time crowd initiate her spontaneous thought. She pressed into him until she aroused him. And she let him press back.
After she picked up her order, she followed him back to his dingy home, and she fucked him.
One can think she wanted revenge against a cheating husband who did pretty blondes who answered his phones. Or perhaps she was punishing herself with anonymous sex because she felt worthless. Maybe she was molested by a middle-aged slacker when she was a teen. Or she could be a whore.
None could be further from her truth. She had a need that this man freely fulfilled. She wanted a lunchtime quickie and he was behind her in line.