Hey all. I wrote some more after last week's entry. I'm experimenting with writing sex scenes that aren't horribly awkward. So! if reading about sex makes you squicky I wouldn't read this post. Still have no idea where this is going but so far I kinda like it. Enjoy!
It snowed today. And while the streets are covered in ice, I'm haunted by the sweet smell of her perfume. I've been drifting in and out of sleep, each waking bringing the mourning of her again. Its too cold outside for dreams and the scent of Rose is on the air.
Two months have passed since I wiped her sweat off my body with a cold cloth in my girlfriend’s old apartment. I’ve been with her for a few years now. With Susan. I don’t really know how long because we lost something along the road to this brand new house with brand new friends. Perfect, she calls ‘em. The friends and the house.
But perfect just ain’t us. We’re the girls you see on the streets. Tattoos from a hurried youth hidden under sweaters and loafers replacing combat boots. We’re the girls who never fit in during gym class. The ones whose eyes didn’t dart away fast enough in the changing room. The ones who take dyke and turn it into damn. We smell like sweat and sex. Nothing like roses.
Oddly enough, it all started to feel right again when I first walked into the pub to that smell of hers. Rose's. That smile could have melted anyone. Even a love-sick cunt like me in the coldest new England winter since the 1800’s. Guess that’s just how it goes some times. Love.
My first night with her ended like any other one night stand. We fucked all night and most of the morning. Till our legs ached. Shy good byes. A promise to call. And 15 text messages reminding me that Susan was none too happy with me. I’d talk to her later. I was too busy thinking of a soft pink nipple between my lips and sweet nothings in my ear. My ear that had recently only received dates, figures, and a reminder to feed the cat. Maybe it was her soft moans or the feel of her chest rising beneath mine. Maybe it was the movement of her hips. Maybe the movement of our hips. Perhaps it was the intensity of our connection that broke her lamp and brought me toppling down on her. Down on her in a pile of clothes that just wouldn’t come off fast enough. Damn bra. I knew I shouldn’t have worn one. Damn buttons. She didn't really need those pants on anyway. But mostly, I think it was her smile.