The Little Death


THE FINAL GASPING SHUDDERS left her soaked and trembling, coming back to the world of her knowing fingers, heart pounding like a drum….would she die from it?  “Not a bad way to go”,  people joked.

There was no laughter now, no tiresome cliches….her wanting consumed every waking moment, and sleeping.

A puny finger was a poor substitute;  she hungered for more….the need to have him solid inside her was a craving so fierce, she felt she would die ….from lack of it….of him.

To look upon him left her wet, weak and trembling….desire took all strength from her, and gave nothing in return.

And then she saw him, working….crouched down searching for something…..silver blonde hair, tied back loosely.

An opportunity arose, to speak to him.

She thought she’d been wrong, but as he lifted his head, turned his face towards her, she realised she had not.

He stood up….so tall, she had to look up to him. Lean, verging on thin. Clear blue eyes…his face lined, careworn, yet open….momentarily.

Beautiful bones. She couldn’t remember his mouth, because his eyes held her.

His voice….quick of speech, educated with an undertone of humour.