Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.
I step out into the harsh January air, hardly feeling the cold. Inside I’m warm and giddy with anticipation… For I am to meet him tonight. Even before I read the note the waiter surreptitiously handed me, I knew it was from him. And tonight, I’ve done what I’ve done for years, invent excuses as to why I must leave my husband and his colleagues in the middle of a dinner. He would leave me messages as to where I am to meet him… “When” has never been a question… for always, I am to go to him then and there. I would do exactly as he tells me to, bring exactly what he asks me to– tonight, a cheque to his name… and I wore no underwear…
The last time, I dared to defy him and he was so enraged, that he reached inside my skirt and coarsely tore the silk from my flesh… My heartbeat quickened as I felt his breath, hot and heavy against my cheek, his male hardness pressed against my backside… As he murmured sweet words into my ear, my knees gave way… But his strong arm carried my weight as his free hand found its way inside my clothes… His hand traveled from my shoulders to the curve of my breast… down my waist, and caressed my belly… He ran his hand up my thigh, and without warning, thrust his fingers into me… A heavenly assault. With me as his instrument, he made music with his fingers… Painful, exquisite… From inside him came a deep guttural growl.. A beautiful B flat.. His fingers plunged into my velvety softness and I felt the desire inside me rising and rising into torturous peaks… and just when I knew I couldn’t take any more, I did what he would always demand of me to… I begged. With every fiber of my being, I pleaded him to take me then and there. With a smirk of contempt, he pushed me to the ground… and he left.
I sat on the ground in a dark alley, bewildered, my body wet and trembling from wanting him… I knew that if I had any sense in me, I would leave him and return to the side of a loving, faithful husband.. But how could I? The love he gives me is different… strong, sweaty, hard, violent, pounding… He is beautiful as the most beautiful aria ever written… And he makes me feel alive – more alive than I have ever been in years… I have long resigned myself to the reality that he would never love me. To him, there was only himself and his music… But he has given me the pleasure of being his possession… I gave him my soul and he took it and that is more than enough… to ask for more would be utterly, utterly selfish of me.
Tonight, I walk to where we’re supposed to meet and a familiar desire starts building inside me. He is my Narcissus… Vain, cold, selfish perfection… A masterpiece of a man. If he drowns, I drown with him.