The Strangeness of Strangers

I’ve just added a Fiction section to the blog. Hope you enjoy the first entry…

She comes with a spasm and thumping feet. And suddenly, she’s crying; all teeth and lips turned inside-out, with wrinkled forehead and scrunched-up, leaking eyes. In this moment, he sees everything she hadn’t wanted anyone to see.

Her mascara zigzags down her face. She thinks it’s waterproof. He doesn’t tell her otherwise. She’ll know when she next looks in the mirror. Plus, he likes the way the smudged charcoal emphasises the light green of her eyes. He prefers it to the previously controlled sweep of eyeliner. However, the total abandon she’s just displayed has made him uncomfortable. He wanted to fuck her, not find out what’s wrong with her.

“Sorry,” she breathes into his neck. She doesn’t want eye contact so she holds him tight. He’s still on top of her. His chest is squashing her breasts. He doesn’t ask her if she’s okay. He hopes his presence is enough. He’ll tell his mates he got the ride but only after they drag it out of him. He’s not a total asshole.

He wants to leave. Or at least roll off her. But he’s been raised better than that. He will make sure to thank her and take her number. She hopes he’ll ask to see her again. Not because she likes him. Because she’s a woman. And if he doesn’t call, she’ll feel used and rejected. She used and rejected him as soon as she orgasmed. She just doesn’t know it.

She smoothes the hair at the back of his neck. He doesn’t have a secure job. And he isn’t as toned as she’d like. Neither is she but she’s criticised herself for long enough. It’s someone else’s turn. He longs to leave. She aches to be left alone but hopes he wants to stay. So they lie there hugging, pretending a closeness they think they should feel after bumping genitals.

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