A Fantasy

I call him.

Shaking hands. Painted nails, number 001 noir. Dialling, three rings. He picks up.

"Hey."
"I was wondering if I could come over?"
"Um... yeah, of course. Sure."
"Is anyone in?"
"Er, yeah. They're downstairs. Why?"
"Do you want to come here?"

Silence.
Shaking hands. Sharp teeth nibbling on the soft skin of my lower lip. I am being forward.
His voice is darker and it sounds like a smirk.

"Yeah. I'll be there in fifteen."
He hangs up.

A moment to sit and feel the weight of the phone in my cold hands. Running down the stairs, bare feet on padded carpet, hard wooden flooring. Unlatching the door fingers quick, it is discreetly ajar, and fleeing.

Upstairs again, dizzy with hot breath too short for comfort. Undressing. I press a button. Music fills the room, a little bit cigarettes and alcohol, a little bit guitar. It is too warm. A bead of sweat appearing in the cleft of my top lip.

Black taffeta. Smooth, pale skin, the fabric rough to the touch. A contrast. Delicious. Stockings, sheer and colouring in my thighs. A tiny electric shock as a nail embeds itself in the soft whiteness of flesh. Mussed hair and kohl eyes, rouged cheeks and red mouth, wet. Perched on cream linen like a delicate and terrified bird with racing pulse fluttering against breasts, escaping in the hollow of my collar bone. I am not sure where to look.

I wait.

xxx

Music- The Horrors- Scarlet Fields