Memoirs of an Empty Heiress
She looked into his gaping eyes with hers, searching in that last moment for a piece of familiarity. Even in the darkness, she could see the glaze painted over those baby blues, entranced with pleasure, such pleasure.
She sat back up, to see the whole thrashing picture. One hand clutched the bedsheet for dear life, twitching ever so slightly. The other went above his head, tightly wound around the black headboard grills. Closing her eyes, tilting her head back gently, she thrust her hip just right. Graciously, he gave an animal like groan, moving parallelly underneath. Like a pavlovian reward association she learned from way back when, the corners of her lip curled up into a tiny, lustful smirk. With the assurance of a master artisan, her hip gave a couple more well timed thrusts. They moved in unison, his grunts escalating with the force of her movements. Her roving gaze wandered from his brawny tricep, lingered on his elbow for more than a brief moment, and finally settled on his firm chest. With her fingertips, she pronouncedly traced the territories which her eyes had conquered.
He reached up to grab her in a most tasteless manner, as if to direct her focus back onto his face. His expression made her want to laugh and cry in ecstasy at the same time. It was so subservient, so helpless. His mouth opened for a slew of rancid pleadings. She toyed with time, with him. When the last drop of power had surged through her veins, she glanced at the clock and decided she was weary. The game ended quickly, predictably.
They laid down in silence. Him out of breath, her dying for a cigarette. She was interrupted mid-contemplation, somewhere between addiction and exhaustion, as he tried to spoon her. That made the decision much easier. She got up and walked to the window, where a lighter, Turkish Jades, and a stool awaited her. The girl was all too adept at opening jammed windows, second only to the skill she had just previously demonstrated in bed. As she inhaled the delirious taste of nicotine, a severe cold draft reminded her what season it actually was. In the midst of all this feeding frenzy, she had forgotten she was not alone. A low hum, like a smothered snore, indicated his absent presence.
"Hey where are you going...Do you smoke a lot or just now...well I'm going to sleep, g'night." She realized he had spoken, made a weak stab at conversation. Why did they all feel this excessive need? She was fine with silence, preferred it actually.
She was on her lost-count cigarette, when the blue sky, tinted with an orange hue, called her back. She was powerless against it. Looking scathingly over at the bed, a familiar scene with an unfamiliar occupant, the girl decided it was time for a scalding shower. Everything was out of habit with that one.
Afterword: Don't shit your pants, this was FICTIONAL. I was inspired by reading about Cleopatra, the great Egyptian seductress.
She sat back up, to see the whole thrashing picture. One hand clutched the bedsheet for dear life, twitching ever so slightly. The other went above his head, tightly wound around the black headboard grills. Closing her eyes, tilting her head back gently, she thrust her hip just right. Graciously, he gave an animal like groan, moving parallelly underneath. Like a pavlovian reward association she learned from way back when, the corners of her lip curled up into a tiny, lustful smirk. With the assurance of a master artisan, her hip gave a couple more well timed thrusts. They moved in unison, his grunts escalating with the force of her movements. Her roving gaze wandered from his brawny tricep, lingered on his elbow for more than a brief moment, and finally settled on his firm chest. With her fingertips, she pronouncedly traced the territories which her eyes had conquered.
He reached up to grab her in a most tasteless manner, as if to direct her focus back onto his face. His expression made her want to laugh and cry in ecstasy at the same time. It was so subservient, so helpless. His mouth opened for a slew of rancid pleadings. She toyed with time, with him. When the last drop of power had surged through her veins, she glanced at the clock and decided she was weary. The game ended quickly, predictably.
They laid down in silence. Him out of breath, her dying for a cigarette. She was interrupted mid-contemplation, somewhere between addiction and exhaustion, as he tried to spoon her. That made the decision much easier. She got up and walked to the window, where a lighter, Turkish Jades, and a stool awaited her. The girl was all too adept at opening jammed windows, second only to the skill she had just previously demonstrated in bed. As she inhaled the delirious taste of nicotine, a severe cold draft reminded her what season it actually was. In the midst of all this feeding frenzy, she had forgotten she was not alone. A low hum, like a smothered snore, indicated his absent presence.
"Hey where are you going...Do you smoke a lot or just now...well I'm going to sleep, g'night." She realized he had spoken, made a weak stab at conversation. Why did they all feel this excessive need? She was fine with silence, preferred it actually.
She was on her lost-count cigarette, when the blue sky, tinted with an orange hue, called her back. She was powerless against it. Looking scathingly over at the bed, a familiar scene with an unfamiliar occupant, the girl decided it was time for a scalding shower. Everything was out of habit with that one.
Afterword: Don't shit your pants, this was FICTIONAL. I was inspired by reading about Cleopatra, the great Egyptian seductress.
posted by Mix at 10:44 PM
3 Comments:
Reminded me of this scene in the movie Annie Hall.
Actually, now that I've seen Sex & the City, this seems like a typical episode.
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