Beach Girl.

March 9, 2010

her voice is a string of coloured beads,
or steps leading into the sea…

                                      - Edna St. Vincent Millay

An Afternoon {excerpt}

March 2, 2010

This is all baby A’s fault. Look at what you made me do, you insufferable tease! No, I won’t be writing about your favourite character. I’m afraid I’m not as fond of Nao as I am of Shizuru, but not as fond as I am of you of course. So read this, slut! It’s not finished, and it’s all because of you!

. . .

It would be so easy to trivialise the issue of her sexuality like everyone else who didn’t know of her current situation. They would say it was only the natural flow of things, that she would grow out of that supposed phase of preferring women over men. And Shizuru had humoured them, gave them a man who could provide her with children and a fat enough bank account that she would never have to work a day in her life. But what they would say if they actually knew—either she was a very confused individual or that her boyfriend was incompetent in bed. But it was neither. The nitty-gritty of it all was that Shizuru Fujino had a boyfriend, and she was sleeping with woman.

Of course, there was no actual sleeping that occurred on her part. They met each other in the afternoon. How convenient. It ruled out the possibility of the dreaded morning after, and sex in the day made their short trysts all the more casual, like sliding your panties down to take a piss before pulling it back up again. Wash your hands, fix yourself up in the mirror, and simply leave.

Except she never left, at least, not first. She would linger and wait for a confrontation after it all, waited for the equivalent of a morning after that would ultimately never come. She waited for an intermission, as if she wasn’t aware that their purpose had been fulfilled, and that they were at the end the moment Natsuki heaved the last satisfied breath. Natsuki would fold herself away to the side to sleep, or pretend to be sleeping, as though the day was over even before the sun had disappeared.

Why had she gotten herself into this? Simple. It was all of her dreams coming true when Natsuki came closer and closer when she moved against her body and breathed heavily against her ear as they fucked—yes, they fucked and there was no other word for it—creating a temperature between them hotter than the midsummer day. She would always wonder from whom Natsuki had learned those wonderful little tricks that pleased her so. The steadiness of her pace, the firmness of her touch, and the sheer confidence she exuded that was so opposite to her hesitant nature before. She was not one to complain, however, when Natsuki was resolute on thoroughly satiating her. And she would never be too tired to eagerly return the favour to Natsuki, and Natsuki allowed her without constraint. But when it was all over—oh god, it always over too soon—Natsuki would drift out of reach like saying her name would imply; Na-tsu-ki. One tap of the tongue on the teeth, the second syllable an impatient tut merely grazing the roof of the mouth, then a final thrust of air passing through the lips that carried the beautiful name away…

An Afternoon {part one}

February 28, 2010

 An Afternoon

I only know one thing and it is how to want. It’s when a mass hysteria happens while you and I are far, far away.           
- Armi Millare

. . .

She was reaching a hand up to one of the cabinets in a quick and graceful effort to get the small canister of—what else?—tea, and the hem of the loose shirt she wore lifted up as she slightly raised herself on the tips of her toes. She ambled about the kitchen, her movements almost perfunctory as she prepared her 2:30 p.m. cup, but the bright glow of the afternoon sun spilling on the parquet floor from the window seemed to suggest that an iced drink would be a better choice. A feather-light breeze came by and gently blew a few wayward strands of dark blonde hair falling from the loose knot on the back of her head. Her body had concurred that it was indeed a warm day, and it was evident in how she messily did her hair up to cool off her neck. Yet another part of her body craved the hot drink, told her that she must have tea now, that her taste buds wanted to be soothed, but in reality it was her nerves that needed the soothing.

There was a little jumpiness in her step as she walked around the kitchen, and only one person was savvy enough to notice this minor flaw in her armour. But that person, being the only other occupant of the flat, was still asleep in the bedroom, she considered, and so there was no need for her to hide behind her practised charade of indifference. Not yet.

She peered behind her at the entryway, and her mind was eased at its emptiness for the time being. She could just imagine the scenario that would occur later on: boot-clad footsteps echoing in the hall, leather slapping on skin, keys jangling against one another, like the sounds of a jailer surveying the prisoner. Or was it the mistress looking over her captive? Either way she felt trapped. She thought she had been freed long ago with her own departure from Fuka. Yet here she was, back at her cage, and oddly her heart had found it achingly familiar, as if it belonged here.

Not even a thousand miles could make her forget. Not even five years. Not even her current engagement. Not even the fact that everything she had hoped to happen was happening now. But she didn’t want it like this, with her body sated and her heart left hungry.

Maybe it was time for her to be the one to leave again, she pondered over for the millionth time. God knows how she was being so obviously desperate.

Really, it’s fine. I’m just making tea as usual. Is it okay if I borrow your shirt? At least the smell of you will accompany me while you go off to wherever the hell you’re going. You can leave me here if you want, in your apartment, and maybe I’ll wait for you to get back, hoping for another fuck. If you want, that is. This is what you want, right?

Shizuru wanted to scream it in her face.

She only sighed heavily instead.

She strained her bare legs as she reached up to return the tea canister back in its place and her shirt rode up again. There was a brief flash of red lace stark against the fair skin of her butt cheek. It was more of an afterthought when she suddenly tugged the hem of the shirt down in an unexpected show of modesty, as if someone was watching.

She only wished Natsuki was actually watching her right now.

She sipped from the steaming cup carelessly, the liquid scalding her tongue as anticipated, like a reprimand that made her eyes glisten. Natsuki would never watch you as you fuss around her kitchen half naked. She would never just take the cup from your hands, stand between your knees and press close to you as you sit on the counter, wearing her shirt, and just hold your face and kiss you. No, she would never kiss you like that, but she’d throw you on the bed and have her way with you in a heartbeat.

Isn’t that much better?

The patches of light on the polished wood had moved outside the kitchen and stretched across the carpeted floor of the living room. The sun was starting to die now, its white rays turning yellow with time like the stains on the edges of a well-loved book. A cooler breeze swept into the window and carried with it the dust and smoke of progress, of change.

Dry bursts of laughter bubbled up in Shizuru’s chest, quickly turning into suppressed sobs, and the waning sky turned dark when she closed her eyes.