after
8:34 p.m.<>2001-07-30

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your head drops back against the pillow in the suddenly close, quiet room. the sun sank unnoticed behind the buildings some time ago, and what little light remains is beginning to fail. your eyes track slowly around the room, taking in the deepening shadows, the stillness everywhere. exhausted yet alert, your attention settles on no one thing. your thoughts flutter languidly from thought to thought, memory to memory, following trains of association until they fade like the twilight outside. you shift your weight to avoid the cooling patch of moisture on the sheets.

she dozes gently next to you, her breathing deep and regular. a few stray strands of brown hair cling lankly to her forehead. her face, in repose, is slack, unlined, angelic. her mouth, with its tiny pair of lips, is open. her breath passes through it, the air drying those incongrously small lips. were those the same lips that just minutes ago were locked so fiercely against yours? that were wrapped around your hard shaft, causing you to moan and widen your eyes?

impossible, you think. nothing could have escaped the cataclysm that shook this room a little while ago without suffering more harm. surely that had happened to another couple. but for the damp spot on the bed, the whole shocking scene might have played itself out somewhere else. but for the damp spot. and the lingering kennel scent in the air. but for the fact of your nakedness. but for the red marks on your body, still sore. but for the restraint still tied around the headboard. but for the few spots of dried body juice between her heavy breasts.

were those the same breasts that your hands had mauled? the same nipples that had felt your teeth clamp down on them so tightly? was it that hand, her hand, with its delicate fingers and small knuckles, that had delivered the ringing blows to your flesh, one after the other? was this soft, slight, sleeping expanse of skin that dangles between your legs really twice, three times its length just scant minutes ago? did she really grab it in a painful grip, use it as a pulsing handle to make you cry out, make you beg?

did you really buck and thrash as she lashed your wrists tightly against the headboard behind you? was that really you who whimpered when she punished your flesh for failing to please her quickly enough? were those tiny lips really pulled back into a snarl when she raked your most sensitive skin with her nails? when she hurled forth words so shocking, so raw, that you felt yourself blush? would you really have done anything for her at that point, as you said? would you really have watched her be pleasured by a chain of men? would you really have let them violate you for her pleasure. did she really own your body, soul and mind so completely?

was it this body, her body, now so seemingly peaceful and fragile, really the one that soaked the sheets straight through to the mattress? was it really this body, your body, now so relaxed and uncomfortably sticky, that had emptied itself so blindingly in her and on her? had your grunts and her bellows really been so loud that the neighbors had pounded on the walls in exasperation?

she stirs slightly, opens her eyes. there is nothing in them but sleepy affection. you return her little smile, run the back of your hand against the smoothness of her cheek as the streetlamps hum to life on the street outside.

you lie back against the pillow. it can't have been the two of you doing those things, you decide, your eyelids drooping. it must have been some other couple.

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