Once a month, my uterus explodes in a tsunami of blood and agony, leaving me screaming, anaemic, hovering on the edge of codeine addiction and utterly worn out. Oh hai endometriosis! (Note to self, time to run the gamut of…
When I hear others saying how awful 2018 was for them, I feel kinda guilty. Irrational I know, because I didn’t personally cause the bad things that happened this year (geopolitics, natural disasters, the collapse of Western civilisation into a teeming pit of poisonous vipers, economic disasters, etc) and I’ve tried to minimise my contribution to the burning bag of dog poo left on the doorstep of 2019 as much as I can (ethical shopping, ethical porn, availability of shoulder to cry on). It makes me awkward somehow, to say out loud “actually, 2018 was pretty great for me” when so many other people are suffering. But I’m going to anyway, not because I feel I have any great ‘improve your life’ insights to offer or that I feel I am in any way more deserving of success and happiness than anyone else. Why then? BECAUSE I CAN.
I usually struggle to take inspiration from image prompts but this by Kilted Wookie is such a great combination of cute and hot, that in my head the story just wrote itself…!
Image: Christmas is a cumming, by Kilted Wookie
“So, have you been naughty or nice?”
She has me pinned against the door; one hand around my neck and the other shoved down the front of my jeans. I struggle briefly; protesting “What if someone sees us?”
The museum is mostly deserted, only a handful of straggling tourists ambling from room to room. Here in the long corridor, we are alone for the moment, but anyone turning the corner couldn’t help but catch sight of us even tucked into the doorway niche as we are.
She laughs at me. “I’ll say you’ve got something in your eye” Mirth gives way to focus, her intent gaze making my stomach flutter. When she looks at me like this, I can almost feel the heat of her cobalt-laser eyes drilling into me. I relax and lean against the door, spreading my legs as wide as the confined space allows.
Your heart quickens every time you catch that first glimpse, melts with wonder and joy as you gaze longer until you are burning with fierce adoring need. Painted and polished, on display for the gaze of the discerning connoisseur and the idle glance disinterested passer-by both; she presents the same face to all and provokes in you a hot desperate need for exclusivity, access to the soul behind the smile, to explore the uncharted territory of mind and heart beneath the smoothed-over surface.
There are no fingers deft enough to pick her locks, impervious to light touch or sly nudge she stays locked away behind a shield of transparency. What you see is what you get, says her open face; here on my sleeve is my heart, look no further. You know there is more, and better beneath.