Knkstriped

Handles

The woman in the mirror is frowning, brow creased and biting her bottom lip. A quarter-turn to the left, then to the right, appraising with a critical eye. I look up and meet my own eyes, counter the expression of anxious self-doubt with a wry roll. Let my tummy relax from its tense, defensive, held-in stance. Allow the truth to seep in and expand before me. I may never regain the smooth flat planes of my teenage shape. A sigh.

The Butcher

His strong, blunt-fingered hands are clean and soft, but I know what they do, day by day; where they’ve been and what they’ve touched.

CW: If you’re vegetarian, vegan or are squeamish about where your food comes from; don’t read this. If you read it anyway and find yourself squicked out or offended, don’t hate on me. I did warn you.


His strong, blunt-fingered hands are clean and soft, but I know what they do, day by day; where they’ve been and what they’ve touched.

Sightseeing

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.