I cannot quite recall how I got there, but for some unknown reason I found myself lying on his living room floor. Sunday or was it Monday, I have no idea. But here we were.
Me in my underwear, which wasn’t even remotely sexy, but he seemed to dig it anyhow. He kept drawing with his fingers on my belly, not sure if he wanted to tell me something or if it was just random lines. I kept guessing anyhow or else it would have been dead boring. He was telling me a story, but I really didn’t care. It involved a bloody fist, that caught my attention, so it must have been about a fight or something. Could have been a car accident or maybe himself having anger issues and giving the mirror a wholehearted lesson. I didn’t catch that part, I drifted off too far. I almost felt bad for a split second, but even at the risk of sounding like an overly self-assured bitch, whatever I was making up in my mind to the strokes of his fingers was a greater highlight. At some point I started to wonder if some form of payment would make him shut up and of course it would, and because I didn’t want to feel bad, I rolled over and on top of him and we all know where the story went.
© elapelarae 2021-06-07