The two copulating on the bed do so freely, under the impression that what they show me brings me pleasure. They believe their ecstasies, their lusts, spill over onto my skin, into my senses. Like all lovers in the magnanimity of requited passion, they think their universe big enough for everyone.
I allow them this misreading of my intentions because it suits my purpose. I smile, wet my lips and squirm a little in my chair because this is what they expect. It gives them enjoyment, and why not? Who does not revel in the admiration of another? Who is not flattered by regard?
What I don’t tell them – what they will never know – is that the pain of watching them, hearing them and smelling them is an exquisite one. It wounds precisely because it will never be me. I cannot be them or with them. There is no place in their largess to fit the monstrous thing I am become. The delicate winged truth of this lands on my flesh, sinks in, and turns my blood to mercury. A thick, slow corrosion.
The isolation swells in my cunt until it can expand no more. Then it rises up my spine, turning bones to metal fossils. It murders me sweetly and beautifully, on the outside looking in.
Voyeurism has definitely been the theme of the week amongst a few of us – this for me sums up the tension so beautifully, captures the sensuality, the ache, and as ever, it’s exquisitely written x
Oh, Rgrl… You already know that I find your flash pieces so dense, like diamonds, and powerful. This one makes me ache, not just with arousal, but with…with…oh, with something that you can get only by reading it.
Lovely. I love how well you know your characters, inside and out, in all their broken and beautiful ways. Your turns of phrase alone bring me, a writer, such pleasure.
“Who is not flattered by regard.”
So much in so few words.
“The delicate winged truth of this lands on my flesh…”
Stunning imagery.
Keep it coming!
(I found your blog, by the way, through Violet Blue’s podcast).