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Get Published on Female First
This story contains sexual content.
The wind took the door from her hand and slammed it shut. She had wanted to go with some dignity but the echoing slam ended any chance of that. He would be smirking at himself through the fog on the bathroom mirror. She had seen that look before he would think himself pretty clever. She pinched the collar of her parka tight to her neck. The polished driveway was slippery with burnished ice under her slippers.
The car crouched blood red in the dim glow of winter dawn. Its chrome grill, another leering smirk directed at her, mocked her as she approached in parka and pyjamas. She looked through the window at his lambskin seat covers and she opened the door and slid into the seat. She inserted his key into the ignition, feeling the soft leather of the fob on the palm of her hand as she turned the key. The engine started on the first try rumbling to life in a familiar muscular way. She toyed with the idea of driving off and leaving him and his self satisfied face behind her. The tank was full she could be in Vancouver in a few hours. She could get on a plane go south, lose herself in Mexico. The fantasy of leaving him appealed to her she would phone him from the airport and tell him where to find his car, in the one our parking zone.
She felt the possibility tingle her senses as the decision tumbled inside her, unreachable, as the engine warmed. She felt goose bumped flesh on her chest and arms as she held the padded steering wheel. The powerful engine vibrated deeply through the wheel and her breasts jiggled against the material of her pyjamas. Her nipples, already erect from the cold, hardened amazingly into pleasurable points of heat.
She pushed down hard on the gas pedal and revving the engine. The vibration increased and became finer, almost silken as they spread to her legs and bottom. She felt something unexpected, a slow liquid heat spread along her bottom, and for one sickening moment she thought she had peed and soiled his precious lambskin covers. She laughed out loud at the idea; she had been ten the last time she peed in her pants. Her brother had put celery sticks in his nose and ears at dinner and she laughed so hard she piddled. That was her dad’s word, “piddled.” She found the idea tempting, after all he’d done it to her often enough, wetted her with his fluids. She reasoned that there was probably some urine mixed in with semen. Her mind wandered back to last night and she imagined she could feel his residue inside her in thick and gooey panty staining globs. He had been in a stormy mood -and a big hurry, he did not wait for her to climax, he did not even care if she did.
”Prick.”
She saw a thin half smoked cigar in the ashtray and took it out and sniffed it.
The tobacco had a pungent odour, bitter and sweet at the same time. She put the cigar in her mouth and used the car’s lighter. She took a long pull and smoke drifted from her nose. The smoke was acrid and made her eyes water.
Her head spun when he tapped on the side window of the car with his fingernail and motioned for her to climb out. She opened the door and they squeezed past each other, like strangers on a bus, in the space of the open car door.
“Bye” he said.
Brushing his lips across her cheek he took the cigar from her and put it in his mouth. She shivered in the roadway as she watched his lights disappear, the cold wind licked her naked hands like icicle dogs.
The television was on in the bedroom and she watched it for a few minutes and it tried hard to draw her in but she turned it off disgusted with it and herself. She shrugged out of the clothes she had worn to start the car throwing them in a heap on the floor. She noticed a wet spot at the crotch of her panties and smiled, his car did more for her than he did, she thought.
She slipped into her white terry robe and wondered if he left any hot water. She had given up taking showers because she always ran out. She stood at the sink and ate his toast while the tub ran. She got coffee and last night’s paper and padded to the bathroom. She hated that he made her go out in the morning and start his car. Like she was some servant?
She hated that he made her stay there with it until he came out. She hated that he would use all the hot water and never think about her. She hated that he would fuck her hard and then fart and roll off and begin to snore while her skin cooled. She hated that he would go out to work all day and then come home and have nothing to say. She hated that she waited for him to return.
The tub was half full of tepid water and she stepped over the side and slid in up to her neck. Her breasts were above the water and seemed to be floating. She looked at them they were covered with fine downy hair and freckles. She watched as first one nipple then the other returned to its normal size and attitude. She remembered the wet feeling on her bottom sitting in his car and wondered, without really caring, if she left a wet spot.
She took a washcloth off the bar and soaped it; the sharp clean smell of Ivory soap was nice. She pulled the cloth through the valley of her breasts, leaving a white bubble wake. The cloth travelled down her chest to her stomach and did a pirouette around her navel. The soapy trail highlighted the hair above and below the opening. An ‘inny’,she thought. The cloth slid between her legs roughly parting the folds of skin and she stopped. She was sore in the place where he had pounded against her. She touched the spot gingerly with her finger and winced. As her finger probed the area, for no reason, she thought about the boy who pumped gas at the Seven Eleven. His long blonde hair curled and looped over the collar of his shirt. She looked into his depth-less blue eyes as he did her windshield, the colour of summer sky. Her finger stirred, ever so slightly, and the image in her mind changed to the boy looking back at her through the car window as she dug for money in her purse. She knew he could see her breasts, she knew because she wanted him to see. She knew because she wore her blue top and it opened when she wanted it to. She knew because she could feel his eyes upon her skin, his gaze lingering on her nipples, his young lips touching her nipples, his white teeth pinching them, biting them, nibbling.
Water swooshed as she arched her back, it flowed from one end of the tub to the other in a rising tide of pulsating energy and crested the rim landing on the floor soaking the pink bath mat. Her mouth opened speaking those human sounds as another wave of water turned to raging storm, followed by yet another wave and another.
The phone rang.
‘Shit!’
“Mrs. Arnott?”
“Yes,”
Later
The corridor was painful, lit with bare florescent tubes and charged with the unheard sounds of agony behind heavy doors. Noises, she could not identify, clattered from every surface. “ Nurse, could you tell me…?”
The woman passed by her without answering and she wondered if her voice had disappeared in the clatter. She felt as though her words had been swallowed by the cavernous hallway. Pale pink, blue, red, and yellow lines painted on the floor led off in all directions. She stood alone bewildered and looked back the way she had come. The security guard at the door had told her to follow the green line to ICU and she had started out on the green line, but somehow, had lost her way.
An orderly pointed her to a room whose door bore the marks of heavy use. She walked slowly, uncertainty dogging her steps trying to remember what the Policeman on the phone had said about ‘burns’ and something else. The words he spoke were a blur in her mind and she thought about the thin cigar, she could still taste it, and its tiny spot of fire on the thin tip.
Her eyes followed the marked and torn wallpaper border halfway up the yellow painted concrete wall. The design repeated every few feet and she followed it trance-like. His room had two beds and there was a white curtain drawn around one of them. The other bed was empty and she imagined a dead man recently removed. A man in hospital blues and filthy white sneakers asked her who she was then he drew aside the curtain. There was a sound inside the room that at first she could not identify. It was her voice a low and distant nerve-piercing moan. It grew from her stomach and raced to her mouth. She tried to turn away but her eyes would not release her from the sight. Her mouth filled with vomit. She tried to stop it but it spewed from the corners through her clenched teeth. Bits of toast and brown water poured from a comic grimace. She could not move her legs they would not permit the luxury of escape as an acid core of fear heated her mind with a horrid knowledge a comprehension that rose in her mind searing her thoughts.
“He is unconscious.”
The man said handing her tissues to wipe her face. A monitor above bleeped him back into existence every few seconds and she gathered her strength to touch his unburned hand. It was colder than snow. Bad thoughts raced through her mind. One bad thought rocked back and forth like an injured dog struggling to right itself on a roadway. And like that doomed dog she had thoughts of survival. If he lives, she thought, I will die.