Huddled up in front of the fireplace, I set the logs poised for the burning, while at the same time curse my uncanny stupidity at having agreed to a marriage. It was so much better just living in. We aren't made for this 'forever' rubbish. The taking the other for granted, the constant whining on who needs to clean up afterhours, who needs to watch which show and the likes. It seems like all of a sudden someone just gave the both of us a violent shove into 'dreadlock'.
Now even the party mood's all severed because of her sardonic comments. She always makes me out to be the peculiar nut in the house. Well, I let her have it this time too.
I place the wood appropriately and set it alight. Huddled up in front of the fireplace, I listen to conversation ensuing in the dining room.
I think I only married her because of the great sex we had and oh...I forget to mention...she looks extremely beautiful (did I mention great sex?). At 32, she still has shapely legs, delicate skin, a flute glass structure. But what's really aesthetic about her is the kind of enamor she contains within her every bodily nook and orifice. She has this ritzy charm that makes you want to take her out for an expensive dinner and see her face reflect off every silverware and crystal tier. Her long straight hair is a dream for fingers. Running your hands down her locks almost makes you feel that your trying to immortalise warm milk in your palms. (Sigh) But right now she was acting like an ass.
Faint murmurs though articulate tickled my hearing, "...and what I say or do after that usually tends to be un...unnoticed...and in...irr...err...inapplicable."
Aha! I quickly arise, spruce up a bit and head to the dining room where she's setting the china right back where it belongs.
"I think the word you're looking for is - irrelevant."
She stares at me while the rest of the guests look on at the both of us, all of them in grave anticipation of the upcoming retort.
She lets the plates fall into place and says in a loud tone "Could you...excuse us for a moment?"
She pushes herself towards me and pokes me into the living room muttering "...you..."
"What is your problem you nut? Why do you...."
She pushes herself towards me and pokes me into the living room muttering "...you..."
"What is your problem you nut? Why do you...."
I grin profusely and come closer to her, slowly and grab her by the waist. Pulling her closer to me. The suggestive scent of her conditioner and her apple-cinnamon moisturiser streams the air. I nuzzle her neck while she continues to push me back while also muttering her disapproval.
Her small waist fits perfectly into my grasp.
The room is bathed in dark chiffon pastel. My left hand draws an imaginary line down her spine in a most taunting manner. Her eyes close quietly in a ripple of placidity and her flesh quivers her consummation as she drapes her hands carelessly from my shoulders.
Her fingers trace a map to my cheek while I pull the thing-that-hot-women-stick-in-their hair-to-keep-it-out-of-trouble stick out of her updone hairdo. As soon as the supplement leaves the steadfast setting, her dark auburn locks unwrap like the hypnotic illusion you find riveting on the peppermint candies that the crazy fat man at the Rizotto Carnival hands over to you.
She arches her head back to allow me access to her chin.
The ridge of her jawbone is excruciatingly perfect. I trace its outline with the blunt of my nose. She smells pungent - mistress of spices.
Her slender waist now nestles extravagantly in my custody, while she still maintains indisputable ascendency over my sanity. Her eyes - the luminous orbs are uncovered by the parting of the lids and transfigure the scene into an impression painting.
We stagger to our knees in an amorous pile on the floor.
The dim lights are doing their job.
Silent conversations with her nape.
Caleb enters the room, tongue out, waits a while and trots back out after exuding a whimper.
The home fire is frenzied as ever and as the last of the giggles transpire, the front door shuts with a silent click.
"They've all left" she whispers gasping.
What you can't get, makes you love it a lot more.
I ask her, "Now that you're over me, want to get back...under me?"
She moves back, startling me. "No!"
"Well then I guess we can only finish what we started."
"I'd prefer not", she mumbles as she rises up to tie her hair, smiles at me and walks away into the kitchen.
"You're evil!" I cry.
"Save it for the next set of guests darling" comes the reckless reply as she waves her palm towards me, carelessly, to indicate her callousness.
