Two and a half seconds

Oh thunders, she’s stunning! Art by: Cipin Angel

Clouds broke down on her shoulders, and that didn’t keep her from pouring down. Earth’s marshy, muddy; splashing puddles to her nights’ old pyjamas which kept falling down with the hefty burden of her unsought soul and the weary trade of ridiculous storm. She’s not half done when the door bell rung, once. Twice. For the first time, since the last time it rang, she smirked, same place, same rains, few foot apart; that smirk of hers, revealing a double dimple on left. Oh thunders, she’s stunning! And she continued her labour through falling pyjamas, rains and the expected door calls.

Shoving the muddy earth apart, just as much-needed, she stops. Eighth time this season, she’s more than a perfection. Excelling at the craft, one could see her pride in it, only if anyone ever saw.

…whiskey flow of greying whiskers. Art by: Cipin Angel

Stashing the secret beneath, her breath wandered to those rosy twilights, smoking aroma of grilled chicken dressed in rosemary and some other wild herb, slightly burnt garlic toast and his never-ending nibbles on her under-toned shoulder bones through his whiskey flow of greying whiskers. With a quick sigh, she fixed her gaze and picked up pace for the lost two-and-a-quarter seconds of memories she would soon forget.

Shortly, she finished like a pro, cleared mud off shovel, few final bangs with hoes, and started off the field. Reaching the wall she realised her right hand missed an accessory. Returned to the wet ploughed land, she picked the pickaxe and stared at her labour for a yet another two-and-a-quarter seconds. This is unusual, she thought with a gasp; composed herself and left the yard.

Fourth, double, rung the bell. She was least perplexed and looked more relaxed, for she knew, the bell would ring until she answered; however long it might take. Fixing herself a Martini she darted towards refrigerator for some olives; that was her way of tough evenings.

She was ready for her next secret. Art by: Cipin Angel

Naked, off everything that weighed her down, she stepped into the Jacuzzi, placed the cocktail glass on the bath rim, and laid her back into the stream of bubbling hot water. Instant relief, exactly what she was looking for. Bottom up of martini backed by the quick smack of olives fleshed her out, inside out.

She was ready for her next secret. Draped in the pure bath linen, wet hair loosen, she opened the multiple crystal bottles of perfumes down the hallway that she had collected over time. Alluring fragrance let loose her nerves as she opened the door. He couldn’t hide his enticing eager to have seen her at last, “Hey!”.

Their eyes locked, her deep brown with his pitch black. As they hugged, she thought, she needed to stop. Grave after grave after grave, she’s tired of burying her secret lovers. A wall past, eight of them rests peacefully in lust.

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