Friday, May 17, 2013

Scars of Your Love

Scars of Your Love
Bobby Derie
Breast forms tonight, just enough to give some shape to her dress. The familiar weight brought renewed confidence as Jill surveyed the crowd. She struck a pose at the end of the bar, letting her skirt fall open to the thigh, no panty lines. Hello girls. I’m back.
Meredith was trouble, damaged goods in a ripped tee and oh-so-tight black jeans, the bulge visible down her left pants leg. The elbow-length gloves didn’t quite hide the track marks, the brittle fingernails or the too-red gums when she laughed and smiled.
They found each other on the floor, eyes locked, slow-grinding against frenetic dubstep, an island of playing how close they could get without touching in the middle of a dancing, jostling ocean. Meredith took the lead, pulled her in for a dip and a kiss, half-closed eyes gone wide as she felt Jill’s hand press into the dildo, then half-closed again.
No tongue this time. Just lips locked, Jill breathing in as though she would suck the life from her. Meredith hardly noticed when the hair came off in her hand, black strands touching the floor. The music flowed into a different piece, something goa, blue lights turned red and the crowd shifted. They fought their way to the edge of the floor, holding hands.
Jill’s place; Meredith didn’t have one. A war of copping feels in the taxi, giving the Pakistanti driver an eyeful and an earful. Meredith’s hands went straight for the tits, Jill grabbed her wrists and pulled her into a kiss, Meredith’s tongue slipping out of the side of her mouth, down her neck to the hollow of her collarbone, leaving a trail of hickies and lovebites. Jill wrapped her leg around Meredith’s right leg, grinding against a knee.
They disentangled themselves enough to get up the stairs. Meredith was biting her lip as Jill fumbled with the door.
The apartment smelled of wood, dry and a bit sweet. Everything was handmade, purposeful, iconic crudeness: bedframe, bookshelves, table, desk, and chairs, all two-by-fours and galvanized nails, cut and sanded but left unvarnished, unpainted. A termite’s heaven, if they came this far north. On the wall, a collection of hammers. Above the bed, a painting of a hammer.
The questions Meredith might have asked died when Jill’s hand found her waist, reaching around to unzip her, lips kissing the top of her spine. The strap-on popped out and Jill stroked it for her, whispering something as they staggered towards the bed.
Meredith, turned suddenly, her cock slapping Jill in the hip, grabbed and tossed Jill onto her bed, then crawled up on her knees, looming over Jill, eyes seeking eyes. She watched Jill blush as her hands found the straps on the dress, pulled it down. Jill turned away, cheeks burning. Her tits were a mess, off-kilter and the left one sliding into her armpit. Meredith made a purring growl in her throat as she pulled them off, felt them jiggle as she laid them aside, then her eyes went wide.
A band of bright painted flesh, a flowing landscape playing over the purple-pink scars. Abstract lines, fading one into the other, dizzying hints of flowers, rays, skulls, and strange, cancerous growths. Jill’s cheeks still burned, but she moved her hips a little, grinding into the plastic dick, and Meredith dipped her tongue down to explore, playing over the scars, tasting her.
Jill grabbed a hand, brought it to her lips, sucked on a thumb as she rolled down the sleeve. Pale lines and banded flesh there, striated railroad tracks running from elbow to wrist. Most were old, some looked fresh. Her lips moved down to the wrist, nibbled a bit there, kept exploring. It was a game then, looking each other over, tasting this, feeling that, seeing who would give in to the burning need first, and how.
Jill nibbled on her cock, leaving teethmarks. Meredith flipped her over onto her stomach, admiring how the tattoo reached all away around her back, traced the fine lines. Then she reached for a hammer curiously near the bed, playing the smooth rubbergrip handle over the crack of Jill’s ass.
It wasn’t a full night. Two hours left them exhausted, half-naked, sheets drenched. Meredith was in the bathroom, rummaging for pills, probably stealing one of Jill’s shirts. Jill laid up against the backboard, a tit in either hand, weighing them and watching the breast forms jiggle a bit before she put them away. She ran a hand through her hair, thin and weak and soft but growing out again. Smiled when she heard Meredith discover the shower attachments.
I’m back.

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