Keep your numbers mounting (Part 17)...

55 Fiction Fridays

The pillow remains.
Still warm, from his body.
Still moist, from his persperation.
Still fragrant, from his cologne, skin, sweat, our sex.
I can see him there, even now,
Grimacing in ecstacy, purring throat thick with lust.
Breathing labored, deep. Moaning.
Calling out, my name, God's name, incoherent.
He's gone, but the pillow still remains.






POLT Listening to "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder

Hey, Jacky, as I once said to Celine Dion, "Why the long face?" Karen, Will & Grace