• amelia

Women (I)

Photo source www.depop.com

Open your soul to me ... okay, that's enough.

Better, just open your bra, because you know how I always tangle my fingers in "hook & clasp" and the moment freezes and last time I slapped your shoulder with the brace and it hurt and lost your mood. I’ve told you not to wear it when we’re together. Maybe the neighbor downstairs passes by and lingers for three seconds in your cleavage so I’d have a real reason to punch him in the face because he always arrives sooner from work and takes my parking space.


"Honey, look what I brought," your man shouts in the hall as he’s struggling to take off sneakers without loosening the laces.

You throw the cat standing in your arms, jump from armchair, stumble upon the same cat running ahead to the door, both arriving with big and wet eyes, full of curiosity.

The gentleman smiles at you in a sinister way, showing half of his teeth. One hand is behind his back, and he has a spark in his eyes you remember seeing it one night he’d returned home from striptease bar.

“Where are you coming from?” In your mind you are convinced he lost track of time in such a bar again and brought you the chocolate chip cookies served for coffee.

“Work. Let me tell you. I had a flat tire down the road. I parked the car... and you see... right there was a sex shop. I mean, across the parking lot. Didn’t know we have such stores in the neighborhood.”

Your heart is pounding again and you think he has pink-folded underwear on his back. It's good. You haven't received natural flowers since your civil wedding.

“Look, I got... a pair of handcuffs.” He quickly reaches out to you to show the stainless wonder gift.

You feel like fainting, mouth is clenched and you are staring blankly at the gentleman in the hall.

“Come on, honey, why do you react like that? I was thinking of trying something new.”

You still can't articulate a word because you're thinking about that Stephen King’s book you just read. The heroine was handcuffed to her husband who suffered a heart attack and died in bed. She had to stay there for two days and had to cut off her hand with a shard so she could escape. And there was also a hungry dog that fed on his corpse. Now you see Bibu, your cat, pulling off fingers of the gentleman who now is flabby and confused in front of you.

“Okay, now you're over exaggerating. Don't wanna use them, we won’t and that’s it. Stupid handcuffs... it's not much to ask from you.”

With your head and shoulders down, you retreat to your chair. How can you explain the nightmarish images his gift caused you? One flower, one little flower was enough to make you fly around the room. Libido would have shaken hands with passion, you and the gentleman in your life would have whack the sheet on the bed for ten whole minutes. Instead, he comes ready to tether you like cattle to a fence.

He meanwhile drops his handcuffs and takes the cat in his arms, scratching its belly. The cat begins to purr, leaning slightly back.

“This girl is exaggerating, isn't she?”

The cat responds with a bored yawn, stretching a paw so he continues the caresses.

"Come on, say something,” he tells you. Not that he's interested in your answer anymore, but he can't leave the room like that.

You already have your fingers in your eyes, started crying at the thought that your sex life is dead for at least three weeks from now on. At least he could come to you and say he's sorry, it was a bad idea, he should have asked you if you liked it, before he would buy... that stuff. But he stands in the middle of the room, with the cat asleep in his arms, staring at a fix spot on the curtain.

"Why am I not enough for you?" you manage to mutter through tears.

“Well, you see, that’s what I hate about you. You're exaggerating. You've always accused me of not telling you what I like, not being opened mind in front of you. You accused me of having hidden thoughts I don't want to tell you. Do you remember how many evenings you’ve asked me after making love, "what are you thinking about?" and I said "nothing." Well, that's what I was thinking. We could try something new for both of us next time.


Put your dreams in your backpack and run, run, run... like Forrest Gump did. Men with flowers in their hand are probably going to a funeral or trying to repair a big mistake. Ohh, and the gifts, are never for you. May it be a diamond neckless.

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