stripped bare

A Day’s Work

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It’s late in the afternoon. We sit across from each other in the study. We share a large, square wooden table. You have your side, I have mine. Your side of the table is untidy; loose sheets of paper, unopened envelopes, a stack of hard disks, a can of beer. Mine is typically filled with all kinds of cute cat paraphernalia, mostly gifts from you. Our cats are tolerating each other’s existence. Yours is languishing on the table between us, while my cat looks for a sun spot on the floor behind me. You look up and catch me staring at you. You wink and we blow silent kisses to each other from over our laptop screens. Then you go back to your work, the pale blue glare deepening the frown between your brows. I start to reply my emails. A while later, a message from you pops up on my screen:

“How’s the weather over there?”

“Dark and cloudy,” I reply, “with a chance of sweet-smelling rain.”

Slowly, our inane conversation turns naughty , until we run out of things to say we want to do to each other.

“Flash me,” you challenge, and I do.

“Fuck me,” I counter, and you smirk.

You tell me to meet you in bed in five. You laugh when I stand up immediately to leave. We waste no time. It doesn’t bother us that our windows are wide opened, that it was still early in the evening, that our neighbours may hear us. In fact, you want them to. We have a hurried, deeply satisfying session. Satiated and fresh from the shower, we then go back to the study and resume our work. For the next two hours, we don’t even look up from our screens. Click clack, click clack. My stomach growls, and your cat wakes from her slumber, the bell on her collar reminding us that it’s past dinner time (“Day One: Rang bell. Cat fucked off”). I stand up to stretch and contemplate cooking dinner, and my cat rubs his cheeks against my right ankle. “Hungry?” you ask as you rise from your chair, and your cat meows. We both laugh at her reply. You say “Let’s go out for dinner, shall we?” as you walk over and plant a big wet kiss on my lips. You turn to head out of the room and I grab at your butt. You give a loud “Whoop!” and the cats run scrambling out of the room.

All in a day’s work.


Written by smudgi3

January 13, 2011, Thursday at 03:45

Posted in Dear Diary, Him, Insight

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