stripped bare


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That day, the cab I was in drove past your old workplace. As soon as it turned into that narrow little lane, I could see the white building ahead of us, dirty with age and stained by weather. I smiled as we went past the charming dark wood window frame, the one that was right next to where your desk had been.

I remember the first time I was at the other side of the window. I had sat next to you while you busied yourself with unimportant things, obviously showing off your workplace to me, while showing me off to your colleagues at the same time. I could feel their eyes burning through the big Macs that sat between us and them. “She is so your type,” one of them would later say to you. You had told them that you didn’t have a type, but I knew you were secretly proud of me.

I remember taking a cab down to your workplace in the middle of the night, right before a Business Law paper I had to take. I struggled through torts and memorised Salomon v A Salomon & Co Ltd by heart. You were rushing out a production schedule for an upcoming shoot. We worked quietly till dawn, comfortable in the knowledge that our unspoken support for each other encouraged us to keep going. Every word I wrote in that paper was seeped in your love. Until today, I still believe that was why I managed to pass it.

I remember you fucking me as I bent over your desk late one night, sweeping loose sheets of paper and stationery onto the floor when my hands reached out for something to hold on to. I even remember what I was—no, what I wasn’t— wearing that day. I had whispered that little secret into your ear, and it drove you crazy waiting for all your colleagues to finally go home. In fact, it had taken you a really long while before you lost your self-control and swirled my chair around to face you. “I’m going to punish you for that,” you said, your eyes murderous as you knelt before me and lifted up my skirt.

Too soon, I was pulled back to reality when the doorman at my destination opened the cab door and greeted me cheerfully. I smiled just as cheerfully back at him.


Some of them are so good it has turned into an addiction.


Written by smudgi3

April 22, 2011, Friday at 04:59

Posted in Cab Rides, Dear Diary, Him

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