I was sick for a good part of this week. No idea what to make of this one, which I hammered out pretty quickly. Sometimes ideas come and I just follow them, no agenda, no big deal. This is one of those times.
He pushed away from her, still panting as he fumbled with his jeans. He still wore his shirt but it hung open, revealing a pitifully tiny patch of black curly hair on his upper chest.
She slowly pressed her thighs together and quietly watched him as he snapped his shirt and tucked it into his jeans. A Ronnie Milsap song played from the cheap clock radio somewhere behind him. She sat on the desk that came with the room, her own jeans and panties on the floor.
That’s it? she thought.
He’d seemed so perfect–the broad shoulders, the white-toothed smile, the swagger–everything she’d ever dreamed of until a few moments ago.
He noticed her watching him and moved toward her again, the worn heels of his cowboy boots thudding over the thin, colorless carpeting of the motel room. He gently pressed her knees apart so he cold stand even closer to her, put his hands on her waist and leaned in to kiss her. The rough stubble she’d found so sexy felt like sandpaper now.
“Was it . . . ” he said, bending down to get her to meet his gaze. “I hope it was good for you, too, Ash.”
“Yeah,” she said softly, nodding and shrugging one shoulder slightly. “It was, Trey. Real nice.”
The truth was, it hadn’t been anything like she’d been led to believe.
Nobody told her it would hurt so danged much, for one thing. The ladies on the soap operas her Grammy watched all day long seemed to want nothing but romantic moments, usually with a slick dude with long hair or an eye patch; sometimes both. Only the soap opera ladies got to have their romance on shiny sheets, their hair gleaming and make-up perfect, smiling and saying perfect things to their perfect men.
This felt . . . different. Instead of romantic, or full of clever things to say, she felt turned inside out, like this man she’d swooned over all these weeks was a total stranger who knew more about her than her own family–or her best friend, even.
“I gotta get back to work or your Daddy will have my hide,” he said, propping his Stetson over his curly brown hair with one hand and checking himself out in the mirror behind her.
He looked down at her and said, “Well come on, girl; we ain’t got all day.”
Ashleigh nodded and slid off the edge of the desk, bending down to gather her clothes as he jingled the keys to her daddy’s truck. She shuddered as she felt something wet and warm between her legs but didn’t want him to see her cleaning herself up.
I just want to go home, she thought. I want to go home and shower.
She looked up quickly when she heard what sounded like a present being unwrapped.
“I got you these,” he said, handing her a bouquet of roses wrapped in cellophane. “They were for, you know, before, but no sense in them goin’ to waste.”
She nodded without speaking, biting her lower lip to keep from . . . crying? Why did she feel like crying?
“You’re a woman now, Ash,” he said, winking at her from under his hat. “You’ll remember this day for the rest of your life.”
She nodded because she knew he was right, then followed him out into the scorching midday sunlight.
4 Comments
February 8, 2009 at 11:40 am
You have this wonderful ability to pack so much into so short a story. This was perfect.
February 8, 2009 at 10:38 pm
good goddamn.
your novels are like this you’re in baby.
February 9, 2009 at 12:01 am
Thanks, Michele & Kelly. I wasn’t particularly happy with this one; it’s interesting to see what resonates with others. I think in the end it turned out okay.
February 12, 2009 at 3:37 am
“I got you these,” he said, handing her a bouquet of roses wrapped in cellophane. “They were for, you know, before, but no sense in them goin’ to waste.” Great line – such a sense of loss in so little.