Consent
He was into
threesomes. And he had slept with his best-friend’s mother. His ex-wife hooked
up with his brother and he hooked up with his brother’s ex-girlfriend. A lot of
incestuous ex-cross-sex.
So
when he suggests they visit his best-friend for a night’s craic,something in her gags.
His friend
loves the colour of her hair, pearl blonde, and the fact that she is bare-faced,
no makeup, and the sylph-like contour of her foot. He sits beside her, removes
her sandals and fondles her toes, tracing the thread veins in her ankles. Glasses
clink. She’s already drank a bottle of Chardonnay and her boyfriend is mixing
cocktails. His friend is still stroking her leg, his whiskeyed breath
whispering in her ear, “He never shares anything with me anymore. He used to
share everything, and he owes me; I could tell you a thing or two.”
Inside her
head she’s screaming, I already know about your mother.
A glance
between the men and her boyfriend disappears. The friend’s hand begins to climb
her leg. She grips it firmly, but it’s stuck, like a bloodsucker, and she meets
resistance when she tries to stand up. Room spins. Steady on! He’s stroking her
thighs, his fingers clenching and pinching her crotch. The rim of a glass
strikes her teeth. Her lips part, she gulps, vodka drips down her neck. His
tongue licking, worm-like crawls into her mouth. Her head spins and she blanks.
Beneath her
a woman is pinned beneath a man. She is screaming, but no voice comes.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2019
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