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water, which she holds in a trembling hand, spilling down the front of her nightgown. “Better?” I ask. “Take the sheet down,” she says. I pull the sheet down and she hikes up her nightie. She is glistening as she spreads her legs, one hand on her breast, her breathing accelerating, eyes on me the whole time. I lean in and kiss her, our tongues sliding back and forth. “I’m only forty years old,” she cries, tears running down her cheeks. I stand up and go to the suitcase. I take off my right hand, and screw on the device. It is a long fleshy thing, with various buzzing and throbbing points of contact. I turn to look at her and she smiles at me, her right hand busy between her legs. My clothes never come off. My right arm is moving back and forth, in and out, the buzzing and rotating filling the room with a dull hive of sweaty bees, her eyes glassing over as the drugs start to kick in. It’s going to be close, a race to the end. My left hand is holding her bony fingers as she gasps and moans, closer and closer. Something inside me shatters, as she bucks and shakes, the bed wet now, her back arching as the lights dim in her wide open eyes, and she stops moving now, her arms quiet at her side, her fingers falling out of mine. I log the entry, the deposit hitting my account with a hefty tip and I accelerate the car in a straight line, no longer looking for the curves.

Profile for Conjectural Figments

Conjectural Figments Feb 2012  

ConFigs, the first issue. Transhumanism. Interview: Simon Morden. Poetry: Jhon Z. Baker, Dale Herring. Short Fiction: Richard Thomas, Simon...

Conjectural Figments Feb 2012  

ConFigs, the first issue. Transhumanism. Interview: Simon Morden. Poetry: Jhon Z. Baker, Dale Herring. Short Fiction: Richard Thomas, Simon...

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