![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Wait Issues
Aug. 12th, 2010 07:22 pmIt's been two months and fifteen pounds since I broke up with Little Debbie.
June: A shithole of a hotel; somewhere between a squat house and whore house by the stink of it. Sheets savaged to sweat soaked tatters, stained with a dozen flavors of creme filling. Little Debbie tangled up to wrap wide curves in a random toga; exposing a mammoth breast with fresh bite marks orbiting a hooped nipple. Big thighs, strong enough to crush the march of armies that have crossed them before me. A pout of a snarl, a fuck-you-I-want-more of a stare, stray bangs dangle from under her wide brimmed straw sailor's hat.
Covered in crumbs and still licking her frosting from my lips, I catch a glance of myself in the cracked mirror hanging over the bed. All sugar-beefed up and addict eyed. This is no good. I'm a wreck. Gut bloated. When we make love lately the vision blurs, the cavities sing with a sweet pain and before I can reach a proper death rehearsal within her she whispers in my ear the most terrible things.
"We can't keep doing this..." I mutter meek without the courage to meet her eyes.
"You always say that, Jack..." her voice a porn star purring through the folds of a Swiss Roll Cake, "... annnnd you always come back to me. You know why?"
I got nothing... except the taste of her lingering on my lips.
"Because I never say 'no'. Because I never judge. Because you'll always be beautiful when your mouth's wrapped around me and I know all the secret ways to make you feel alive when those other women don't even know that you are. Because, well y'know..."
And now she crawls across the decrepit mattress towards me, nuzzling my neck with the flat of her cheek and I'm swept up in a perfume of strawberry glaze. Her hand reaches into my lap and...
... I bolt up.
"No!" I stomp over to the pile of clothes buried in discarded plastic wrappers and chocolate smeared cardboard backings. "I mean it. This ends tonight."
"Uh-huh... we've done this little dance before, Jack. By tomorrow you'll be on your knees, begging me for forgiveness and just one tiny taste of my love."
"I..." She's right. In her presence I'm reduced to little more than a tamed lion, jonsing bad for my chair-and-whip fix.
"So, okay... let's pretend you're for real. What's the harm in one more... 'dance'."
But then I look at myself back in that mirror. She's the same, just as gorgeous and cruel as ever. Me? I'm twenty years older. Toes numb then legs gone. Teeth rotted to a row of decayed graves of what was once my smile. A fat wreck of a beast unable to get it up and blinded by sugar onanism.
"Sorry... you were... you were the best I've ever had. Even better than those southern peach pies and naughty parisian pastries. I'm sorry, but..."
and without finishing either the sentence or bothering to completely get dressed I walk out the door and would be lying if I told you I never looked back.
Two months and fifteen pounds but you wouldn't know it to look at me. Same gut around the belt, same reflection in the mirror and only a scale to tell me the difference. Call it 'Wait Issues.'
Every now and then I run into Little Debbie when I stop in the store for a fresh pack of smokes. She never looks angry or hurt. Just that same sunshine sweet smile she had for me the first day we met when I had nothing but a quarter and a bad mood on me. A zebra cake later and I was hers and she was mine.
But if there's one thing I've always been good at it's fucking up a relationship with a beautiful woman.
Goodbye Baby... I know I've slipped here and there since then but I'll be damned if I'll be yours again.
June: A shithole of a hotel; somewhere between a squat house and whore house by the stink of it. Sheets savaged to sweat soaked tatters, stained with a dozen flavors of creme filling. Little Debbie tangled up to wrap wide curves in a random toga; exposing a mammoth breast with fresh bite marks orbiting a hooped nipple. Big thighs, strong enough to crush the march of armies that have crossed them before me. A pout of a snarl, a fuck-you-I-want-more of a stare, stray bangs dangle from under her wide brimmed straw sailor's hat.
Covered in crumbs and still licking her frosting from my lips, I catch a glance of myself in the cracked mirror hanging over the bed. All sugar-beefed up and addict eyed. This is no good. I'm a wreck. Gut bloated. When we make love lately the vision blurs, the cavities sing with a sweet pain and before I can reach a proper death rehearsal within her she whispers in my ear the most terrible things.
"We can't keep doing this..." I mutter meek without the courage to meet her eyes.
"You always say that, Jack..." her voice a porn star purring through the folds of a Swiss Roll Cake, "... annnnd you always come back to me. You know why?"
I got nothing... except the taste of her lingering on my lips.
"Because I never say 'no'. Because I never judge. Because you'll always be beautiful when your mouth's wrapped around me and I know all the secret ways to make you feel alive when those other women don't even know that you are. Because, well y'know..."
And now she crawls across the decrepit mattress towards me, nuzzling my neck with the flat of her cheek and I'm swept up in a perfume of strawberry glaze. Her hand reaches into my lap and...
... I bolt up.
"No!" I stomp over to the pile of clothes buried in discarded plastic wrappers and chocolate smeared cardboard backings. "I mean it. This ends tonight."
"Uh-huh... we've done this little dance before, Jack. By tomorrow you'll be on your knees, begging me for forgiveness and just one tiny taste of my love."
"I..." She's right. In her presence I'm reduced to little more than a tamed lion, jonsing bad for my chair-and-whip fix.
"So, okay... let's pretend you're for real. What's the harm in one more... 'dance'."
But then I look at myself back in that mirror. She's the same, just as gorgeous and cruel as ever. Me? I'm twenty years older. Toes numb then legs gone. Teeth rotted to a row of decayed graves of what was once my smile. A fat wreck of a beast unable to get it up and blinded by sugar onanism.
"Sorry... you were... you were the best I've ever had. Even better than those southern peach pies and naughty parisian pastries. I'm sorry, but..."
and without finishing either the sentence or bothering to completely get dressed I walk out the door and would be lying if I told you I never looked back.
Two months and fifteen pounds but you wouldn't know it to look at me. Same gut around the belt, same reflection in the mirror and only a scale to tell me the difference. Call it 'Wait Issues.'
Every now and then I run into Little Debbie when I stop in the store for a fresh pack of smokes. She never looks angry or hurt. Just that same sunshine sweet smile she had for me the first day we met when I had nothing but a quarter and a bad mood on me. A zebra cake later and I was hers and she was mine.
But if there's one thing I've always been good at it's fucking up a relationship with a beautiful woman.
Goodbye Baby... I know I've slipped here and there since then but I'll be damned if I'll be yours again.