Jayne Renault

Musings of a Smut Queen
A-Mused

A-Mused

Foreword

There are no two ways about it. This is… some abstract shit.

But I can’t help it – the prompt image of New York awakened a most esoteric muse. When I decided to write without thinking too hard about the form, just let that weirdo muse take me and to see what came up, this was the result.

New York is an interesting, magical place that I still don’t know very well. The second time I was there, I found a penny on the sidewalk, made a wish.

And it came true. 

This is when I learned – the hard way – that there are very serious consequences to calling upon gritty magic so frivolously.

– Act One –

Enter Me.

My migraine brain was more overcast than the February skies above. I could hardly see straight. I shouldn’t have been driving. I knew I couldn’t go much further; I needed sanctuary.

I could have stayed where I was. I had a safe space. But I left it behind. Because I hoped to catch a glimpse of you out of your element, fully yourself.

I displaced with intent. I paid tolls and crossed the bridges with intent. I reconnected to the ether and parked in a central location with intent. I waited with intent.

All for a moment with you.

I can’t ever claim pure disillusionment; everything I did with and for you was with full, deliberate, unincumbered intent.

I wanted every part of you, in you, for me.

I didn’t know if you’d answer. I never thought you would. I nearly left when you didn’t.

But of course, you reeled me back in just in time, before I could swim too far away.

Enter You.

You quoted love songs to me unknowingly (or perhaps with full intent) when you gave me a target. I ran through the sludgy streets with the conviction of a well-paid actress from another time, dodging and weaving through seas of warmer bodies. Have they ever known this level of thirst?

Of course, you were already gone by the time I showed up to my mark – hell forbid it should be too easy to catch you.

The slack in the line was a tease, an allusion of what was to come.

Then. In the dark, under the lamplight, beyond the haze of my own breath, beyond the halo of your soothsaying smoke, I saw you. But before that, I saw the copper glint on the sidewalk. I fished it from the puddle and wished upon Abe’s face, who heard my invocation and granted me my most foolish desires.

Entracte – 

We talked our way through life and love and victories present and future, washing them down with the taste of vine rot and bivalves until it was time to digest through movement.

Then, we strode, dizzy, arm in arm through the foreign streets like they belonged to us and only us, until everything settled snugly into what felt like its place.

– Act Two –

Thirsty, greedy, we drank more than we needed to; indulged with more liberties than we should have; cornered ourselves in places you didn’t belong.

We took monumental risks on both sides of closed doors.

May I?
Please.

Your grunt, my yessss. Touch, lick, kiss, grasp. Slip, ahhh

You Enter Me.

More?
Always.

I Enter You.

The urgency in your touch clamored with the desperation in my want. Our kiss submerged the shape of you around me, of me around you. The taste of your salt, the depth of your thrust, the crash of the lamp we didn’t mean to topple. The silence was so stern as we pretended to go unnoticed by watched ears…

Shh… Whiskey-soaked snores rolling in the next bed like waves before a storm. Shh, kiss, shh, he might hear us…

Foreheads touched, stillness on the surface while the mattress stifled the kerplunk of sweat beads dropping to infinity. Heaving breaths forced us deeper into the ominous darkness where we are the same.

I was not remiss; we entered and found centre in one another.

My well has run dry, let me drink from you instead. Kiss, suck, swallow… I give, you receive, we take.

I felt no shame or remorse for the positions I put you in.

But even the highest crests inevitably collapse. Rolling over. And over again. Back to back, a curtain call nowhere near Broadway.

Epilogue

I was high on hubris when I left you behind to stew in the pool of our transgressions. I smelled your sulfur on my hands when I descended from hell to the lobby; falling from grace in a hotel elevator. I saw my name on the street sign at the bustling corner and smiled, possessed by wicked glee.

It was at the core of a rotting apple that we finally consummated our black magic affair. I’m sure that big forbidden fruit will never taste quite so bittersweet as it did that morning alongside you.

Afterword

I have no regrets. I made my choices and cast my spells. You ruined me. I invited you in.

Our story was everything; our story means nothing.

Friday Flash is owned and operated by F. Leonora. To more of what this flashy prompt is stirring up, give the logo a poke. The image, Big City, also belongs to gifted F. Leonora.

4 comments found

  1. You plunged into this tale like a bull. The story’s structure was its bucking, twisting mass that deftly avoided destroying all the artfully displayed imagery you used. It was quite the ride. Well done.

Go on, show me your words.

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