A little experimental flash fiction.
[Preface I’m back on my experimental flash fiction bullshit. The next part of the story was published originally in May 2019 at Heavy Feather. Links in the story are clues in case you’re unfamiliar with the fugue.]
I dreamed his voice inside my own music. Our dance is slow, requiem and reprise, I am beyond and outside of myself. Close my eyes and feel the puff of breath against the shell of my ear, I feel my heartbeat in my pussy when he can’t get above a grating whisper, “Maestra. Maestra. Maestra please.” He is sweetness itself, he is exposition, a first glimpse, a first strain of a melody I dream of hearing. “Maestra. Maestra. Maestra please.”
I tried to only dream. I tried to only fantasize. I tried, I tried. I-
I dreamed his voice, “Maestra. Maestra. Maestra please.” All dreams leave me wanting. My hand between my thighs, he is the contrapuntal plea to my demanding cunt. I wonder can he hear it? In the night with his hand resting on his cock, does he hear? Does he whisper for me? “Maestra, Maestra. Maestra please.” Does he whimper in his sleep?
I tried only to dream. I tried only to fantasize. I tried, I tried. I-
I dreamed his voice as I watch my callipygian dreamer dream. Do his lips move? Does the dreamer dare speak his desire into being, into me, into my hand into my blade. Our dance is slow, requiem and reprise, I am beyond and outside of myself. “Maestra. Maestra. Maestra please.” I am his Nyx. He my Erebus.
I tried only to dream. I tried only to fantasize. I tried, I tried. I-
I dreamed his voice inside my own music. Our dance is slow, requiem and reprise, I am beyond and outside of myself. Close my eyes and feel the puff of breath against the shell of my ear, I feel my heartbeat in my pussy when he can’t get above a grating whisper, “Maestra. Maestra. Maestra please.” He is sweetness itself, he is exposition, a first glimpse, a first strain of a melody I dream of hearing. “Maestra. Maestra. Maestra please.”