The Next Encampment

Most early waking this morning, my body still floating in a haze of the growing daylight, of a jumble of thoughts and feelings, my husband stirs beside me, well rested I hope so we could fuck, he reaches out to touch me and the luminous shell of my body breaks, like the black patch of earth I discovered last night beneath the window shutters, cracked and disturbed, the soldiers began their exodus as the earth body trembled, I was tempting my husband all day, baring my shoulders still burnt by the sun, but who was I tempting really, as he turned and fell asleep, as he threw the blanket over himself and the creamy scent of his sweat teased my nose as I began to entertain the hallucination of my desires, I had put on the softest of my night dresses, a melange of tiny pink and blue flowers, that slipped easily off my shoulders to bare my little breasts, still vaguely encircled by a line, curving of tanned skin and in the half light I wanted my old man to see the little peaks of obscenely excited nipples, dark and glistening, fantasising of the warmth of his mouth, may I sit on his lap and pull his head to my breasts, and there the fantasy leaves my body like the exodus of the soldiers, and my stomach aches of a cold emptiness, for I have tried hard to ward away the mouth of another man, such soft unctuous mouth that dripped with wetness, sucking my with expert rhythm, a tongue that turned me pulpy, lips, teeth and gums that mashed me and made me shriek, made me writhe and open my mouth pleading to be filled by his most deserving phallus, and in the morning, the drones are gone, and the black broken earth is empty, what I feel is the hand of my husband, a touch I know very well, that gave me no pleasure unless I indulged in the hallucinations of my body, the fingers are rigid and my cunt is dry, so I put my hands on his chest and rub against it, and there the other man appears, upon whose breasts I wept, and in my mind I call out his name as the rigid fingers ram me, and from there I have no desire to remember what I feel, no, I don’t really want any memory of such mornings, I blink a few times to clear the tears to see through the haze, to catch a glimpse of the sky through the window, where something lies for me, I imagine, another day, there is a long dark trail visible where the soldiers have taken to the next journey of a new home, a new encampment, a new earth body to be built carefully, expertly, meticulously, I stretch and find comfort in the thought of the care I have given my body, let alone my mind, the astonishing suppleness, softness and slenderness it has kept through many years, my cunt still soft, tight, sweetly smelling and tasting, and these breasts, scarred and yet still sensitive, responsive and alert to physical and poetical touches, my husband gets up, perhaps he saw my nipples against the pillow, or the darkness of my cunt peaking from beneath the pink and blue flowers, perhaps, I lie in bed for a while, dream of my spectral fuck, and then get up to make breakfast.

Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Sunday, August 10, 2014

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