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A short story/description, written in a definite style. Open to interpretation. |
The little diamond of light, the thin plank walls, the little holes in the caulking, the apple-cot. She’s lying on her back in the cot, blonde hair tangled in the straw. Her breasts are full, hidden in her crumpled dress. He kneels down next to her, resting his chin on the straw, his mouth pressed against her hip. If she moves, I’ll not be able to breathe, he thinks. Her hand idly plays in his hair. It’s blond, like hers. I love you, she says. I love you, I love you. He stays where he is, but his chest bursts with pride. She’s worth more than anything in the world, and she herself wanted to do this. It’s a line from a book he used to read her in the evenings. “Kiss me”. His fingers, still down by his sides, tremble slightly. He pulls up his left arm and strokes her leg, small and tanned. You’re trembling, she says. No I’m not. Kiss me then. He kisses her on her hip through the thin white dress. His hand slides up and he turns the dress inside out over her. She’s giggling, her head hidden behind the white veil. She sits up and kisses him on the top of the head, and pulls him to her. He gets onto the cot, undoes her bra. Her breasts spread out slightly. He kisses her, and as he does, she undoes him. Do it, she says. Do you mean that? It’s all I’ve been longing for. She guides him in and he sinks into her, the little child his daughter in the apple-cot. |