Her, her, her…
I cum in my hand abruptly, and I stop stroking myself.
I swallow down the shudder that wracks my body. It is both my undying desire for her and my disgust with the mess. But for her it’s worth it. I clean myself up and turn off the stove, and I pour the minestrone soup into one of the chipped bowls that I have.I forgot to buy bread, I think as I make my way back to the living room. I forgot to buy bread because of the rain, and the bus driver and the rude woman with the stroller.
The bed upstairs begins to bang against the floorboards as I spoon some of the soup into my mouth.
It tastes like shit.
The bed thumps.
Another mouthful and I grimace as I try to work out the complexities of the taste.
Thump, thump, thump…
It’s a full-on liquid meal of pasta and vegetables.Perhaps that’s why people like it,I think.
Thump, thump, thump…
Because they’re lazy, and can’t be bothered making a real meal.
Thump, thump, thump…
Or maybe because they’re indecisive. They can’t decide if they want soup or pasta. Either option would make sense, I guess.
Grunt, cry, yell, groan…
I spoon another mouthful in and grimace. But it tastes so bad; surely no one is that indecisive.
Yeah, this soup is the world. Looks confusing and tastes like shit. It rots in people’s stomachs until they have to heave and heave and throw up what little fucking humanity they started with.
I glance up at the ceiling. The banging has stopped, but my light fixture is still swaying and I can hear murmuring. Muted footsteps as they get dressed. Maybe they didn’t even get undressed. Maybe he just bent her over the bed and let his pants fall around his ankles. Seems the quicker option. That’s what I would do if I were banging a woman like her instead of coming into my hand and thinking ofher.
The soft click of her door and then footsteps come down the stairs. I put my bowl down and go to my door. I look out through the peephole, watching as the man leaves. He glances at my door, his cheeks still flushed from sex and shame. I note the ring on his finger and I tut at him. He frowns at my door and then turns away, and I wonder if he heard me.
The thought makes me smile.
It’s only a minute or two later and she comes down the stairs, her skirt so short I can almost see her ass cheeks. Not that I’m looking. I like my women classy. She doesn’t look at my door, but continues on down, and I notice that her legs are still wet from the rain outside.
I smile again, knowing that I was right. He must have bent her over the bed.
But hey, who the fuck am I to judge? At least they had each other, if only for just a few minutes. At least they weren’t alone. Like me.
