Menage a Trois

Menage a Trois

I found her waiting for me at the table when I got there. I hung up my coat and had, and went to join her. “Oh, it’s good to see you…” I half-whispered. But she didn’t answer.

She was wearing a green dress that flattered her curves in all the right ways, and I couldn’t stop staring at her. She glowed, especially around her neck where a maroon choker rested, right around the hollow of her throat.

I reached out to touch her, but I could tell she was too cold. Better to wait, better to let her get warmed up, better to give her a chance to breathe.

And for me to breathe her in. Her scent, intoxicating. Her hair, like the softly burning embers as a fire is nearly out. Her curves…

I shook my head to clear it. This wasn’t an affair, and she didn’t need foreplay.

I reached out and stroked my fingers down her neck, her side. So smooth. I did it again, felt the change from her silky green to the colorful fabric wrapped around her middle. I couldn’t help it, I moaned.

I’m not sure if I would have touched my lips to her neck or not, but even though I knew she was receptive to the idea, I didn’t try it.

In all honesty, I didn’t have a chance.

Bright lights came on and pulled me out of my reverie, and the voice – the voice I hear every morning and fell asleep with every night, spoke to me in sweet tones.

“Is there some reason you’re in the dark? Oh, hey, have you tried the new pinot noir yet? I got it for eight bucks at Costco. I’ve heard it’s really good.”

I sighed. I love my wife, but sometimes you just want to enjoy a glass of wine alone, or at least, enjoy a quiet fantasy.  Maybe next time.

“Shall I pour for both of us?” I called to the other woman in my life.

“Please!”

I looked back at the one in the green number. “I guess it’s three of us tonight.”

Parched

Parched via Flash-Prompt

Parched.

She could no longer remember a time when she was not parched, when her roots did not dig so far into the earth that they nearly breached its molten core.

Sometimes she had flashes of memories of being supple of limb and well-coiffed with lively green leaves. But those recollections were dusty like the ground to which she remained anchored.

No. Tethered.

Still, she held out hope. A rumble in the distance spurred her to lift her desiccated limbs skyward and plead in a mental voice as scratchy as her peeling bark. “Rain! Rain before the last of us is gone!”

The sky remained unrelentingly clear. In the distance, she saw one of her sisters crumble to ash. She would cry, but she couldn’t spare the sap.

“Rain,” she croaked.

It came, but too late.