RICHARD & SUZZANE – A LUST STORY

The big hall door opens. Flung aside by those gusty hands.It jerks and stops wide open. The muscles retracts and then all of it together makes a move. The lean body walks forward, unkempt hair falls all over the shoulder blades. The head is erratically changing stances. It stops. The body bents down slowly. The static frame don’t have it anymore.

She has been dreaming of him too much lately. How his hands move whenever he talks, nodding his head in a constant assurance of listening and the repetitive sound that comes from him, almost involuntarily bursting in between their conversation, sans rhythm. She tries to interpret those gestures, maybe. She has almost memorized the trajectory of the dream and forces herself to sleep, to dream the dream. He has been her man since the day she met him. His presence has touched her deep, deep through her skin in her mind. She could never say, that how much love she treasured but her eyes, even you can read, glassy eyes, indeed they shone in love.

The mist of the morning is yet to fizzle, the birds have shrieked enough for this dawn. Start of another day, clumsy, monotonous, jerky at times. A pessimistic morning has again molded into its tranquil disguise. Suzzane wakes up, eyes wide open, stares blankly at the ceiling fan, whose sound( noisy  oil-less gears ) have lulled her to sleep yesterday. She sits up, adjusting her dress, which tended to fall down her shoulder, revealing  her voluptuous bosom that stunk of youth and lavender.

He had to see her now. After  all that he had heard about Suzzane. He had to meet her once to say that it has not been easy falling in love with someone whom he barely knew. Richard, has been through his youth, he has been through the pains and sweetness of teenage heart aches and grown over those sublime shivering of holding hands and the salt dripping kisses. He has had all the wisdom and he has been through half his life, with women, without them , bedding a few, losing to them, being a man, proving himself, making love and breaking bonds. Richard has strong hands and a fat accumulated throat. He is composed, almost stern with his body. Ignorant eyes puts his egg-face to arrogance and his are un-kissable cigar-blackened lips. And now, he is here, standing alone, in the big hall, a garage, waiting for Suzzane. He has, out of all the wrong things, fallen in love with a completely unknown girl. He has only heard of her and talked to her once, on the occasion of her father’s funeral. He has then been mesmerized by the black-cloth clad, scarcely beautiful, Suzzane.

Richard pulls Suzzane close, holds her buttered hands and looks into her dead eyes, with love, searching for one glitter that might shine. He plays with her cold fingers, they might once hold his in grip, crossing fingers and twist fingers braids. He brings her palm to his bearded face, rubs them through his cheeks. Solace, solace long awaited solace. Suzzane lies still on the floor, with patience, unnatural to her constant impatience, she lays quiet. Richard touches her nape, removing the threads of hair and placing them slowly on the floor, spreading them in a mesh, beholding her scarce beauty in his eyes, he reaches out to her maroon lips, kissing her, slowly, subtly, pressing himself on her, did she move? No. He kisses her vigorously now, on her  reddened pouts, pushing his tongue in her mouth, trying to induce warmth in the otherwise cold body. He clutches her frail frame in his strong hands, thrusts his face between her voluptuous, firm breasts that smelled of lavender.  He greedily moves his fingers through her midrib and circles them around her waist. Kissing her incessantly, tirelessly, letting his lust take charge of his mind. He clasps her bosom with all his pent-up desire. His week knees trembles as his body breaks on her, touching her, bruising her, carelessly making love to her on the floor of the vacant garage.

Suzzane has not moved since.  Panting, Richard is now lying next to an undressed Suzzane. He looks to the other side, the bloodied wooden plank lies there as dead as his scarcely beautiful  Suzzane. He helplessly look at her, the blood beneath her head has dried up, her body didn’t sweat a drop since and through. Suzzane, Richard wraps her in an embrace, poor Suzzane, why she had to love the other man. Richard pulls her in his lap and cleans her face  and looks morosely at her dead eyes, questioning , telling: ” I would not have killed you Suzzane, had you not been in love with the other man. But I had to kill you because I would not have been able to see you in pain when I had made love to you. Oh Suzzane! pretty Suzzane, I had loved you enough to let you go, to let you dream of the other man, to let you abandon me, my love. You could have only be mine today, living or dead, my dear Suzzane.”

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3 Comments Add yours

  1. A nice storyline establishing the fact and presence of envy and the resultant end.

  2. wh1skey says:

    The mist of the morning is yet to fizzle, the birds have shrieked enough for this dawn. Lovely.
    That, was gripping. you have a poise that is rare. hold it, strengthen it and i daresay flaunt it.

    1. creepycouch says:

      Thannx a ton! 🙂

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