Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
The first time I took off my clothes in front of him I felt cold. Cold like blank paper discarded on the floor, lifeless, empty. He surveyed me forensically as I slowly, deliberately removed each garment feeling confident that was what he wanted. He took no pleasure in the revelation, he could have been waiting for a doctor’s appointment but his eyes never left my body.
“Dear god!” a man’s orgasm boomed through the walls at us. He didn’t blink; he just stared at my crotch. My thumbs slipped under my thong, let it drop to the floor. I stood motionless, waiting for the next beat of our scene.
With surprising grace, he lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. He lay so still I wondered if he was ill but I couldn’t speak, he had drawn all sound from the atmosphere. I could hear my blood in my ears.
“Go” he whispered. I waited for a moment, uncertain if this was part of it. “Go”, he said, firmly this time then “No” jumped out of my mouth, a bright fish that leapt and fell to the ground between us, gasping for air.
He opened his eyes; I saw a glint of emotion. Was it fear or threat? He appraised me, calculating. I couldn’t hide the rise and fall of my breasts, my hands felt hot. I checked the clock.
“You have ten minutes left,” I said, apologising. “Do you want to touch me?” He closed his eyes again, “God no”
Like a painting we hung there, outside of ourselves in the endless silence. “Face the wall. Put your clothes on. Do it slowly”.
I turned away, bent down to pick up my thong and presented myself to him. I could hear his breath, the first evidence of life. As I fastened my bra his breath quickened. I pulled up my skirt, the discreet thrum of my zip aligned with his barely audible sigh, “Pick up your clothes and leave”.
His tone made my skin prickle, my cheeks washed with heat. I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt shame. I hated him for it. He was shoplifting with dirty hands from the version of myself I’d worked so hard to create. Adrift in a room I’d worked a thousand times, I couldn’t move.
“Get out!” he hissed. I turned on him and with the voice of a child who still believes the world cares for them I said, “I’ll call security”. Then he laughed, a laugh so full and human it disarmed me for a moment. He smiled with infinite kindness, “I’ll see you next week”.