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"You can reach me here", she says. "Leave a message. No promises," she adds.
I look down. She has written a telephone number.
It's evidently okay to speak again. "The butterfly?" I ask. "What is it?"
"A swallowtail."
Then she's gone.
Back in the gallery, half of the patrons have left. I look for the woman whose husband is away but don't find her. I hope she has found someone to warm her bed.
I wave to the Rose of Sharon, who are talking to some banker type as I exit the building.
I feel the telephone number on my chest, as though I've been branded there somehow. I might call, just to see where we might go from here. Then again, I might not. I can't imagine anything that wouldn't be anticlimactic after this.
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As always, I appreciate your comments. Please let me know what you think. Thanks!
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 10 years agoFive stars isn't enough, this is a seven .... at least. I was so entranced by the writing I almost forgot about the sex. If you are not a professional writer you should be.
Anonymousalmost 11 years agoThis is one of the best pieces I've read on literotica.
Your writing is terse, smart, and sensual.
Thank you for sharing your talent.
mel_pomenealmost 11 years agoThis was truly outstanding, ktmccoll - thank you for sharing your amazing imagination and talent for writing with us. Five stars and please don't make us wait too long for the next chapter.
