The Reprised Surprise Ch. 03

And the husband stood outside the door. 36 inches of empty space, humid air still roiling with cigarette smoke, with 2 more of pressed wood, separating husband from wife. Victor's mind peeled back the roof of the trailer like a sardine can, saw the husband compartmentalized from the woman that played at wife and mother but now fucked herself on a stranger's face, swallowed engorged flesh.

"I told you." The boy's voice, close up against the door. Victor imagined a youthful ear pressed against the wood, ferreting out the sound of shower head, of draining water. June moaned, her voice vibrating against his stiffened flesh, and he knew similar thoughts filled her mind.

"Why in the hell she taking a shower now?"

"She was doing dishes."

"So what?" The father sighed and shook the door.

Victor felt himself tightening. He worked his lips harder against her labia, trilled her clit into and out of his mouth, whipping his tongue over the nub on each entry. He pressed an index finger into the tight circle of her anus.

"Get your shoes on. We're leaving as soon as she gets out. Goddamn it."

June shook over him, hips scissoring against his face as she began to cum.

And as the footsteps shook the floor, travelled up the legs of the bed-frame and transformed to soft ripples within the springs of the marriage bed, Victor plunged upward, stabbing his cock into June's mouth as he spilled over her tongue, as his mind spiraled up towards the ceiling, paused, then crashed back down onto the mattress, sunken there beneath June's rolling weight as she sagged, panting over him, sipping and swallowing.

#

As he turned the BMW into the rental lot, he licked his lips, tasting her, remembering. The back of his shirt and jeans were wet from huddling in the bottom of the bathtub, vinyl shower curtain pulled, as June had opened the door and given the bedroom and bathroom back to darkness.

Angry voices had ambushed her as she stepped into her life.

They themselves had not spoken. Act consummated, betrayal concluded, true faces revealed and recognized and relished, they had fallen back into stranger's bodies, even as their juices dried on the other's faces.

A vague gesture towards the bathtub had been her closest approach to communication, all the months of late night confidences betrayed. What they had shared had obliterated them in the instant of sharing, consumed them like a candle's wick. As she had turned and sidestepped her way between bed and desk, he had considered speaking. But what had been left to say?

In the end, Victor had lain in the cold tub, hugging his arms to his chest, floating in the enameled womb. What had been conceived and gestated in darkness had finally been born. And as a misfiring engine struggled to life and carried the woman away, the newborn died, plucked from life like a spurned infant, blue and shivering between cold metal tongs.