In a deep sleep dream, I feel the tapping on my arm. So insistent. Why won’t it go away? I move away, it doesn’t stop. Through foggy sleep my brain begins to realize the sensation is real. Slowly I awaken, as he begins rubbing my stomach. The foul stench from his unbrushed teeth and rancid alcohol breath cloys to the side of my face. He realizes I’m now semi-conscious, and gropes me faster, moving his hand into my underwear and shoving his fingers into my vagina even though it’s completely dry. Always in a big fat hurry. I’m sleepy, I wonder what time it is, it can’t be more than an hour or two since I went to bed. I manage to twist my head enough to furtively glance at the clock. Yeah, 2:10 AM. Just like the fucker to wake me up out of stage 4. Nice.
I try to think of something arousing, just to block out the fact that his beastly insensitive groping and digging is irritating to the point of pain. It doesn’t work very well. But he keeps rubbing. Always in the wrong places, always too hard, too fast. It occurs to me I’m not much different from an inflatable sex doll to him. He stops for a second… I hold my breath... then he spits on his fingers and shoves them back into me with a grunt. Wow. He’s really in a generous mood tonight. Must be feeling badly about the way he treated me yesterday. I make an attempt to stretch, and he takes it as his cue to climb on top of me. It’s good that I’m so used to it now, in a way. It’s not that big a deal anyway when he shoves that little prick inside me and thrusts away for maybe a minute or two. If it took much longer I’d be suffocated by his bulk. But as it is, he’s not drunk enough to hold out for long, so he squirts his ejaculate with great grunting relief, gives me the obligatory reeking kiss, and finally rolls his hulking mass off me. I wipe myself up with some tissues that I keep by the bed, and before I’m finished swabbing the stinking sticky semen from my body, his snores are shaking the walls of the room.
Sigh. Might as well get up. It’s no use trying to get back to sleep for a while. I go to the kitchen to get a drink. A glass of water helps with the dry parch in my throat, at least until I can get to the liquor cabinet. What have we here? Drambui left over from the last party he threw for his graduate students. That’ll do. A big swig of it burns down my throat and into my stomach. Almost immediately I vomit it back up again into the kitchen sink. Gross. Well, no more of that. I only wish I could become alcoholic. They’re so lucky.
Better clean up the mess in the sink, otherwise he’ll be pissed off and asking questions tomorrow about what my problem is and why I’m wasting his liquor. Fuck him. It’s really quite amazing that he doesn’t seem to realize how much I hate him at times. It’s not like he’s stupid. He either doesn’t care or isn’t capable of noticing how I feel. I finish rinsing the sink, and glance at the knife block on the counter. A nice sharp fillet knife. You definitely have to make the cut lengthwise in the wrist, otherwise it won’t work fast enough and the blood will clot. I wonder if it would be better to use a serrated edge? Now that would be a mess. The thought makes me nearly smile. Oh hell, I couldn’t put the kids through that, even if I did do it in the bathtub to make the cleanup easier. I put the knife back in the block, slowly, longingly. For now.
Shuffle back down the dark hallway to the even darker bedroom. HAH! It’s like being a convict on death row! How deliciously and horribly macabre. If only someone else in the world would get the joke! I push the door open and the stench of booze, sweat, and semen stings my nostrils. The gurgling snores are even louder than before. Lovely.
I wonder how long a person can stare into darkness, not feeling anything, not thinking anything, before going completely insane? Probably a very long time. Or maybe not.
I try to think of something arousing, just to block out the fact that his beastly insensitive groping and digging is irritating to the point of pain. It doesn’t work very well. But he keeps rubbing. Always in the wrong places, always too hard, too fast. It occurs to me I’m not much different from an inflatable sex doll to him. He stops for a second… I hold my breath... then he spits on his fingers and shoves them back into me with a grunt. Wow. He’s really in a generous mood tonight. Must be feeling badly about the way he treated me yesterday. I make an attempt to stretch, and he takes it as his cue to climb on top of me. It’s good that I’m so used to it now, in a way. It’s not that big a deal anyway when he shoves that little prick inside me and thrusts away for maybe a minute or two. If it took much longer I’d be suffocated by his bulk. But as it is, he’s not drunk enough to hold out for long, so he squirts his ejaculate with great grunting relief, gives me the obligatory reeking kiss, and finally rolls his hulking mass off me. I wipe myself up with some tissues that I keep by the bed, and before I’m finished swabbing the stinking sticky semen from my body, his snores are shaking the walls of the room.
Sigh. Might as well get up. It’s no use trying to get back to sleep for a while. I go to the kitchen to get a drink. A glass of water helps with the dry parch in my throat, at least until I can get to the liquor cabinet. What have we here? Drambui left over from the last party he threw for his graduate students. That’ll do. A big swig of it burns down my throat and into my stomach. Almost immediately I vomit it back up again into the kitchen sink. Gross. Well, no more of that. I only wish I could become alcoholic. They’re so lucky.
Better clean up the mess in the sink, otherwise he’ll be pissed off and asking questions tomorrow about what my problem is and why I’m wasting his liquor. Fuck him. It’s really quite amazing that he doesn’t seem to realize how much I hate him at times. It’s not like he’s stupid. He either doesn’t care or isn’t capable of noticing how I feel. I finish rinsing the sink, and glance at the knife block on the counter. A nice sharp fillet knife. You definitely have to make the cut lengthwise in the wrist, otherwise it won’t work fast enough and the blood will clot. I wonder if it would be better to use a serrated edge? Now that would be a mess. The thought makes me nearly smile. Oh hell, I couldn’t put the kids through that, even if I did do it in the bathtub to make the cleanup easier. I put the knife back in the block, slowly, longingly. For now.
Shuffle back down the dark hallway to the even darker bedroom. HAH! It’s like being a convict on death row! How deliciously and horribly macabre. If only someone else in the world would get the joke! I push the door open and the stench of booze, sweat, and semen stings my nostrils. The gurgling snores are even louder than before. Lovely.
I wonder how long a person can stare into darkness, not feeling anything, not thinking anything, before going completely insane? Probably a very long time. Or maybe not.
posted by anya at 5:51 AM
