Of orgasms and other excuses

Showtime went ahead and made a series called Homeland, which is really about a crazy blonde CIA woman who believes she’s the one to save America from the grasp of terrorism. At first I admired her for the work rate, for her dedication to the job of pinning down the terrorist. But then she forgot to take her pills one morning and all hell broke loose.  She got rather annoying you see, and by the second season I couldn’t stand her anymore.

Anyway, that series is the reason I haven’t had any work done this past weekend. On Friday night I set down with a mango and decided to watch one episode. Only, I kept watching one more episode until I was done with the first season. And when I rolled out of bed and opened the curtains, it was Sunday.

So now it’s Tuesday afternoon. I’m sitting in bed and the laptop is warming my testicles as the sun dips somewhere behind the homestead. And there’s a piece of paper lying on the floor there. It’s a CAT result, it brings a ball to my throat because I’ve terribly failed. And I feel bad about it, I really do.

I haven’t beaten my Monday deadline this week, and that also puts some weight on my shoulder. But it shouldn’t even surprise me anymore, my sloppiness. The problem with me is that I’m lounging in my comfort zone, and that’s a tragedy.

So this class that I’m failing at, it’s on the second floor of the school. I walk in early, mostly, and I make my way to the back. Best seat in the house. I get to watch everything from there, and, when I get bored, I can take out my pack of cards. Mostly, I get to watch people, which is really the best part of this job.

We have a Sudanese man who wears these very nice suits, and who, when asked about his opinions on things, he speaks with clean-cut honesty. And the guy that sits behind him just about knows everything about anything. An elderly lady seats at the front, she always has a book in her hand before class starts. Today’s book was called Millionaire MD or some such thing. And then there’s the girl with brittle-looking ankles who took out a crossword puzzle when class got a bit boring.

Sometimes I envy everyone else here, they raise their hands and give their opinions and keep the wheels of academia spinning. I don’t. I’m what they call a floater you see, and, looking at that paper tossed on the floor there, it makes me want to pick up a book about getting out of my comfort zone.

But, before I do, here’s a raw short story I haven’t had time to finish.

Again, the boundaries of imagination have been pushed…


Beth stepped out of the shower with a leso wrapped around her chest. The piece of cloth ended above her knees, exposing her brown thighs. The top of her head was tucked under a black shower cap and she carried her wet underwear inside her clenched fist. As she made her way to her room, the night air bit into her skin. She shivered and she took notice of the fire in her loins. What was it about the cold?

She opened the door to her room and reached for the light switch, and, immediately after the door had shut behind her, she let the leso drop to the floor. She aired out the underwear on the window sill, and then she moved towards the mirror on the wall and studied her body.

She was a slender woman, but she always thought her breasts were too big. Her husband never seemed to mind. She remembered how, during their vigorous love-making, he would gently squeeze her breast. And she would feel slightly uncomfortable if he only concentrated on one of them. A smile would play on his lips when she would move his hand from one breast to the other, and then he would intensify his thrusts.

Now she had not seen her husband for three months. They had had a brief conversation on the phone two days ago, and she felt that he wasn’t too jazzed about talking to her. In fact, he had been that way lately. He spoke to her almost in anger, and his tone had poisoned her mood. She had hung up on him, just in time not to hear a woman’s voice in the background.

She opened her wardrobe but she had no intention of wearing anything. She took a mental note of what she would put on the next day, turned off the light and slid into bed. A cold breeze blew inside the room through the open window, just as she instinctively reached for her crotch, and began to pleasure herself. Slowly at first, and then she moved quickly until a gasp escaped from her lips.

When she finally opened her eyes, she thought she saw a figure by the window. She froze. A great silence filled the room, and she wondered if, in the heat of the moment, she was loud enough to wake anyone else.

And then, seeing no one, she slowly fell asleep.

Just in time not to hear the footsteps outside.





























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