If
it happens at all…
The
sex is routine like Saturday’s laundry.
A
process forever considered undesirable
Could
literally now be completed with her eyes closed -
Ironically,
they usually are.
He
gets home
The
stench of alcohol and cigarette lazily follow
The
misplaced steps of a doting drunk
Each
footfall echoes through the hallways.
Amidst
the disorientation, eventually, he finds her
-
Somehow, he always does-
Another
has never been with her the way he had
Had
never seen her they way he had
The
talks of saving herself for the right person were futile
He
could never had been the right person
She
was never saving herself for him
Eerily,
his shadow looms over the already darkened room
A
silhouette of the door frame supporting his weight
Stretching
across the floor, falling short at the foot of her bed
Then
slowly, knowingly, it creeps, further and further unto her sheets
The
covers are tossed aside
Her
racing heart stops as she fights back the tears
She
hears the clanging of his belt buckle
Then
the hard thump of his trouser hitting the floor
There
is nowhere to run as he climbs onto her bed
Grabs
hold of her legs
Pulling
her closely
Tossing
her slender frame over on its back
She
was confined beneath his robust frame
Incapable
of escaping his grasp liberally feeling his way around her body
Sucking
on her supple breast
With
arms stretched and pinned above her head
The
last time she made an attempt to fight
He
had beaten her numb
Unwillingly,
tonight she concedes
All
emotions leaves her face as he forces his way in
With
each thrust he would wince
While
her body laid deadened
Paralyzed
to his touch
Paralyzed
to the chafing of her womanhood
There
is no passion or pleasure
But
he stands erect and piles himself within her
Grunting
with self satisfaction
And
blatant disregard of hers
Beads
of sweat accumulating on his forehead
Only
to snowball their way into droplets onto her face
And
as he expires within her fold
Every
muscle within his body contracts
Clenching
the sheets with an exhausted bellow
Until
finally, he slumps flimsily unto her
The
rapid beats of his heart recede
He
struggles to exhale from cigarette tainted lungs
But
quickly drifts off
Her
eyes are glued to the ceiling fan
It
does nothing to alleviate the room temperature
But
she dares not stare anywhere else
Never
at the haze filled eyes of this man
This
pitiful excuse of someone
Someone
who was meant to love, protect and provide for his family
Someone
who had failed
Had
taken advantage of her innocence
And
warped her joy of a possible childhood into hatred
Olsfred James 2014©
