Post-Coitus

There are bees in the balcony. They flutter around, attracted by light. They may also be drawn by dirty rooms or a couple cuddling while snoring inside. They cannot enter though — no bulb is switched on inside.

Perhaps, they can hear the breathing – that steady rise and fall of the chest. If they did, they could not distinguish two distinct breathers. For some reason, and this is weird, their lungs expand and contract at the same time. In choreographed ballet, they inhale and exhale.

Had the bees arrived hours ago, they would have heard shouting, banging of tables and high-pitched whining. Madness, grief, rage, rolled into a furious battle of wits — or a competitive game that they may have played. No one wanting to lose, it is that messy, dripping, sometimes bloody but ridiculously noisy scene that a neighbor may get upset and start banging on the door.

Minutes later, there would have been lies and put-on smiles and unhappy compromises. One of them cried, just a little bit, and in the CR. They ripped off their clothes, thinking it was sexy, pretended they were in porn or a really cheap romantic comedy. Then this really awkward moment where they bang, they try to enjoy each other, grinding their teeth and lips along every crevice of each other’s body, moaning through clenched jaws, rocking the bed that pillows fly. Unable to rise? Try again! Shower emergency? Take five! Go! Go! Go! Endless, unstopping go until we get it right. No, that’s not right. No, widen it up a bit. No, come on it’s so easy, just shoot it. This is a ridiculously easy position. Well why don’t you try it? More lube. Can’t get the condom on. Aw, aw. Stop, more lube! Higher, higher, I can’t reach that, no, lower this time, I’m not that tall. Move it to the right, ouch, leg cramp. It’s in? It’s in! Wait, one, two, oh, fuck. Wait, let me get it hard again. Then try try try try try again.

One loud cry then it’s over.

One of them stroked the other’s hair. Just slightly. He turned away.

They tried to hold each other — but in the end — with no words — with no sounds, just a touch of a finger to the lips,

A smile. Two smiles.

He mouths ‘I love you’.

The other guy kisses him.

They fell asleep.

Minutes later, an arm drapes around a shoulder.

Second after, the hand is locked by the other’s hand.

Slowly, rubbing each other.

It’s been six hours and it’s just their snoring and breathing and the drone of the electric fan that the eavesdropping bees can hear.

—————

CARD DRAWN:

NINE OF CUPS

THIS IS THE TAROT CHALLENGE, a 78-day writing challenge where everyday I pick out a random card from my tarot deck and write something about, against, inspired by, based on the card by the day’s end. The works can range from poetry to fiction to drama. When the card is from the major arcana, the title of the work should be the card name. When the card is from the minor arcana, the title can be different but the card drawn should be revealed at the end.

Oh, yeah! Two days to go!

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