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By Katie Lewington
He woke beside her, it must be early. Still he got up, took out the bins, picked a banana from the tray and ate it as he filled a glass. Light washed out the hallway, he walked through its warm beams to mount the stairs and step back into the bedroom, bringing his girlfriend the pill and the glass of water. She was asleep, mouth drooling saliva on the white, plump, pillow. He laid it on top of the dresser for her to swallow and drink later then he showered and went downstairs to watch the Grammys on TV, scrolling through his Twitter feed on his mobile phone, barely aware as she woke and took her shower with none of the hot water that he had had, carrying her handbag along as she finished upstairs. Thinking of the shopping he would need to get for them, "Don’t forget your sandwiches." he told her, hearing the thunk and rattle of the fridge door and she showed him the lettuce, tomato and ham sandwiches, kissing him and leaving for work ten miles away, at an accessory shop.
He couldn’t believe it was only 10 AM when the Grammys had ended and the awards had all been won.
He flushed half a glass of water down his throat and thought of lunch, he didn’t want to go the supermarket yet, too early and pondered maybe napping, then his mind flashed to another, different, way of spending his time and as much as he liked it, he felt guilty doing so. He had always felt guilty, like he was betraying the women that he used to get to what he wanted, it was too late though and his pulse had begun to race. He had read about addictions and knew he had to distract himself but it was already a certainty. He upped the stairs, collecting washing draped on the stair rail and heaping it into the washing basket, on the windowsill he propped there a new bottle of mouthwash and threw the old one into the side bin in the bedroom.
He cleaned his teeth and bleached the toilet then sat on the bed, it sagged under his bum and he seized their wedding album off the cupboard, tore through its contents, this was not even enough to put him off, it just weighed heavy on his shoulders and he flung it aside, wrenching open the cupboard door on his wife’s side, the hangers clipping as he flipped through them. His wife, bless her, shopped only in Primark or charity shops, feeling clothes were not priority of their sparse weekly budget like most girls her age did.
He chose a blue mini skirt and a silky pale blouse that he knew on his wife magnified her bust and showed it off, he had bought the exact same one in a larger size. He undid his robe and turned, to rustle through the underwear draw of his wife, only now did he wish she wasn’t so skinny. Today it was a red thong, he had no hope with fitting a bra, he had a wide chest and he knew he should buy his own but how can a chest with no breasts be measured and without raising eyebrows too?
He wasn’t a freak, but this wasn’t normal he thought and sitting on the bed again, twisting the knickers over his feet and ankles then knees, he stood and tugged on the thong, flicking his robe cord from inside of it and admiring his bulge in the cupboard door mirror, swiveling, his toes scratch on the carpet as he also admired his bum which was fabric-less in this thong. He felt the waistband of the thong protest and pull on him as he did so. He rubbed himself; feeling pleased and after a minute or so then shrugged his shoulders into the blouse, doing the buttons to cover his chest, his nipples chafed on the material. The feel of these clothes was soothing, he did not notice the shadow fall over the window, the sun blotted out of the picture while he gazed at himself, massaging his hands against the hands, stroking them. He even modeled; walking up and down the length of carpet not domineered by the doubled bed. As he pulled himself into the skirt he happened to glance up at the window and had the scare of his life. Staring at him, with the wide eyes of an owl, was Gary the window cleaner, leaning up on his ladder against the side of the house and Gary continued to stare but he screamed, felt his heart had secreted a hole in his chest and splattered dead onto the carpet.
The turn of events suddenly in motion Gary had gone, his ladder screeching as he scrambled down to earth and he had drawn tight shut his robe, rushing to the front door, no, the back door and colliding with Gary, who is embarking a hasty retreat North West of the garden i.e. to the garden and forgetting his ladder.
The washing line spun in the wind, the flowers dead in their beds and the chirps of the birds tweet as he said to Gary, "Don’t say anything."
"Oh I won’t mate, trust me," Gary said, gruffly, his eyes rolling desperately from his own.
"Please don’t," he clenched his fists
"I’m not gonna," Gary reassured him, "whatever you want to do in your home, that’s fine, go ahead."
Gary retrieved his ladder and made a swift exit, his ladder legs banging on the gate, he was stuck with it but he had shut the gate forcefully behind himself and he went back upwards to recover his heart.
#Unreal #Fiction #Lingerie #Secret #Behavior #FlyYourFlag
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