percolator
She made coffee in a percolator. Coffeemakers were too modern, for all that she was barely twenty. I never understood why she horded newspapers, or what she did during the day when I was on campus. I loved the shock on her face as she snorted, the bliss on her face as she sat up. She was wisp of pre-Raphelite trust fund beauty, and I saw her in every state you can imagine but one--blurry in the morning, attacking a crossword puzzle when I got back from classes, coked out of her mind, cold and removed, and drunk and affectionate. Never happy.
I never touched her. In the months we were housemates I had every desire for her. I wanted to lay her out on the bed and make love to her, I wanted to bend her over and fuck her hard. I've hardly thought about her in twenty five years, and I want her, right now. Right this fucking minute.
I never touched her. In the months we were housemates I had every desire for her. I wanted to lay her out on the bed and make love to her, I wanted to bend her over and fuck her hard. I've hardly thought about her in twenty five years, and I want her, right now. Right this fucking minute.