Short Story Fiction ~ On Top

Odd. Yes. That’s the word to describe the feeling when he’s on top of you, inside of you, thrusting rapidly like a mad man before he comes. You cannot feel anything but the hair on his chest. His husky breathing pollutes the air around you. His large belly seems to fill the space of the bed, he is surprisingly light. 

 

 As soon as he is done, he rolls off you and crashes into the bed, breathing a sigh of relief. He chuckles and prods himself on an elbow and looking into your eyes with a wide grin on his ugly mouth. He asks how you feel and if he was good. You want to say you hated every second of it but you simply ask why he had to be on top and he says a real man must always be on top.

 

You get off the bed and walk to the bathroom, with a tackiness between your legs. You lay in the tub staring at the tiled wall; the hot water doesn’t seem to wash away your filthiness. The soap smells nice however and you wrap it in your underwear to take it out of the hotel. He beams up when he sees you again and wants to embrace you. His tight boxers clutch his tiny manhood and his stomach droops. He looks like a grown man with kwashiorkor. You let him hold you and feel him getting hard again but without saying a word, you put on your clothes and demand for your money. He laughs and throws fifty thousand on the bed, saying the twenty extra is in anticipation for next week. You smile at him while putting the money in your bag. When you walk out of the hotel you can feel the receptionist, the cleaner and in fact, the entire world staring at you.

 

At dinner, you shove small spoons of rice into little Angela’s mouth while telling Adanne to stay awake and finish her food. When your husband asks where you got the money for the bag of rise and chicken, you say that your secondary school friend, the one who is a sister to the wife of the aide of the governor, sent you some money, he is happy and tonight so he lets you be on top. 

 

Kay Ugwuzor 

(c)2016