June 22, 2013 § 1 Comment

Dry throat

My mouth fills with the dry sting of hand cream. He must have lathered some on before I came over to suck his fingers. He has never done that before, it tastes awful.

His thick, firm finger wipes across my tongue and I let my mind wander. My lectures have been much more interesting this semester so I’m finding it less of a chore to map out essays in my head during these evenings.

The other day I found out that most of the people in my class think I have a rich father who spoils me, that’s why I always have money and nice things. This made me laugh a lot. I couldn’t tell anyone the truth though. That wouldn’t be a good idea, for either of us.

My lips glide over his rings; he never takes them off and it doesn’t bother me. He is humming a quiet tune to himself and I let the rhythm take over my licking.

No-one would believe it’s just his fingers that I suck. People always presume the worst.

“Did you put handcream on?” I cough.

“Yes, sorry. I was gardening. I forgot.”

He puts his moist hand through thick grey hair, deepening the lines around his eyes with a soft smile. He gives me €20 extra.

I head straight to Marks and Spencers to buy my dinner, and chewing gum.


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