I hope that at least I’ll dream about having sex with Jacqueline in a variety of positions. Once the workday ends, I’ll either stay to work overtime or just return home, where I’ll laze around, masturbate and go to sleep. In about twenty minutes I’ll get dressed, travel to work and try to drown my intrusive thoughts for hours so I can focus on programming through the tasks that my dickheaded boss piled up on me. “It has only rained for a couple of days, though.” “It hasn’t stopped raining?!” I blurt out. The background din comes from millions of raindrops hitting every available surface. Jacqueline has raised the roller blinds, but the outside world remains dark and gloomy, both because we’ve woken up before the sunrise and because bulky clouds have covered the sky. Why is my stomach filling up with dread, as if I were about to endure a lengthy trial? I look over my shoulder. Your bra, panties and socks must be lying around somewhere.” “I’d prefer if you showed me your bare butt at all times, but you have a right to your modesty, I suppose. Jacqueline licks the tip of her left canine tooth. “I-I should probably put something on to walk around your home,” I say as the skin between my legs tingles. She’s staring like I’m a leg of serrano ham on display and she’s aching to cut into me and gobble me up. Jacqueline’s gaze slides over the convex curves of my abdomen, then lower to my exposed slit. The memory of our frantic fucking remains fresh in my mind. I smile shyly as I take in the sight of her standing there with her head cocked slightly. I prefer to eat after I’ve taken a shower, but you already washed that skinny body of yours last night, and I don’t want you to wait around until I come out of the shower. Thick locks of hair frame her beautiful face, with its delicate features and her cobalt blue eyes. Her punch pink robe, the only garment that prevented her warm skin from fusing to mine throughout the night, has slipped open at the neck, revealing her milky skin and the curves of her breasts. Jacqueline has leaned against the jamb of the doorway, crossing her bare feet. I wish that my first sight after waking up, filling my field of vision, had been Jacqueline’s caring expression, but at least her scent has taken over every pore in my body, and her taste has coated the insides of my cheeks and my throat.īefore I’ve had time to acclimate myself to having woken up in someone else’s bedroom, the footsteps of the owner come down the hallway. I rest my elbows on my knees, rub my eyes and yawn loudly.Ī background noise like oil sizzling in a pan quietens my deep breaths. When I look up, I catch a glimpse of my naked reflection in the mirrored wardrobe, so I lower my gaze to my lap. My whole body begs for me to close my eyes again and let my head sink back into the pillow, but I groan and push the bedclothes away. It takes me a few seconds to register the sky blue ceiling and its three hemispherical lamps arranged in a triangle. As the man plods towards the women, he takes a cleaver from his apron’s pocket. His face is a patchwork of scars, one eye is blackened, his lips have been cut off. In a blink, the herd transforms into a single man who wears a bloodstained apron. The women repeat that they can’t bring themselves to do it. The goats cease their cavorting to face the weeping women, who kneel down and beg for their children to be killed.

They are dragging their sons and daughters by the hand towards the herd of livestock. The bleating muffles an approaching chorus of women that scream in pain and anguish. She’s staring at the dancing goats with rapt attention, with cloudy eyes that gleam like those of a child. Nearby, on a log by the fire, sits an ancient woman with long, gray hair and a white beard. Hooray.Ī herd of goats bleats around a fire as their hooves dance against the ground. Fortunately, this weekend I’ve played some more of GTA V in VR, I’ve emptied my balls, and I’ve managed to push out the rest of the thirtieth part of this strange novel that for whatever reason I need to write. At one point of that last shift I considered giving up and pretending I wasn’t present for the remaining hours. On top of it, this Friday I came back home from work at eleven at night only to wake up at six for my solitary Saturday shift, that involved handling the computer issues of strung out nurses and doctors who’ve dealt with this crisis for far too long.

I’ve been in an abysmal mood for the last week or so, and I didn’t feel like writing.

Railroad spike cleaver