#FlashMobWrites Week 1×36 : Fanfare

You think I’m broken, wounded, bitter. All I ever say is negative, hard to hear. I know this. I’ve heard your words, the things you say when you think I’m not listening, when you think I can’t hear you.

“He’s so negative. Why do I bother to ask him anything?”

But, you don’t know. There are things I don’t speak of, don’t share, hide. Things I keep locked away from the world, so the world can’t reach them, can’t hurt them, can’t tear them apart, can’t rip them from my heart.

Like how I never got married. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard them talk among themselves, “All he needs is to get laid.” What the fuck does that even mean? Does anybody know what that means? “All he needs is a woman,” like that says anything different. Like a woman would tame me, make me into a normal person.

I never got married for a reason. See. I never found her, never found who I’m looking for. You don’t know it, no one does. But it’s there, inside me. A dream I have of her.

I never got married, because I’m holding out for a dream I’ll never have. A dream of a woman whose hand I can hold. Whose magic laughter chases away the demons haunting me. The same demons that haunt those people who say “He just needs to get laid.” I know it’s the same demons. I can see those demons in them, in their eyes. Hear them in their voices, that fear of someone knowing too much, getting too close, finding out who you really are. Learning something about you they can use against you, they can manipulate you with.

Except for her.

That dream woman knows when I’m wounded, angry, frightened, frustrated from the events of my day. The stress of deadlines, of bosses demanding the impossible. She knows to put her hand on my shoulder, to whisper in my ear, “It’s OK. It’s OK.” She knows to show me I’m not alone, to remind me she’s there. To let me know it’s OK to feel everything, to feel trapped at my job, to feel angry about my work, and the silly deadlines, and the politics that happen there. To feel endlessly frustrated, because the misery never ends. She’s the one on whose shoulder I can cry. She’ll be my friend, my companion.

Why is everything always about sex? What is it with people? “He just needs to get laid.” Ha! That’s all wrong. I just need to find her.

And it works both ways, you know. She’ll be the dream woman I can hold when she’s wounded, when her heart aches, bleeds from the wounds this life carves into her soul. One I can carry when she’s too damaged by this world, this life, to walk on her own. To let her know she’s not alone. I’ll let her know it’s OK to feel everything. And I’ll be there when she needs me. I’ll be the one on whose shoulder she cries.

That’s why I never married.

I never found her.

But I haven’t given up. I’m still holding out for that dream. My dream. I know it’s every guy’s dream. To find that one person, that one friend. To find her. She’s out there, somewhere. All I can do until I find her is keep looking. And keep holding out, and dreaming.


I tried to write this for #FlashMobWrites 1×36, hosted by Ruth Long and Cara Michaels. But I couldn’t find the words, or the way to get them on the page in time. But not that I managed to find some of the words, and a way to get those few words on the page, I’m sharing it. Now, please, go read all the stories in for #FlashMobWrites 1×36. You might find something you like. But if you don’t read them, how will you ever know?

#MWBB 2.51 : The Thrill Is Gone

Jerry sat on his sofa every night waiting for her to go to sleep. She went upstairs about nine. She usually went upstairs between eight and nine most nights. He usually stays up till eleven, or midnight. Just to make sure she’s asleep when he gets to bed.

Sometimes Jerry wondered when it all started. When he stopped going to bed when she did. When she stopped asking him to come to bed. When he started wearing pajamas every night, even though she sent to bed naked.

“Used to be different,” he remembered. “Yeah. Used to be different.”

He remembered the first night, before they got married, when he woke up at stupid o’clock and she was on top of him. “Are we doing what I think we’re doing?” She hadn’t said anything, just kept moving.

Before they got married, they spent nights together at her house, in her bed. Hell, they spent whole weeks of nights together. Always at her house, always in her bed. Never in his apartment. But he didn’t care.

After they got married she got experimental. She started trying more positions, and more types of activity. Over the years, they’d tried everything, including oral and anal. They tried sex on the stairs, and in the shower. On the sofa, in the kitchen. Even in the middle of the night, with no lights on, and the curtains open. It was OK to experiment, since they were married. They could have all the sex they wanted. And they did.

After the kids were born, they didn’t experiment as much. As the kids grew older, the fun nights grew less frequent. When the oldest went to college, things pretty much stopped.

Jerry sat on his sofa and remembered what it was like. When she put her head between his legs. Or when he stood by the bed with her on her hands and knees. He used to watch every stroke. That was part of the fun for him. Watching.

But, those days were gone. And Jerry wasn’t like the guys he worked with. All of them divorced their wives and had married younger women. Women still interested in sex. If that’s what they wanted, Jerry was OK with that. But he wondered why they slept with women the same age as their daughters. “That just ain’t right, is it.”

Besides, it took energy to wake up in the middle of the night for that sort of thing, and he’d rather sleep. He knew, after enough times, it all became the same. Everything felt the same. All the new, all the excitement, had worn off.

The thrill was gone.

Around eleven-thirty that night, Jerry felt tired enough to go to sleep. He wandered upstairs, changed into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. The covers felt good. After a few minutes, she stirred, pulled his arm out, and snuggled in, her head on his shoulder.

Jerry smiled. The thrill might be gone, but the comfort and the trust of having her as his friend and companion more than made up for that.

511 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 51 (Week 2.51) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. This week the prompt is the song, “The Thrill Is Gone” by B. B. King. Please, go read the other stories in this week’s challenge.