Saturday Morning Alone

Saturday Morning AloneI didn’t think I was naive. Or petulant. That’s what my boyfriend called me. Just the sort of accusation that makes a person petulant.I woke alone in his bed. I thought he might be making breakfast, our Saturday morning ritual. The apartment, though, was too quiet. Then I remembered him telling me, the evening before, he had a few hours work to do at his office. After lunch, he’d promised, the weekend was for us. Perhaps the sound of the door closing behind him had woke me. The clock read a bit past twenty minutes after eight, an hour past my weekday wake up time. My sleep would have been shallow. I thought I’d like to see him, in his pretty charcoal business suit, climb into his red sports car and pull out into the traffic.The air was cool on my skin as I leaned over his dresser to the window. The spot against the curb was empty. He couldn’t have been long gone. I looked along the street just as the tail of a red car disappeared around the corner at the lights. I didn’t know automobiles enough to know if it was his or not.I didn’t need to go to work; the world would keep spinning about its axis without me; I could have gone back to bed and sleep. Standing, though, had shifted the weight of my bladder. I decided to see to it before bringing a cup of tea back to bed.I cruised his lounge room as the kettle came to a boil. It wasn’t a room I was comfortable in. It was stainless steel and black and hard. An oversize television screen dominated the space. Everything had its place. It was the sort of room only visited even by its owner. I had been going out, hatay escort bayan and sleeping in, with him for almost a year but that remained the picture I had of him. He had all the toys — tailored suit; red sports car; straight cut hair; straighter teeth; shiny trinkets — but it were as if he kept the real him tidied out of the way. I picked up a small wire sculpture of an a****l. A pig? It did nothing for me. I put it back in its place on the dustless sideboard. Maybe it was the challenge of excavating the real him that kept me with him. How traditionally female was that? I could bet he was powering his life with a significant overdraft but that was not mine to fix. I pushed my mind to other things.Like just being able to walk about, naked, as the morning air was cleanly cool against my skin. I couldn’t do that in my own share house. I kept back from the windows but that was just a small thought. I thought how pleasant it would be to be walking about some secluded garden, nude. The click of the kettle was loud. If he had been home there stereo would have hidden it. A full height storage unit took up one side of the hall between the lounge room and the kitchen. It was where he kept his CDs and videos and all the other functionally untidy things. On its floor were stacked the dailies and weeklies that formed stalagmites in my own living room. I never saw him read them.I shouldn’t poke about, I knew. It was more than bad manners. The urge, though, was too strong. I might discover, folded up and sealed with a handful of mothballs and left on an upper shelf, the escort hatay real him. I’d just take a moment, I told myself, just a glance.The second to top shelf was just about his eye line. I had to teeter on my toes. At its rear, behind, his collection of hats, were a dozen black video cases. I wouldn’t have paid them any particular attention except that the paper labels had been removed and in their place, he had lettered in red marker pen, the spines ‘B1’ through to ‘B12’. One case was out of numeric order.I pulled it out, went to put it in its correct place between ‘B7’ and ‘B9’, then hesitated. In for a sheep as much as a lamb, I told myself and opened the case. The black and white commercial label on the video said simply “Bukkake Party 4”, which did nothing to assail my curiosity. The reels clunked as I turned the video over in my hands. The little window showed the tape was near its end.Of course, I went to pop the video into the player. I almost changed my mind when it wouldn’t go into the slot and then I realised there was already a tape in the machine. I swapped them over and started the machine. Snow covered the suitcase sized screen. I double pressed the rewind button and took the opportunity to make my tea. While I was adding milk the tape’s whirl clunked to a stop and then I heard the machine begin playing. There was some cheesy music, not his style at all, and some muffled dialogue. I couldn’t make it out.I walked back from the kitchen to a scene, seemingly across half the wall, of a crowd of naked men around a single woman on her back. I didn’t initially hatay escort recognize what I was looking at. The symmetry made me think I was looking at a flower. The men wore erections and were all masturbating. I had never seen even one man doing that, never mind a crowd. Weren’t men supposed to be shy of each others’ dicks? Their hands were moving to fast for me to make out details.The woman could have been anyone’s sister or neighbour. She was biggish and had the jolly self-knowing look of a lot of big girls. Even alone I was embarrassed. I lifted the cup to my face, sipped, realised I was as naked as the people on the screen. I almost put my hand in front of myself.Just then one of the men ejaculated and then another. Their come landed across the woman’s hip and heavy breast. She shrieked. It was the sound of joy.I could have turned the machine off. I should have. I didn’t. I sat down with my cup and sipping my tea stared at the screen. The scene ended and was followed by another vignette and then another. I finished my drink and kept watching. My fingers found their way between my legs. I imagined I was the woman on the screen. I traced the fingers of one hand where she was streaked while the fingers of the other burrowed into me. I came, kept watching and came again.The movie came to the snow again. My heart was at the bottom of my throat as I took my cup into the kitchen and restarted the kettle. I heard the front door. When I came back into the lounge room my boyfriend was standing next to the video player. He has the ‘B8’ case in his hand. His face was defensive. Before I could open my mouth he began to bluster and justify. He said it was just innocent fun in boring moments. He called me naive.At that I decided not to share my morning with him.And then he called me petulant.Well, I wasn’t. I never am.

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