SEVEN DAYS by Silence Welder Page B

speak, taking out her rejection by Peter on him.
    Feeling as though she was getting something right tonight was the only thing keeping her together.
    She felt as though she had been transformed. She'd almost fallen for a stranger, she'd been aroused in public to the point of shaking and she'd propositioned her long-term friend and ex, straining their friendship until it broke. She'd been in a constant state of anxiety or outright fear for the most part of the evening.
    From time to time, she felt as if her world was expanding to accommodate her. It was a glorious feeling, but in the end there was her and her empty flat and nobody to call. It seemed that perhaps things hadn't changed so much after all.
    She had blown the cobwebs away, only to find that there was nothing beneath. It was only her body, the cold tiles and the sound of water washing London grime down the plughole.
    She squeezed her eyes shut to squeeze out the world and squeeze back the tears.
    Under the rush of water spraying her body, she heard his voice, dry and smooth:
    “You have your fantasy; I have mine...”
    She wondered what he meant by that. What was he implying by: “I have mine.”
    Was she a part of his fantasy future, even now?
    Eyes still closed, she allowed her hand to explore the smooth skin of her stomach.
    “...have your fantasy...” Mark was saying in her head and she cut him off there.
    She let her fingers draw a pattern in her soft pubic hair, imagining that it was Mark, no, Peter, no, a guy she'd seen on the tube, no Mark, teasing her. She decided to make him the best lover that she had ever had. He knew just when to stop stroking her hair and slide gently between her legs. He knew not to rush her. He knew that she wanted him and that there was plenty of time to enjoy this. Plenty of time.
    Too much time.
    She imagined his kiss on her inner thigh and sighed out loud, allowing the shower head to spray fine jets at her, sending rivulets over her as she delved deeper and sent the first of what she anticipated would be many shockwaves rippling through her body.
    She placed her fingertips on her clitoris and began a circular motion, quickly sending pulses of pleasure throughout her body. She pleasured herself  vigourously, impatiently, pushing back against her fingers, her spine hitting the tiled wall and her mouth an ‘O’, because she was soaring so quickly to the cusp of her orgasm.
    She knew her body better than any man. More’s the pity. But she was able to seize upon her sensation and fold it into itself, doubling it and doubling it again, kneading her pussy and bringing herself closer and closer to that explosion of feeling that she craved.
    In the end, Peter had been an appetiser. Now she was tingling all over. She massaged her breasts, feeling how hard her nipples had become under the shower spray. They were like studs jutting out from her ample breasts.
    As she washed Peter away, she welcomed her new arousal and her new appreciation of her body.
    She gasped, because she was so close to coming. Her pussy was aching and the muscles of her forearm were taut with the pressure she applied to herself, but that final push evaded her.
    The thought of Mark in the shower with her came to her then. She had him on his knees, his tongue against her pussy, his fingers sliding into her and his eyes on hers, because she wasn’t just an object to him.
    His eyes lingered on hers, because he wanted her to feel at least as good as she was making him feel.
    “You have your fantasy,” he had said. She certainly did.
    And yet, it wasn’t right, because if she hadn’t been so impulsive, so close-minded, this fantasy might have been a reality. Instead, she was alone. She seemed to be destined to be alone.
    She chased the pleasurable sensations, but her body was already getting away from her, her over-active mind getting between her and the release she needed.
    She gave up and her entire body ached with loss. Unfinished business.
    The water ran cold