Tenth Anniversary

Flash fiction story, June 6, 2010.

10th Anniversary Cards:

He outdrank her as usual. Passed out pantiless in their motel room. Not even time to mount.

If he still did, would she notice?

After all, she’d seduced him through dinner and dancing. Teasing and taunting and shaking it like a peacock. Then pushing him away and telling him he had to wash beforehand.

When he got back she was snoring — drawn and quartered atop the faded bedspread, a wine cooler still in one hand.

He took it and finished it, then grabbed a beer from the ice in the sink.

Turn on the television. Unwrap the cards — souvenirs from the casino, with pictures of topless showgirls on the face. They made him hard, but he lacked the motivation to do it himself.

Would she feel it?

He sat in a chair and crossed his feet onto the bed. Sipped the beer. Listened to crimes on TV. And one by one, he flung cards at her, aiming for the bush, like some bored detective landing cards in his hat.

Most hit the floor. Some cockeyed in her head of hair. The Jack of spades rested between her bra and left breast. He still remembered that bra from their honeymoon.

And she slept through it all. Not even a twitch.

He got up. Stood over her. Listened to the spit travel back and forth in her throat.

Then he gathered up the cards and played a half-limp game of solitare.

Maybe next year they’ll try Disneyland.

- end -