My return from another life-induced hiatus is this little short story. I do have some longer pieces lined up too including a return to some old favourites and i can't wait to share them all with you. But for now: enjoy!
- J
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Wrapped in a fluffy white dressing gown, he looked over the clothes he'd picked out hours ago: a black shirt with subtle floral patterns stitched in it, and a pair of jet black Levi's. Next to them was a small holdall carefully packed with his favourite toys. Handcuffs and chains were carefully packed around blindfolds, silk ties and plastic gags so that they wouldn't rattle as he walked. A selection of leather belts were coiled up like snakes waiting to strike. And on top of it all, was a pair of old brown leather gloves, that he once had worn almost everywhere from October until March, but now he saved just for her. He glanced at them for a moment, recalling how the teeth marks had been left in the fingers, and how her makeup had somehow managed to colour the leather in a way that
just would not come out. Placing them back in the bag, he began to get dressed, but stalled as he looked at himself in the mirror.
He had done everything he could to try and look his best, but no amount of exfoliation or ointments or moisturisers that smelled of hemp or chocolate or strange implacable chemicals ever seemed to stop his skin from being flaky and red. He glanced again at the all-black outfit, and sighed; she loved it when he wore dark clothes like that, but it wasn't easy to make it look good when you have a skin condition. Still, if that's what she liked, that's what he'd do: he needed every advantage he could get. He was tall, but in an awkward lanky way more than in a handsome and imposing one. No amount of gym work has helped his spindly frame and as he had gotten older he had noticed that whatever weight he did put on seemed to go to his belly or his chest, rather than his arms or his legs. Neither had time been kind to his hairline: whereas once he had had so many thick brown curls he never knew what to do with them, now he only seemed to have half a head of hair, although still just as curly. Where his skin wasn't red from eczema or scarred from blades, it seemed to flab and wrinkle more than anyone could ever expect of someone in his mid 20s. The more he stared, the less he liked what looked back at him, but his attention was suddenly drawn to his phone as it buzzed and lit up.
