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Flash fiction: Open.

Inspired by the word prompt over at 15_minute_fic, though admittedly I spent more like twenty minutes on this. Mildly erotic and depressing. Muggle fiction, aka not fantasy.



What does it mean to open yourself up to someone, exactly?

To open yourself up completely?

Is it intimacy, and what does that even mean?

Is it cutting open your chest for someone to peer in and see, all the bats and skeletons and dirty secrets and some bloody pulsing lump that you’re supposed to just give up?

Is it the tilt of a neck, like a violin, and then you let him play your veins with his fingertips?

Is it when you let someone in?

I spread my legs; my skirt is a beaded curtain opening. No, really - that’s what I made it from. He laughs at the muffled clanging sounds, clicking together, and I cringe when the beads burst and go bounding everywhere. Tearing off clothes is only sexy in movies, or when you didn’t make the thing yourself. But I suppose it’s kind of funny, and I laugh when his fingers dance between my thighs. No matter how many times I do this, it tickles and I tremble and twitch. I can’t decide if I feel delicate or awkward; I’m not sure I like either.

Is that what open means?

He opens me up, peels me apart like a fruit. I think I would be a tangerine. I suck on his fingers, and I know I taste sweet. I tangle sticky, sweaty fingers in his hair as he bobs and weaves between my legs, and I can’t help but think of a puppy. I almost laugh again, but this part isn’t supposed to be funny. He sucks at it, I think, and that almost sends me over the edge - not that one, unfortunately.

Maybe opening up is just awkward and disappointing and mildly amusing.

I pull him up by the chin, guiding his lips to my lips so I can taste myself on him, and I think of summer fruit and how sex is so messy and sticky and how like children we must look, pulling such strange faces and flailing about like we do. Sometimes it’s a fun game, and I want to laugh, I want to.

I want to open up my mouth and sing. Is that what open means? Letting go completely?

It isn’t thrusting your hips with your top still on and a body so separate from your own shuddering above you, I’m pretty sure. I close my eyes, and maybe you know it when you see it. Maybe you just feel it.

I wonder if this is as close as I’ll get. Admitting that to yourself - is that what open means?

Comments

O. M. G.

This is fantastic. Brilliant. It's like you've torn sex down to it's barest elements and made us look at it in a way we always refuse to. I love it.
Why, thank you!

Flash fiction, especially prompted pieces, is so interesting to write, as I had no idea where this was going to go...I thought it might be a sexy little piece, and it ended up being revealing in ways I hadn't intended, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'm glad you enjoyed it too <3
flash fiction is perhaps the most interesting, because so much is crammed into so little. I look forward to reading your other stuff.
I had a professor once that always stressed the "economy of words," using as few as possible to say the purest thing, and I always kind of liked that. Though, oddly enough, my academic papers tend to be extremely long and rambly ;)