I don't know if any of you have read the first part of "Consummation" - or if you've enjoyed it. But, just in case there are some people out there who've glanced over it, here's the second little bit anyhow.
I'm off to Cato Ridge in Kwa Zulu Natal tomorrow morning - have to check in before 5:30 am - to tour a manganese smelt. The company I work for has asked me to research their processes and script a couple of corporate videos for them. I'm not sure whether I'm excited about this. KZN is not precisely my favourite province. Then again, a change of scenery could do me the world of good.
But either way it ultimately means there won't be an update here tomorrow. So I'll see you all Friday.
Until then, enjoy.
By Sean James Bosman
Tina Harrison was a beautiful woman, she thought as she looked at herself in the full-length bathroom mirror.
Twenty-seven, her body vouched for her daily gym routine: flat stomach, rounded legs, and perky breasts and taught buttocks. Her arms were shapely.
She admired herself, turning slightly so the sweat glistened on her naked skin. She ignored the viscous white pool that oozed between her breasts, tickling its way towards her belly.
Soon she’d have her fun again.
Tina Harrison was Tina Harrison’s only source of pleasure these days. Ferdinand hadn’t always been like this. At first, it seemed as though the honeymoon would never end. They’d summered in the Bahamas; gone skiing in the Alps. They’d hosted some of the best parties in town, attracting everyone from local soap-opera stars to the mayor.
She’d had fun then.
But Ferdinand seemed to have changed somehow. He was growing restless – and more persistent about starting a family.
They’d tried several times for a while. At first she’d enjoyed it. But then it started getting weird: like he was shoving a coin into a vending machine rather than being there, in the moment.
She hadn’t “taken” – as he’d put it – and she told him it was all right. Maybe they just weren’t ready.
And that was when the business trips started – long trips that never relented. He’d go abroad, leaving her at home rather than take her with as he’d used to. Whenever he was home, he was in his study. Then he started leaving at weird hours – for meetings that were never discussed when he’d gotten home.
She could feel them growing further and further apart. It was in their separate lifestyles and in their lovemaking. No. Not lovemaking. They didn’t do that anymore. He just fucked her – going through the motions – when she complained a bit too much.
But that would not be for much longer.
Tina reached over the basin and tugged at his orange facecloth. It came loose, the silver towel railing clinking softly against the tiles. Its fluffy fabric sent pins and needles up her spine as she wiped it from her stomach to the puddle clinging between her beasts.
She could smell the rank musk. It stirred butterflies in her belly.
The facecloth was sticky and clotted with come as she tossed it into the sink. She felt good about it, like a school kid who’d slipped the class bully a laxative-soaked sandwich.
She smiled at herself in the mirror again. And when she met her reflected eyes, she knew she’d better be home when Ferdinand arrived.
***
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