“I’m not sure if I am happy you made it, or sad that no lady mantis found you sexy enough to rip your fucking head off.” She smiled at the little brown male dancing on her finger, trying to read his bizarre sign language. He had landed on her shoulder, startling her and pulling her out of a daydream.
He did look like he was praying for death. Understandable, not getting laid and all. “Poor thing” she muttered and clicked her tongue.
She wondered if he had found her on purpose, looking for assisted suicide. She herself had a habit of proverbially beheading her lovers after she fucked them and collected what she needed.
Her heart had mated for life, like swans and wolves do. Her pussy was an entirely different creature, predatory, emotionless, ravenous and decidedly insectile in her feeding habits.
LA in July was absolutely stifling, even with the sun long set.
Every story she ever told always began with, it was ungodly hot.
Some things never change even when everything does.
She sat in the courtyard. Plumes of smoke from her lit cigarette curling into cursive curse words in the lamp light, dissipating at the slightest puff of breeze. She was trying to swear less, but it was so fucking hard. The lanterns were swaying ever so slightly. The air carrying with it the ocean and magnolias, playfully lifting the edge of her skirt, then the smell of sex overpowered everything. The corners of her mouth curled into a wicked grin.
Could this little creature smell it on her?
She shifted her skirts to stand, and realized it was entirely possible. She was perfumed with sweat, the dark, secret, earthy smell of her own sex, peppered with the cum and sweat of several random boys. Her thighs ached with the effort of standing. She was bruised everywhere, knees to navel, inside and out. She clenched her pussy tight, as she walked over to a hanging basket full of jack-in-the-pulpit. She didn’t want any of the precious liquid she carried to escape before she saw him and he took it from her.
Him.
The very thought of him seemed to conjure him out of the dark. A wisp of smoke caught her nose and she whipped her head around, realizing simultaneously that that too was sore, and not caring one bit. His side of the courtyard was dark, no candles tonight…but as her eyes adjusted to the dim and she saw the cherry glow of a cigarette.
“I outta pop your head off for distracting me” she hissed under her breath at the mantis and flicked him off her finger into the planter where he landed gracelessly.
She had been waiting for her man to emerge from his apartment. Her man. That thought pleased her beyond reason. She tried to collect herself a little while closing the distance across the courtyard…walk, don’t run. Breathe. What she wanted to do was sprint to him and climb him, hold onto him and never let go.
She never really did know what his mood would be like until she was standing in front of him.
That was a lie, 10 feet away she could read him by the meter of his breath, how sharply he inhaled his cigarette, how hard he sat his drink down or even how loud he closed the patio door.
But she’d missed all that, fucking mantis.
She hoped he was praying for her.
Someone ought to be.
She was walking in blind.
