Author S. K. Nicholas

Orchids. Sunflowers. Labia. Bearded man eyeing up a blonde on his walk to the gas station to pick up breakfast and a bottle of wine. Stood behind me, a brunette sniffs my scent and presses herself against my arm. I stink of shots, grease, sweat, and maybe talcum powder. Instead of taking a shower, I decided to smother myself with the stuff after waking. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in hindsight, my judgment may have been clouded with having been out into the early hours getting pissed and attempting to blend in with others. Sometimes it works, but it doesn’t feel natural. Not at all. There’s conversation and drunken gossip for sure, but most of the time, I’m just stood there feeling out of place. Even when people speak to me and we interact, it doesn’t make sense. We look the same, and our lives are pretty similar, but the truth I hide never comes close to leaving my lips. When others bring it up for me, I do my best to downplay it; to distract them with some other piece of information that will take their mind off it. Stumbling up the spiral staircase of the bar on my way to the toilets, a pregnant woman made me touch her bump. Rubbing it enthusiastically in my enhanced state, she pushed out her breasts. They were milky and as massive as planets. It’s a nice feeling to fuck a pregnant woman. There’s something organic about it. Makes you feel at one with nature. Purchasing my goods, I’m halfway out the door when the bag splits. Shit exploding all over my feet, the guy behind the counters runs over and apologises. Pretending to be upset with the prospect of a discount, he just grabs some paper towels and wipes the wine from my shoes before mopping up the rest of the spillage. It’s so disappointing, and the smell of alcohol so early makes me wretch. The brunette seems uncertain. When she looks into my eyes, an expression of doubt creeps across her face, but it quickly goes. She’s not pregnant, but she’s got good hips. They speak to me of the beach, and in particular, sandcastles. Opening my mouth, I bare my teeth at her, and that’s all it takes. It’s all it ever takes.