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The Toothbrush From The Previous Night Stay

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Warning: Only for open minds. This piece contains (mild) sex and drugs.

 

Bvlgari Pour Hommes.

Issey Miyaki Pour Hommes.

I don’t know his last name.

Ralph Lauren’s polo t-shirts. Black and blue.

 

“How come you never come home? Your place is got to be better that this hotel room right?”

“Yeah sure”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m alone if I’m home”

 

That dressing table.

John Conolly’s. And the other two thriller novels.

His bath water.

My white thong, on his denim. On the floor.

 

“What stuff are you on?”

“Why do you wanna know? Are you having second thought? Are you worried now?”

“Maybe”

“So you’re really clean? Never crack anything…at all?”

“Once. I did two lines of coke”

 

RM 1, 500 cash withdrawal receipt.

My red colored nails, his grazed chest.

Sacred gold Buddhist necklace.

My Victoria’s Secret lacey white, next to his watch.

 

“So you read a lot?”

“I’ve got another one, in the car. Where do you park?”

“In front”

“Next to my car?”

“Uhuh”

 

Super Sports. Star Movies. CNN. Click click click

Four disposable shavers and two toothbrushes.

Empty Parkson’s paper bags.

A questionable body lotion, at the right side of the bed.

 

“Is that a real tattoo?”

“Yes. I thought you’ve seen it from the last time?”

“Yeah I have. But I didn’t ask”

 

His age. His skin. His Hair. His slightly shaven face.

Wednesdays at The Loft. Fridays at The Mist.

His fame. His brother. His mixed up race. His BMW. His messages.

 

“So where are you staying?”

“You’ve asked me three times”

“Oh sorry”

“I know I’m just a bootie call. You gotta put at least a lil something in here”, as my long fingers run through his hair.

 

The bed. The room. The TV. The towels. The door. The floor. Those nights. This night.

 

“I need to see my brother in Bangsar for awhile”

“What…now?”

“Yeah, he’s waiting for me”

“Let’s do freaky stuff first”

“I can’t. You stay. I’m coming back at 12.30”

“No…you’ll be drinking and all”

“Yeah but I never get drunk. I’m coming back early. You go home and take your things, and come back here.”

“Ok”

 

At 12.04 a.m., my note.

 

K***,

I’m going home and you’d think I’m coming back? I’m a junkie, and I don’t keep promises. F*** you again later. 

p/s: I’m leaving and I’m horny

Kisses,

Your bootie call xOxOxO

 

His scent. His lips. His hands. His legs. His ass. And his….

Previous short story:
Fruits Basket
Next short story:
Inveigh
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about the writer

Nina Chezter Sarif

A person, with nothing much to say, except to write
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