I Held One Finger
I’m not fucking Rembrandt.- is kind of a ding-dong
- leotard out of my butt
- the murder charges were dropped
- “Shut the hell up.”
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I held one finger up to Tessa’s lips as the footsteps grew nearer. We both held our breath waiting to see who would burst through the door, but the footsteps kept going along the hallway. I needed a silent way to tell Tessa to hide under the bed while I went out to check on the children. But of all the esoteric nonverbal codes we both learned at the Academy, none of them seemed to suit our situation. I grabbed the airship stationery pad from my nightstand, and found that Tessa’s continuing pelvic undulations made it impossible to remember how to spell any useful words. So I tried to draw a picture of those instructions.
After studying the page for several thrusts, Tessa whispered, “Clearly I’m not fucking Rembrandt. Now are you going to help me search for my therapist, or am I going to have to play rough?”
I shushed her again, but my eyes rolling back in my head robbed the command of authority. Tessa’s breathy whisper nearly sent me over the edge. “I wouldn’t worry about that sister-in-law of yours. She is kind of a ding-dong, you must admit. Although, I guess I should be nicer since she did help me pull my leotard out of my butt not too long ago.”
I went over the edge. Tessa quickly put a pillow over my face to muffle my incohate expressions of ecstasy. She held it there for what felt like a very long time, and as I was on the verge of passing out I wondered how she would evade capture unless the murder charges were dropped. But the pillow lifted away and I got oxygen, and the whole line of speculation became moot.
“This isn’t playing rough?” I asked softly.
Tessa hissed, “Shut the hell up.” She raised herself up from my chest, listening. “That definitely isn’t Isolde out in the hallway.”
bonust points for using them in order