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Shard 903.2: Symmetry

“Just think of me as your housewarming gift,” she said.

He fucked her from behind on their brand new bed, the two of them watching their reflection in the large bathroom mirror facing the bed. His head hung above the curve of her body like the moon over a landscape, his lips bent in a snarl, his nostrils flared. Slitted eyes peeked from under her mass of disheveled hair and her trembling arms gripped the end of the bed. Her ass lifted to meet his cock, meeting his every thrust.

Large double doors framed this mirror image of their fucking, the doorway from the bedroom to the bathroom. His and her bathroom sinks sat at either end of the counter, below the mirror. Identical towel racks hung from the walls at the side of the sinks. It was all very symmetrical, their fucking presented to themselves as if from the proscenium of a stage.

He smacked her ass as he plunged his cock into her. He pulled at her hair so that he could lift her face to see her eyes, her lips, the pretty pink ribbon that marked her neck.

Their belongings were scattered on the floor around them, and were reflected in the mirror as well. They hadn’t brought much. A backpack and a suitcase sat at the left wall of the room. A bottle of Bulleit stood in the corner, next to a small wooden pipe and a lighter. A glass butt plug and wire metal nipple clamps lay theatrically on the carpet of the space before them.

The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room. This was the first time they had ever used it.

Prior to fucking, they had both stood at the mirror, brushing their teeth, performing their nighttime rituals, both feeling giddily domestic at the prospect of getting ready for bed together, for the first time and at the same time, each at their own sink, in their brand new home. Each of them had their own toiletries laid out in lazy semi-circles around their proscribed areas.

When they had finished she retired to the closet to change, while he peeled off his clothes and headed straight to the bed. It was while laying on the bed waiting for her that he noticed the symmetrical beauty of the layout, how the bed and bathroom doorway and bathroom mirror lined up perfectly so that they would be able to watch themselves fucking from the bed, not only this night, but every night, for the rest of their lives. He wondered if the nice elderly couple who had sold them the house had done the same thing through the decades they were together here.

Several of their personal items had been left in the way, he noticed, partially blocking their view of the mirror. Shampoo bottles, a hair dryer, a box of tissue. Quickly, before she returned, he rushed to the bathroom, brushed the toiletries out of the way with a careful sweep of his arm, and sprinted back to the bed.

Seconds later she emerged from the closet, wearing a subdued pink chemise and matching ribbon around her neck, tied in a bow.

“You are wrapped like a present,” he had said.

“Just think of me as your housewarming gift,” she had replied.

Soon he had her on her hands and knees, steered straight toward the mirror, slamming mindlessly into her, his hands on her shoulders, impaling her body down onto his cock. They watched the ferocity of their encounter from the vantage of the mirror, as if they were watching the fucking of strangers. An odd conceit: their first night together in their new home, fucking on their new bed, and the image that occurred to him was that not that they were watching themselves, but watching strangers. Watching actors on a stage.

She spasmed and came, howling, and when her pussy tightened around his cock like a fist he came too, with a thrust so hard he actually pushed her over the foot of the bed; she had to hold onto the bar like a gymnast to keep from spilling onto the floor. The bed creaked, listed slightly. Both of them worried they might have broken it, and on its maiden voyage, but metal and wood settled back into place, seemingly intact. He flopped down next to her.

After she began to doze he got up from the bed to splash his face with water.

He found all their possessions jumbled together, from when he had swept them hurriedly aside. His toothbrush next to her toothpaste. Her contact case and saline on his side of the counter. His soap in her sink, her floss inside his shaving kit.

The items could easily be sorted out in a few minutes, but he chose not to. Soon we will not be able to tell what belongs to whom, he thought. The backpack and the suitcase, the bottle and the pipe. The clothes in the closet, the sex toys on the floor, the thoughts in their heads, the desires crouching in their bones. All mixed together, intermingling like stars.

He returned to bed and wrapped his limbs around and within hers. The sound of his breathing combined with the sound of her own. They fell into sleep together, their dreams spinning brightly around each other in loops and spirals, ribbons and bows.


The Shard series is a collection of flash fiction pieces that focus on short scenes from the experiences, memories, fantasies and dreams of the narrator.  Think of them as shards of a broken mirror.



This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2018 Verbal P. Incandenza | Yeah, not my real name, but I still wrote this. Be cool. Please don't steal it.

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