Transmissible spongiform encephalopathies
(Just for us)
by Nathan Tyree
The rhythms of their breath, looped together in twin syncopations,
were like venal sin without repentance. Damp scents filled the dark room
and the single candle cast shadows about like playful ghosts.
“Here” she said, placing the flat of her palm against his chest and pushing so that he rolled off her and tumbled onto his back.
“What?” He strained to see her in the low, shifting light.
She straddled his pelvis and worked herself down. As he entered her again she said “I don’t believe in God.”
“Not even now?” he asked.
She thrust her hips forward, grinding hard against him. He reached up and gripped her nipple giving it a powerful twist.
“Especially not now,” she said as she quickened her movements drawing closer to orgasm.
“I . . . I . . . Need to . . . “ he tried to make a clear sentence but she clasped her hand over his mouth.
“Shut up,” she said. “Don’t you dare come yet.” Her breathing was
changing, they were no longer creating harmony. She was conducting. Then
spasm. Release. Her body quaked in waves. The sky seemed to collapse
When she was done she rolled off him and spread her legs. “Here, finish” she said.
He climbed atop her and did just that. When he had exhausted himself and pulled out she said to his receding form “that’s why”.