postcard amelie 11
You check your phone in the early hours. Amelie is asleep beside you. When she sleeps on her back she snores, quiet and regular. You hold the phone so it doesn’t throw light on her, just your face.
There’s a message from me: “Hi Rey, hope you are having a good time. I can’t wait to see you again. Missing you brutally.”
You smile slightly in the darkness. You tap out “Told you you couldn’t go the whole week without texting me” and send. While awaiting my reply you shift your weight slightly. Your body is so heavy it feels like you’re lying under blankets that press you down into the mattress.
You’re idly stroking the rolling curves of your stomach when your phone lights up. “We are both surely astonished I lasted this long. How are you?”
Your gaze falls on the woman sleeping beside you. The stomach under your hand growls petulantly, unused now to such neglect. Nevertheless your mouth isn’t watering at the sight of your beautiful lover.
On an impulse you raise your phone and take a snapshot. By way of response you send the image uncommented. Amelie’s sleeping mouth is slightly open and her mascara is a mess. It looks like she might have cried at some point and you can’t imagine when.
Three dots appear as I type. You stroke Amelie’s cheek. The cadence of her snores does not change.
My reply lights up your screen. “Looks like you’re enjoying yourself ;) Breakfast?”
Your lips twist. Isn’t that the question. A disproportionately loud gloWOORp from the lower part of your intestines almost makes you jump. Amelie’s breathing halts; and then she snorts and rolls over. Her buttocks press against your meaty thigh, almost gripping it with soft, warm pressure.
“I don’t know,” you write back, and set down the phone.