#waiting
Waiting for real life to begin ✖️ Excerpt from Fungirl the book, which is currently a w a i t i n g publication.
Post link
Waiting on my tax return like……
She’d been waiting for him for years, it felt like. It had been years since she’d first felt that urge inside her, that little bit of submission that was more than enough of a seed to start to grow and flourish. And all that time, waiting for right now, when she could finally taste that fruit.
She’d been waiting years, but not for him. Just someone like him. For him, but only in a figurative, ideological sense. A vague he, the face a blur and the details hazy. It was only now, now that she’d actually found him, that she could fill in those blanks.
But he wanted her to do a little more waiting, because now it was waiting with purpose, not just the idle, unguided waiting that she’d just happened into. Now, under his direction, she could properly wait, and, more importantly, understand what waiting is. Waiting for him.
She’d been waiting for a half an hour, for him. He figured she could wait another half hour, let it really sink in.
Post link
You will wait for me, and you will think about waiting for me.
You will think about the why. Why you are waiting, but more importantly why I’ve made you wait. Why you're willing to wait, and why I make you willing to wait. You will ask yourself what you’re thinking, how you’ve been driven to this point, thrown to the edge of the cliff only to willingly throw yourself off it, just to see if you can fly, whether the audacity of that minute percentage is enough to defy gravity. You will ask why it worked, why you’re flying.
You will think about me. Of course you will think about me. You can think about little else, even when so much else is pressing down on the walls of your brain, a brainless horde of stress that’s trying to shatter this house that we’ve built inside your mind. And though the walls buckle and strain, and though you might imagine cracks, might suppose that it is creaking and moaning, somehow they stay away, those problems. Even though you have this time to think, your mind doesn’t let you. You wait, and you think about waiting.
And you think about me coming back. What I might do. What I might not do. I’ve kept you guessing this long, and that’s fed your uncertainty like nothing else. To be unpredictable is to be exciting, and no one has excited you like this, no one has managed to elude your hypotheticals, the projections your brain throws before your mind’s eye, a hundred feet of luminescence. But it’s just white light, empty and blank. Your mind has nothing on me. An empty file. That terrifies you like nothing else.
That arouses you like nothing else.
You think about why you’re waiting. You don’t know. You know.
Post link
This was the fifteenth arrangement she’d tried.
When he’d left, he’d given her an hour to get herself ready. Didn’t say for what, and his tone was as deadpan as he could manage, and he was a man who didn’t lose at poker.
She’d spent the first quarter of an hour fretting, trying to imagine what on earth he had planned for her. The next quarter of an hour was calming herself down from her fret, using all those little techniques she’d cultivated over the last few months to distract her mind from dwelling, to serve as little interruptions to make the pain bearable.
And here she was, with only ten minutes left, just about happy with how she looked. Back to the door, framed by her shoes, and everything on display that he loved so much.
Just thinking about the way he traced the lines of her bones through her the skin of her shoulders made her arch her back a little, a shiver running down her spine. She’d closed her eyes a few minutes ago, and it was doing funny things with time. It felt like it was elastic, constantly speeding up and slowing down. Every few moments she tensed a little, swearing she could hear a hand on the doorknob.
When the clack of the lock did sound, she almost mistook it for an aural hallucination. Isolation did funny things to the mind.
Post link
It was the height of summer, and she couldn’t help but shiver a little. It didn’t matter how close she was to the sun, it didn’t really do much to combat a breeze creeping inquisitively underneath her coat, and finding not much at all between it and her. She couldn’t believe he’d told her to do this.
Perhaps it would feel less embarrassing if he’d talked her into it, if it had been her own choice, and she'd wanted to do it of her own volition. Even now, standing in a busy train station in just a trench, she knew that this is what she wanted. Part of her, at least. And clearly a part bigger than the part that was crying bloody murder and turning her cheeks into furnaces. In the height of summer.
“Talk back again and you will be wearing something under the coat.” She’d allowed herself a burst of hope, before his tone had dashed it against the rocks. She had looked up at him, then, and let out the tiniest sigh.
He’d slapped her in the face, lightly, a reprimand.
“You always were a deviant. It’s a pity you can’t keep it purely to the sexual side of things.” He was drawling, his voice adopting that lazy elocution that both infuriated and excited her. It was a show, just for her.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” She grumbled, as if she had any choice in the matter. He patted her head, chuckled.
“I know you will. I just told you so. Now go finish packing my suitcase."
She hugged herself against that fucking wind, feeling it run against the inside of her thighs like an unwanted lover, although, admittedly, one with a little bit of skill. She could feel its advances starting to stir her, and she stamped her heel against the pavement, legs squeezed tight shut.
His train was coming in, twenty minutes late. Her tongue found the hollow of her cheek, a nervous tick that he’d punish her for if he caught her doing it. But right now he was a few carriages away, and she was free. As free as she ever was, at least.
The heavy clatter of the train’s undercarriage coming to a stop deafened her. There was a whistle, somewhere, and then the doors opened with a hiss. People streamed out, people she didn’t care about, people that weren't him.
And then there was one that was. And as he approached her, she gave a nervous glance around, before pulling the trenchcoat open and embracing him with it.
He stroked her hair, a light, happy laugh on his lips.
"I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.” He kissed her forehead, and then her mouth.
“Good girl.”
Post link
She had so many nervous ticks, and he’d come to know them all. The ones he savoured the most, though, where the self-instigated ones, when she’d do something to surprise him that he knew she found difficult, even though it should be the most natural thing in the world.
He’d pretend not to notice, pretend to keep reading his book or typing on his laptop as she hovered by the doorway, fiddling with the hem on her skirt, or constantly biting and releasing her bottom lip. She’d only look at him half the time, which allowed him the chance to savour her when she stared at the floor.
He’d wait until she was looking at him, and he was rereading the same sentence for the fiftieth time, before clearing his throat. In his peripheral, he’d smile at her sudden jump, the instant anxiety that made her eyes wide before she just smiled at her own nervousness and strode in like the beauty that she was.
Post link
Waited and waited …
The Waiting.7
This one will also be part of the exhibition at Galleri Nord in Örebro.
#waiting #standing #woman #gallery #show #artshow #artexhibition #exhibition #figurative #body #red #orange #life #metalart #metal #artist #sculptures #art #sculptor
https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ9fCFIM5Ko/?utm_medium=tumblr
Post link
You need to believe in love even when it seems to be the hardest thing to find.
Mae, you need to
