"Intercourse"
by
Diane Williams
At the post office the woman finally got a good long look at the monster, a stare. She was breathing the same air, not as before, deprived.
When she had first sighted the monster, this woman had not been sure whether or not to trust her instinct.
Was it a monster?
What it was was a monstrous posture she had seen, and the hair on top of the head was heaped so that it appeared as a bulge of hair, with far too much hair coming down at the side, so as to be an abnormal amount. Otherwise, the form of the monster was spindly. It was a small-sized monster.
The eyes were pale turquoise. The facial skin was milky milky white. The nose was a short, finely shaped nose. The mouth was full-lipped, painted coral. The hair was the woman's favorite color hair—cinnamon color. The voice was girl-like when the woman heard it. The black-inked handwriting on the brown-paper-wrapped package was indecipherable from the distance it was observed from, but it was a curvaceous handwriting. The high-heeled shoes with ankle straps were made of metallic gold leather. The purse was like bronze.
Okay, the emergence of this bombshell has gone on long enough for me. Occasionally I select a man, but my preference is for women who could easily steal away my beloved husband who is not taboo.
Carnality is common in rude society. The incarnation is temporary or permanent.
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