I Found It Inside Me
That piece of you I borrowed was strange, shorter than a cucumber, warmer than ice. I found it inside me, suddenly, the rest of you hunkering above—as if it had led you to me, protesting perhaps, against your will? It lost its rigor when you mentioned your girlfriend, then regained stamina as you stared at my breasts, as you moaned, breathed on me, held me—until it was through. Then you pulled out, got away, got dressed. Who was I to stop you?
But you might have apologized, you know? Said something like, "I'm so sorry it came here and bothered, almost pleasured, you—though I, myself, [this is you] from my head's perspective, take no responsibility." It was fleshier than a rabbit with C-sized batteries, more involved than a vibrating bullet with its larger attachments, and better than Jello or whipped cream manipulations, which are often sticky. But losing it—losing you, this was hard. How strange. I like the faucet better now.
Only my own hand turns things on and off. Nothing hunkers above it. Nothing but time and water and the sterilized, inelegant slant of that blank, white wall, which is happily, always, open to reinterpretation.
Among other venues, Heather Fowler's stories have appeared in Temenos, Mississippi Review online, Frigg: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry, Exquisite Corpse, The Barcelona Review, Penumbra, B & A New Fiction, and Zoetrope All-Story Extra. She has recently published poetry at In the Fray and Empowerment4Women. Heather was the co-first place winner of the 2007 Faringdon Online Poetry Competition. She currently seeks agent representation for her short fiction and novels.