WHAT SANDRA WANTS
She wants another woman. She’s not sure which one, but she knows the girl needs to have big tits, because that is what she sees when she’s lying in bed with her husband and the lights are dimmed and she whispers, baby? What are you thinking of, as his hands run over her flabby stomach and she squeezes her own breasts. And he says, dutifully, You Baby. You.
And she wishes he’d lied. She wishes he’d said another woman. Even maybe that he’d picked the same one she was thinking about- the waitress at the restaurant, the blonde with the plunging top and the tattoo of the horned angel on her breast.
That’s what Sandra wants. Yes. Right now. That girl in this bed baring that tattoo and pulling Sandra’s hands away and replacing them with her lips.
Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned