When she opens the door I swoop in and lift her in my arms. She clasps her hands at the back of my neck and crosses her legs around my waist, her buttocks resting against my hips. Our momentum carries us into the hall. As the door closes behind us her back hits the wall. She barks in my ear and I dig my hand into her hair. The touch of her lips to my neck writes braille desires on my skin. I feel her body against mine, hard under the fabric of her shirt. I can smell strawberries.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.