Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Bunny Ch. 17

If you haven't read part 16, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.
 It is Brandon, whether wittingly or unwittingly, who pushes my life from strained static and dooms me to climax and release. We have been spending my work hour together for months now; I am sure that the only reason that the head librarian resists interrupting is because she pities me. With Brandon I have a cheerful enough disposition to be grateful for my obvious social awkwardness.

I am laughing under my breath and shushing Brandon as he follows me around the library, reading aloud passages from an abhorrently bad romance novel. It's the kind whose covers feature bared chests, spilling cleavage, and embossed titles such as, "The Noble Bandit," or "His Secret Baby." He's supposed to be reading from the book Mr. Hale picked out,
L'Étranger, but was distracted by the paperbacks I re-shelved earlier. Brandon is torturing me with a poorly written paragraph about itchy palms, perky breasts, and instant erections. To shut him up I hiss, "I am convinced that you like this stuff."

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Bunny Ch. 16

If you haven't read part 15, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.
Climax: the tension that pulls and pulls until one feels so stretched that a dénouement must be over the horizon, one begs for release from traction with every breath and thought—is it any wonder that we apply the word to the moment of sexual release? The terrible difference between the climax of my private life and the one to which Mr. Hale approaches as he twists and pummels and thrusts, is that the sexual climax is one towards which we strive. It is a goal to reach that ultimate dizzying height; we may prolong and tease and create tension, but never do we intend altogether to deny ourselves orgasm's consuming ecstasy.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Bunny Ch. 15

If you haven't read part 14, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.
 Rebuilding a relationship after a stumbling block like the one placed in Brandon's and my path (my mind rejects everything but cryptic phrases such as "what happened," or "the incident") is, I find, a slow process. I want to go back to our old camaraderie immediately, to be able to laugh without caution or the need for a quick glance to ensure Brandon's shared mirth.

Going home to Mr. Hale helps nothing.