A place of his own

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As soon as the front door shut behind them, clothes started dropping.

Shoes were kicked down the hallway, pants and shirts fell outside the kitchen, a bra was flung overhead and landed on the ceiling fan blades, boxers draped over the side table lamp cast a blue aura over the room.

He fell backwards over the arm of the couch, pulling her on top to him. Arms and legs wrapped around sweaty bodies, their mouths exploring the lies they were telling each other.

Flipping her hair out of her eyes to finally get a good look at his face, she moved her hips slightly to the left. A smile of anticipation on her Stiletto Red lips.

Holy moley geezus penelope pitstop! It’s frigging roasting hotter than hell-o operator out there!” An unwelcome voice called from the mud room in the back of the house.

A door slammed against the jamb, as a woman dressed in high-waisted jean shorts and a tucked-in, light blue T-shirt emblazoned with a glittery kitten extolling her cuteness, stomped into the living room. Dropping into a recliner at the corner of the couch, she picked up a magazine from the coffee table to use as a fan.

Her thick glasses began to fog over as the lenses adjusted to the cooler air inside the house. A loose ponytail held back her wet hair, even as tendrils broke away from the rubber band holding it, to plaster against her flushed face.

Eyes closed, the new arrival leaned back in the chair until the foot rest popped up. She stretched out the length of the chair, legs splayed, one elbow hanging off the armrest, while the other arm furiously whipped the tabloid back and forth, doing little to cool the still stifling room.

The couple on the couch had stopped their maneuvering. As the naked woman pressed herself flat against her new friend, her eyes frantically searched for something to use to escape the room.

Seeing the accent pillows displaced by their flailing bodies, she reached down to grabbed one to use as a shield. Inches from her camouflage, the foot rest on the recliner came down in a loud crunch as the intruder in the chair popped up with equal force.

Kicking the pillows away as she walked between the couch and the coffee table, she began gathering the couple’s clothing in her arms. At the front door she tossed everything into a pile, finally turning to address the twosome on her couch.

“You get to start your walk of shame a little early darlin’. If you want your clothes you’ll have to come over here to get ’em.” She pulled the band out of her hair, combing her fingers through the tangled mess, then pushed the glasses up to get her hair away from her face.

“I can only guess he didn’t tell you about me,” she leaned one hand against the foyer wall as she waited. “He never does. He’s usually better about not bringin’ his tramps here though. What happened Chet, run out of money for that roach motel you usually take ’em too?”

Rolling off the man, the shamed woman covered herself as best she could with her hands as she tiptoed to the pile of clothes. She quickly put on her pants and shirt then ran out of the house clutching her underwear and shoes.

The man did nothing to cover his nakedness. Pushing up on his elbows he glared at the angry woman who was now standing at the foot of the couch.

“Why do you have to do that?” He demanded, swinging his legs around to the floor. He sat on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands. “She was nice. I liked her.”

The woman tossed his pants into his lap, waiting for him to get dressed before answering.

“I’ve told you before son, you need to get out and get a place of your own, and this sort of thing won’t keep happenin’.”

For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Barb Black gave me this prompt: Holy moley geezus penelope pitstop! It’s frigging roasting hotter than hell-o operator out there!

I gave Michael this prompt: In memory of Nora Ephron: “I always read the last page of a book first so that if I die before I finish I’ll know how it turned out.” How would the last page of your life story read?

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