Tenandahalfd

We needed a break, a vacation from serial killers, decade-old revenge the team, the cousins, the world. We (he) decided to head to the cabin for a couple’s retreat, just us surrounded by woods’ peace and quiet. We’ll have nothing to do but frolic like bunnies. And maybe, we’ll untie a few loose ends.

Teatime (I hate tea), a wee bit rainy (as in the worst of the monsoon over India)
“I’m impressed, Pussycat.”
I jump at Christopher’s voice. He looks about ready to pounce on me when I come out of the shoebox toilet. “What?” I ask none too gently.
“You lasted all of two days.”
I put on my most haughty face. At least, I think my scowl betrays disdain; it’s not as if I practised that particular grimace in front of a mirror. Had I wanted to, I couldn’t have; the infuriating man didn’t hang a single looking glass on the cabin’s walls. My hair must look a fright. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the notebook you’re hiding in the back of your pants.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, Oh that.” His mouth makes an exaggerated O.
“Don’t you dare laugh! This is what you’ve reduced me to. No coffee shops, no bathtubs, no bars around these woods. I have to lurk in the privy to write.” I don’t write when I’m bored. I write when I’m happy. Or sad. Or unsettled. Being twenty-four hours a day with Christopher overwhelms me. I needed a break from my thoughts.
“I did install the toilet for you, Darling of mine.”
“You’ve had the cabin for years. I so don’t want to know what you did before.”
“I showed you the O.T. on our last visit.” I blink at him. “The shack down the trail.”
“That thing? I thought you were kidding. No wonder you never receive guests here.”
“I don’t have guests because I don’t invite anyone. Our house is always bursting full of unwanted visitors; I’m won’t let them invade us up here too.”
“And imagine, of the two of us, you’re the social one.”
“Hush, Dollface. Let’s fool around; then I’ll read your story. Is it about bunnies?”
“Forget the bunnies, mon chéri. I vaporized them. As for making out, didn’t we do that this morning? It’s barely ten o’clock. Surely at your age, you require more recovery time.”
“Fuck my age. Talk French again and see how fast I recuperate.” The man behaves like a sex maniac. Not that I’m complaining. What, with the rain and all, is there for us to do here besides coitus? “I’ll let you top this time if you want.”

** This novella isn’t intended as a standalone. It contains a selection of short stories and sexy times. They are indeed on vacation. **