|
Working Girl
she - sits on the battered old couch, curled up, knees under her chin, the long droopy toes of her green knitted socks dangling over the edge of the cushion. the only light in the room comes from the tv and the glaring red LED of the cable decoder. she's got a heavy knitted woolen hat pulled down over her ears and a wadded handful of tissues pressed to her nostrils. her red-rimmed eyes blink slowly. reluctantly. she can't quite decide whether she'd rather leave them open or leave them closed. hard to feel positive about your body image when you've got a bad cold, she thinks. she feels as if she's gradually turned into a lump of something with the consistency of old mayonnaise. she is watching the adult channel for no very good reason. they are having a "pirate" theme tonight. watching people romp in the sand makes her cold feel worse. she sneezes violently every fifty-seven seconds. there's a break for a station ID and a few phone-sex advertisements. then they play the swooshy music, the filmy graphics dance across the screen, the adult channel logo fades in and she watches herself walk across the screen, hands across her breasts pretending to clutch at the edges of curtains which had been computer-painted in later. the shot is framed so that the bottom of the screen is a fraction of an inch below the small of her back. her pupils dilate just a little. it's a pretty good sultry, uh, almost a dance, really (she'd watched lots of black and white films. and practiced). everyone at the station had liked it. she remembers the assistant director hugging her after the shoot. she tries again to work out why she smiles when she remembers it; thinking maybe this means i can get more work doing stuff like this or i love that jumper. it's just furry enough. and she's really nice. if i was bi i'd like to... well, if i was more openly bi. i mean. and her cold starts to get better. |
|
|
( top )
All work on this site is © Nikolai Kingsley unless otherwise stated. |