© 2007 Michael Shannon
The butter, she said, was to make her skin look healthier and younger. She was crouched in the bathtub, ankle-deep in the milky butter, her breasts drooping, skimming the surface of the melted fat.
It was eight o'clock a.m. I wondered if she was high, maybe drunk. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"Look," she said, lathering her arms in butter, her legs, her breasts, "at how golden my skin is now. Look how it glows." Her skin, even before the butter, was swarthy, almost - except for her wilted breasts - infallible. She always had that perpetual tan, that glimmer, a look of summer, of beaches and sand.
She smeared it across her face, smiling, her teeth glowing white
behind the transparent, waxy-like mask. "I love you," she said. "Come in
here with me."
But I didn't.
And it was too early for sex. Too early for her.
All work is copyrighted property of Michael Shannon.
© 2008 SubtleTea Productions All Rights Reserved