Photo by Simon HUMLER on Unsplash
I hadn’t noticed them when we arrived, too caught up in running into Melody who’d fucked half of her co-workers and the entire neighboring Waukesha before her residency ended. And probably because she always wore some floral fragrance, lilac or periwinkle, or fucking frangipani, I simply ignored the insipid flower beds on both sides of their front porch. Even my wife, Desiree, pointed them out from the car earlier. But no, fucking Melody, with her green thumb and her horny hands in the fecund earth was the culprit. And I was determined to not say a word about it to moshpit Melody or her third husband, Mitch. Not how they bathed every houseguest in their unctuousness, not how roses were the gift of the divine, and no, not how I’d fucked Melody while roses were strewn over our mattress, every petal for each conquest of hers.
Robert Vaughan is the author of 6 books, and the Editor-in-Chief of Bending Genres.
