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Jun 13, 2018

Literature: Closet Naturist

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Closet Naturist by Jude Idada

She told me she is a closet naturist.
And I was glad.
That at home, she lived sans clothes.
And I was delighted.
She invited me over.
And I was excited.
When I got there she called to say she was running late.
And I would find the key under the doormat.
I found it.
And let myself in.
Made myself at home as I waited.
TV was boring.
And she wasn't arriving.
So I laid down on the chintz couch to catch a power nap.
It didn't take a minute before I smelt it.
Raw ass.
Raw funky ass.
I jolted up to my feet in horror.
And looked down at the couch.
Bent closer.

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And I saw them.
Tiny straight lines.
Brown lines.
Dried lines.
Shit lines.
Blended into the multicoloured couch.
I stepped back in disgust.
It was at that moment I heard the knock on the door.
And her sonorously sensual and sweetly intoxicating voice sail out to me.
"Jude, its me."
I walked towards the voice like - zomboid.
When I opened the door, she stood there smiling.
Her gorgeous self, clothed in splendor, stepped in.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting hon but don't worry I will make it up to you."
And so still smiling.
She slowly began taking off her clothes - one item after the other.
Her body even more ravishing stood unshod.
Yet all I could smell was shit.

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