This story contains sexually explicit scenes.
“I dreamed of a bird last night, Frankie. It was in a cage. It spread its feathers wide, trying to fly, but had to settle for its perch. All the while I could see its heart beating faster and faster. I watched it die.”
“Jesus, Noreen. That’s creepy.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t try to save it.”
“Who knows? Maybe you didn’t know how.”
“That’s true. I really don’t know anything about birds.”
“What’s to know? They’re fucking birds. They do two things: fly and shit on the hood of your car. Unless we’re talking about the birds and the bees.” Frankie reached for Noreen’s breast and jiggled its unbound weight. “Now these birds I like. Heh, heh.”
Noreen didn’t blush. Yeah, Frankie could be crude. Grabbing her with calloused hands. Unzipping his pants, letting his penis dangle out while driving. Saying ‘fuck’ the wrong way in the wrong places and at the wrong times. But he wasn’t so bad. Not really. He listened when she talked, some of the time. And that was something.
“Do you think birds in cages die faster because they don’t fly?”
“Forget the goddamn birds, Noreen!”
“OK, Frankie. I’ll forget the birds.”
But she didn’t forget.
Later, after Frankie pumped his cock into her three or four times and fell spent at her side, Noreen lay quiet, her legs still open, Frankie’s seed oozing down her slit. She brought up the birds again.
“If I was a bird, I wouldn’t want to live in a cage.”
“For crying out loud, Noreen. They get clean cages. They get fed. It’s not like they’re neglected.”
“I guess not,” Noreen said. “But still, I think I’d like to fly.”
Copyright © 2002 by Desdmona.