A Fork at the End of the Road

Posted by blue.beard on September 06, 2007 at 21:15:28:

The muse doesn't visit me too often, this is the second of the two stories I've written. It has two separate endings, enjoy.

A Fork at the End of the Road
By Blue.beard

She lay in her bed with tears trickling down the sides of her face. She had been ill and missed working this last weekend. Not only did she not get the tips, heavy on these nights, but was fired when reporting to work today. The doctor, this morning, had told her that she might have cancer, and wanted her to see a specialist.

Her roommate, moving out last Friday, had sworn that the gas bill was paid, but the gas had been turned off today. There was also a notice on the door that if the rent was not paid within five days, she would have to move.

Without the income from last weekend, her final paycheck wasn’t nearly enough to pay these bills. She looked around the room, the closet door was open, her dresses hung, some with care, and some just thrown on hangars and drooping to the floor; her teddy bear collection in the corner was almost five feet high. The bureau on the opposite wall had her jewelry case sitting on the top. She could sell her grandmother’s rings, but what would she do next month?

This is no way to live, she thought.

It was starting to cool as the sun set, realizing there was no heat, she got out the electric blanket, spread it over the bed, and plugged it in. She got her winter robe out of the closet and started taking off her clothes.

When she was nude, she went into the bathroom and examined herself in the full length mirror behind the door. A cocktail waitress needs a fine body, and hers had served her well for 23 years.
She had an almost flawless coffee with cream complexion, thanks to the tanning salon, but now she
read that she would probably start wrinkling soon because of it. Her legs were long and slender, her belly flat, and her bottom still firm. Her breasts were starting to sag compared to when she was 18, but still firm and attractive. Her nipples were erect from the cold air. She stared for another few moments, then shook her head and put on her robe.

She looked at her wrists, but she had never owned a razor with a replaceable blade. She opened the medicine cabinet, took out her last disposable shaver, and put it by the tub.

She went into the kitchen, she was dieing for a cup of coffee, but she thought, ironically, as she glanced at her gas stove, that she could live without it. She idly opened her silverware drawer, her boyfriend had been promising to sharpen her knives, but had not yet gotten around to it.

Returning to the bathroom, she started the shower, the water was barely warm. Remembering the gas bill, she got the electric hot plate out of the closet, and plugged it in. From the kitchen, she got the four gallon pot she had once boiled crabs in, filled it in the tub, and put it on the hot plate. After filling the tub half way, she returned to the bedroom while waiting for the water to heat up.

Taking off her robe, she lay down on the now warm electric blanket. The cool air again stiffened her nipples, but her sides and back were warm. She smiled slightly, remembering the time she had hung by her knees from the shower curtain rod and attempted to give her boyfriend a blow-job. He had easily lifted her off when the blood went to her head, and she fondly recalled how his cock kept bobbing against her backside as he carried her to the bed. As one hand strayed down between her legs and the other to her breasts, she wished he was there. The times she had played dead and he made love to her limp body seemed especially apt at this time. They had occasionally changed places, and she was amused at how she could raise such a giant erection from a dead body. She relived some more memories, bringing herself to a climax. It was with some regret that she rose and put on her robe when done. Still barefoot, she padded to the living room and unlocked the door. She grabbed the eviction notice and returning to the bedroom, taped it to the outside of the bathroom door.

Her favorite scarf was red silk and about two and a half feet long. She got this out of a drawer and knotted it in a loop around the shower curtain rod. The water was now boiling. She emptied it into the half filled tub, refilled it and placed it again on the hot plate to keep the bathroom warm.

After washing and shaving, she relaxed in the still warm water and stared at the scarf. This is no way to live, she thought. If I don’t get a job, I’d be kicked out next month anyway. If 1 do get one, all 1’m doing is existing.

Her hand strayed between her legs again, but she wasn’t really serious. Short-lived pleasure was fine, but what about the rest of the time? Eating, shopping, getting a big tip, and sex were all fleeting. She still had to do the dishes, deal with grabby drunks, watch for muggers and rapists, clean the apartment, and worry about money. It’s really not worth it, she thought.