Red Room Where the Writers Are

Issue/Publication: Posted initially at RedBubble

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He sits there and I watch him look lovingly in her direction. I’m jealous of this sleek, black lover of his; the one that sits uncomplainingly in the corner and awaits his ministrations. I too wait, and want. But I am not so easily played, nor does the music I make sound as sensuous as hers when he strokes her the way she likes.

As I knew he would, he walks over and sits beside her, whispering adorations as he reaches for her neck. I watch as his fingers glide downward, grasping her gently as he lifts her to his lap.

The rhythmic pulsing of their collaboration causes me to shudder as I think of how well each fits to the other. His hand moving effortlessly, fingers delivering just enough pressure in order to make her sing in a way I never can.

Tonight there is something in the air. I can feel it as he continues to concentrate on making her happy. How I long for his touch on my skin, making me hit those same notes, my body humming in pleasure while I moan a tune I know he likes to hear.

But she refuses to release him. So I wait, hoping that she doesn’t steal so much of his soul that not one drop is left for me when the time comes.

This is the life I chose when I gave my heart to a musician, knowing I would forever share him with another, knowing I would always be waiting my turn.

Written work and Photograph © J.C. Montgomery, All Rights Reserved