Woman on the Stairs
by Jennifer Hawkins Lecce
He heard her on the steps before he saw her grab the rail, swinging wildly to make the turn. It was clear she would not make it and he found himself rushing up toward this strange woman. She was gurgling surprise, releasing the acrid smell of vodka as she cried out.
She fell toward him- an abundance of feminine arms, bracelets, white peasant blouse open across the throat. He had the sudden impression of tumbling sheets.
She fell against him and he caught her with hands held straight so as not to be touching her breasts. But, my God, what were these- triple D to frigging Z breasts, no wonder the woman toppled down the stairs.
She landed too hard on his arm and he backed into the railing, his head thudding against the cement wall. He could see right down her front into her bra. Her powdery, milky white breasts piling upward- like a reverse lava flow.
He could fuck right there, pressing her head against the top stair, those breasts ripped loose and spilling off to the sides, disappearing under her arms. No. She would fuck him instead, his head against the stair. She would lift her doughy breasts and drop them against his face with a smothering smack. She would bludgeon him with those gargantuan tits while she did him.
She caught her breath, her laugh a little raw as she apologized. She had too much to drink, she knew. She never did that, but somehow tonight, she did. She was so sorry, was he all right? I’m so sorry you hit your head.
He shrugged it was nothing but she stood on the stair above him and reached up to place her hand on the back of his head. With an awkward bow, he let his face come to rest against her and he sucked in the startled feeling that he had just come home, his cheek pressed ever so lightly to her skin.