Ranai

Author’s note:

Orlando C. asked what throws people out of the mood in erotic fiction. A thing that can throw me out is ‘accidental status drop via verbal humiliation’. So, to give an example, I wrote a vignette with just that.

[Status drop version]

The Morning After

The first rays of sunlight entered the room.

Beside him, resting on her pillow, covers pulled all the way up over her shoulders and chin, her relaxed face was half visible under a mass of hair, now tousled and knotted.

He remembered her calling from the bath tub, late in the evening. ‘Close the curtains and come in here.’ In his haste, he must have been careless. The rising orange sun shone through a gap. In a short while it would reach her face.

Quietly he slipped from the bed. His skin felt the chill of morning air. Stiff and sore, but everything in one piece. He pulled the curtain shut without making a sound, diminishing the sunbeam until it was gone.

Another problem presented itself.

She had taken him into her bath the previous night. But whether that permission extended into the morning after… it was not something he wanted to find out by getting his assumptions wrong. So, should he risk leaving the room for a piss?

Best to slip out and return quickly. She would find him next to her under the covers once she woke up. Which was clearly where she expected to find him, as she hadn’t thrown him out the previous night.

No shoes. Too much delay. His shirt lay where she had dropped it. No need for that either. He fished up the trousers under pieces of her scattered underwear. Wincing as he slid the fabric over his thighs, he paused and shuffled through the shadowy room over to the full length mirror. Placing himself with his back to the looking-glass, he peered over his shoulder.

He must have gasped out aloud. Either that, or it had been the solid clunk of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Movement. A rustling noise from the bed.

‘What on earth..’

He forced himself to turn his head back and face her.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she regarded him, raised on one elbow.

‘Can’t you get up without making a noise? Clumsy brainless idiot.’

***

[And now the version I like.]

The Morning After

The first rays of sunlight entered the room.

Beside him, resting on her pillow, covers pulled all the way up over her shoulders and chin, her relaxed face was half visible under a mass of hair, now tousled and knotted.

He remembered her calling from the bath tub, late in the evening. ‘Close the curtains and come in here.’ In his haste, he must have been careless. The rising orange sun shone through a gap. In a short while it would reach her face.

Quietly he slipped from the bed. His skin felt the chill of morning air. Stiff and sore, but everything in one piece. He pulled the curtain shut without making a sound, diminishing the sunbeam until it was gone.

Another problem presented itself.

She had taken him into her bath the previous night. But whether that permission extended into the morning after… it was not something he wanted to find out by getting his assumptions wrong. So, should he risk leaving the room for a piss?

Best to slip out and return quickly. She would find him next to her under the covers once she woke up. Which was clearly where she expected to find him, as she hadn’t thrown him out the previous night.

No shoes. Too much delay. His shirt lay where she had dropped it. No need for that either. He fished up the trousers under pieces of her scattered underwear. Wincing as he slid the fabric over his thighs, he paused and shuffled through the shadowy room over to the full length mirror. Placing himself with his back to the looking-glass, he peered over his shoulder.

He must have gasped out aloud. Either that, or it had been the solid clunk of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Movement. A rustling noise from the bed.

‘What on earth..’

He forced himself to turn his head back and face her.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she took him in for a moment, reached over and picked up her wrist watch.

‘It’s half past five.’

She dropped the watch on the bedside table again. Raised on one elbow, she regarded him as he stood, trousers pooled around his ankles, in front of the mirror.

‘Not my preferred time to wake up. Any particular reason?’

(c) Copyright Ranai Pahav