Stop Motion

She stood on the podium, beaming, and began waving to everyone in slow motion. Her hand glided right to left, left to right, a panoramic benediction that didn’t miss a single soul. The bouquet tucked near her bosom exuded a powerful, fragrant scent, as if its perfume were being piped in from ventilators.

The spotlight enclosing Clarisse in a gilded aura grew brighter and fuzzier, and brighter and fuzzier still, and soon my eyes were watery and burning. I shut my eyes. Opened them. It was dark. A warm, panting dark that smelled of wet rubber. I was planted in a cushy cloud of a lap, and I couldn’t tell if I were looking up or down.

Come on now, pop it into your mouth, a moist voice urged.

I groped in the dark, and found Clarisse’s nipple. I closed my lips around it. It was coarse and gummy. Tiny hairs pinched my tongue. I sucked and sucked on that nipple until there were stars in my eyes and everything felt near to ending

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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