Martha's Sister

It was hot even for an afternoon in July and the fans blowing in Martha's living room were little help. Martha was wearing a very short skirt. The skirt alone was enough to draw my attention to her legs, but it was her sister that kept my attention fixed on her thighs. Her sister's face grew out of Martha's outer thigh and stared back at me twisted in anger.

We sat on the couch talking trivialities about work and her sister's stare drilled into me. Martha made no mention of her sister and the only indication that she was aware of her presence was how she occasionally pulled her skirt down to cover her face to the nose. Not wanting to be rude, I didn't mention it and tried to keep my attention on Martha and not the piercing gaze of her sister.

Over the following weeks, Martha's sister's gaze soften. Her glare turned more curious, then friendly and one afternoon she started whispering to me. Martha didn't seem to notice or perhaps pretended not to. Soon I couldn't even hear what Martha was saying as I paid closer attention to her sister.

That night as Martha and I clutched and pawed at each other in her strange bed, I could feel her sister's breath on my legs. This gave way to a gentle biting and eventually I forgot about Martha entirely as we made love. I never learned her sister's name and doubted she had one, but our relationship blossomed through my meetings with Martha. Only two months passed before Martha stopped seeing me. Even today, Martha's face has fades from my memory, while her sister's remains strong.