Optical Busstop and the Levitating Eunuchs

One way to leave a lover

Mitti stood naked and awake by her own bed, in her own bedroom. She yawned, stretched like a cat, and, absently rubbing her eyes, walked over to the dressing table. There she stood motionless, watching herself watch herself in the mirror.

That was how he saw her when he awoke. He watched her and felt slightly uncomfortable, after all he had virtually only just met her. He had better call her, make her aware of his presence, break her trance, he thought. Painfully he began to wrack his memory for her name, what was it? Fifi? Mimi?...

"Mitti!" he remembered suddenly, speaking it involuntarily out loud, startling himself. She didn't move, didn't respond. He called again more persistently, in a controlled and ordered way.

"Mitti...hey Mitti..are you alright? What are you doing?". He was pleased with the way he felt he had conveyed a warm concern for her without being too obviously drippy. Then again, he had this strange feeling of being out-numbered, a feeling of being under someone else's control. But his display of concern for her well being began to make him feel more confident, his rising sap made him smile and relax, and he lay back down on the bed replaying the previous nights love making.

When she eventually spoke, he was so lost in his reverie he didn't quite catch what she said. He mumbled something about not hearing, and she threw her head over her shoulder, her eyes turning his into bowels of dismay.

"Get out of here...NOW!" she spat, "Is that loud enough for you?". Her face snapped back to the mirror.

"Y-yes", he stuttered nervously, adding as an after thought, "Quite loud enough, thank you".

For a while nothing happened. He mused on her words, surely she couldn't mean it, surely they had been lovers and good lovers at that, he resolved to stay. He lay on the bed and tried to look as relaxed and unconcerned as possible. He determined to tell her the score. Rolling over onto his stomach he rested his head in his hands and began to weigh the words he would use.

Something - her hair brush - zipped through the air and caught him squarely on the back of the head knocking the carefully chosen sentence into a mish-mash of letters in a Scrabble bag.

That's when he left.

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