His Rattle

When he left she drained the last of the whiskey and smoked the last of her cigarettes. She went to the bathroom, got out a fresh new razor, and shaved off all of her pubic hair. She wanted no remembrance of him on her body. With each slide of the razor blade along her flesh she felt a release, an escape from her ache. And when she was smooth and bare she laid down on her porch naked. Gone was any trace of him on her hood, now only the rays of mother earth would warm her clean shaven pussy.
But still, there’s that ache she’s been carrying for him. An ache on her like an old worn out duffel bag full of all of her worldly possessions, hoping one day she can dump all of it out, discard what she didn’t need anymore.
She didn’t need the ache anymore, Kat thought, as she lit a cigarette and took a quick sip of her coffee, looking out her kitchen window. She didn’t need to feel the whisper of his Tennessee drawl in her mind or imagine those long legs of his wrapped around her, his breath graze at her cheek, haunting her.
**
She wonders what it means when a rattlesnake shows up on her front porch, and makes his home underneath it. It rattles at her, echoing her restlessness. She tries to ignore it, and the old ache that sneaks up on her whenever she thinks of him. Like she was nineteen again, and she saw him for that first time. He sauntered into the room, and said, “Shit, what you doin all by yourself?”
He had warmed her heart on that cold January night when on a whim she drove down to Lexington to hang with some friends for New Years Eve. She was sitting on the couch by herself because all of her friends had gone to bed, and she was waiting for something or someone as she watched the snow flakes fall lightly onto the front lawn. And then she heard the screen door slam, and to her surprise there he stood. He asked if he was late for the party, like Johnny Cash, with a half turned smile forming on his lips when he saw she was the only one sitting on the couch.
They had stayed up until the next morning talking about nothing in particular. She did most of the listening, too afraid to say anything because she was scared she’d say something stupid, something that he could judge her by. All she really wanted to do was watch him from under her long auburn hair. He kept brushing it aside for her whenever she went to light another cigarette, giving her a smile as if he was going to kiss her, but he never did. He only went on talking, and she became transfixed by the smooth cadence of his voice. His words slipped from his lips, like a brief kiss, like a light touch on her arm.
When he got up to leave he touched her nose, and said, “Hope to be seeing you soon.” The screen door snapped behind him, and he whistled the melody of some tune she didn’t know. Her heart began to ache, and she couldn’t breathe, but she blamed it on the pack of cigarettes she had smoked.
He had not even tried to kiss her on the couch. He had been a gentleman. He had not taken advantage of her drunken state. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to feel that rush of adrenalin surge through her, which only a first kiss, could give. The whole night she had been watching his lips move in accordance with his smooth sexy voice. She wanted to grab hold of his long blond hair and pull him towards her. Now at forty she wouldn’t have had a problem to reach for him, but at nineteen, she only imagined the possibilities of his lips on her skin, teasing her, licking at her, and yes, fucking her. When she looked into his blues eyes, all she could think about was fucking him right on the couch, and running her slender fingers down his lanky body. But, he had gotten up to leave, leaving her very frustrated and with a longing that scared her.
Their first kiss, in her mind, was intense. She was leaned up against his truck, his tall body pressed up against hers. He brushed her auburn hair aside and leaned down to her, and then he kissed her. And she felt that tingling sensation in her clit, when he parted her lips and pulled up her skirt, and grabbed her ass. She wanted him to fuck her right there against his truck, but then he pulled back, and looked down at her. She met his blue eyes with hers, and gave her that half cocked smile again, like he knew something but wasn’t going to tell her.
And when he did fuck her, later that evening, she remembers now, it was more like a dream state, a battery of smells and tastes, and pushing and pulling, and being thrown against the wall. Hands and legs every which way, and she was left with that sense of non being, as if it wasn’t really her at all experiencing the pleasure of his body rubbing along hers, pinning her to the floor, slapping her ass; only a whimsical memory that makes her smile and sigh all at the same time.
She had liked him, but it was more than a like, it was a pull he had on her. It was as if his energy drew her in, hypnotizing her senses, making her feel faint. He made her feel crazy, and out of control, like she was drowning, gasping for air, and at the last moment, he would reach for her.
**
The idea of getting the bright blue rattlesnake tattoo came to her in a dream, and she took it as a sign to help dissipate the ache that stirred at her every once in a while when she heard his name mentioned or she thought of their brief time together. Now, the body of the rattlesnake coils around her belly button. The head of the reptile lies flat on her pubis, and the tongue, well, the black fork tongue is tattooed on her clit. And she can make it flick out to all those who dare to have a lick. And there have been many that have tried, but never have they captured her heart. None have dulled her ache, or made her rattle, like he did, a long time past.
And for awhile she kept her pussy well shaven, bare and exposed, like her ache for him, but then she stopped. She didn’t want to see it any longer; she didn’t want to be reminded of him, and what he did to her senses, awakening the forbidden in her, whetting her appetite to those memories that need now be forsaken.
The rattlesnake is well hidden, for safe keeping. And when she feels the nagging sensation in the pit of her belly, she can’t help but trace the body of the snake with her finger tips. It soothes her, letting the ache subside for awhile. The blue on her belly reminds her of his eyes, so electric that sometimes she feels the snake will come alive; devouring her with his fierce bit, reminding her that nothing really dies.
She is left with his rattle, it spooks her, but still she leaves it alone. No sense in bothering with it, best to leave it, take comfort in it, but if it becomes too much, Kat might have to shave her pussy clean again, and go find him, and let him feel her own rattle, and see if he can make it hiss, make it flick out to him, make it shudder as he licks at its tongue.