It is hanging in my closet. My senses feel so acute I swear I can smell it from where I sit.
Three weeks ago today. Three weeks ago she saturated it with her body. Her smell, her charm, her laughter. It’s ridiculous but I can feel her hot skin and hear her smoky floral voice the moment I pull it from my closet.
My suit jacket. She wore my suit jacket for ten minutes or so. It was cold and the night air bit through my face and my ears. But I was impervious to natural unpleasantries that night. Only the caramel color of her thighs, mostly hidden by the red satin of her dress could really punch me in the stomach.
I sat there in the fog and watched the dizzy colors of people and things move past me. I concentrated on nothing and let only the euphoria of my stupor embrace me. And then her face, her arm extended out to me, my jacket in her hand. I kissed her fingers. She kissed mine. I kissed her lips. She kissed mine. I stared at her, for one long moment. She kept my gaze, boldly, and then turned to go.
I sit here now, three weeks later. The jacket is hanging. I am looking at a picture of her. I plan on wearing the jacket while masturbating to her scent and her photograph. Her black hair won’t be in my face while I *u** myself and her tiny body won’t be impaling itself on my *ock but I’ll imagine it. My dirty thoughts will do her justice. The jacket. It will bring her back to me.