After meeting the Neandertal I made a point of walking alone each day to fetch water. I used the path east of the caverns so I could smell the delicacies smoking near the entrance. I knew the Neandertal was watching me. One morning he grabbed me as I walked, and tried to place me on top of his lap. I fought him but he held me tightly against his chest. His strawberry blond hair was dense and soft against my nose and smelled sweetly of gentian and musk. He kept pulling me against him but he was too big for me.
I never did it on top before, nor for more than a few seconds. His silky hair rubbed allover my front. Soon I was wet and grinding up and down his pestle. I ended just like the Neandertal did and at the same time. Then I slumped down, spent, into his huge arms. They reached all the way around my back. With his fingertips he played with my nipples. His nails were yellow, blue, and black – broken, with long hair and lice caught between the cracks. I’d have to file them.
At one point I tried to kiss his mouth. He thought I was trying to tell him something. He turned his ear toward me. I blew my hot breath into his ear. He still thought I was trying to say something to him. He shrugged. He started getting hard again inside me.
I came home late that day after gathering nuts and mushrooms. I also found herbs for the Neanderthal, who had a nasty wound on his leg. My husband was pissed when I returned. He sat smoking and drinking in the dark. I told him I had a migraine and to leave me the fuck alone. I placed my bag and a large package of smoked meat down. My husband looked down at the wrapped package and laughed. “Is that what this is all about? Meat?” he asked.
from the short story project DYSAUTONOMIA. Comments and discussion welcome on blog entries. Follow me on twitter for updates to this serial story and future stories from this ongoing project