Pig in a Silk Dress

"Pig in a silk dress"

How those words echo around in my brain when the dawn has come, and the building is quiet as wander past the reassuring presence of the ebony amazon that has staked her claim at the bottom of the staircase. "good night dear, go to bed" I insist, laying a hand upon her shoulder a moment as I pass. She nods, curt and silent and does not fool me for a minute with her stubborn ways. She is tired and I know it, but she would never dream of complaining. As I begin to ascend to the landing on the second floor, she moves off towards the doors, and heads out. I walk the thick, plush carpeting of the hall, a few hushed murmurs of groaned passion lift then fade as my suite door draws ever closer.

The lock clicks and I lean on the door to close it behind me, hanging my head a moment. Gods it was a long night, and my feet are killing me. That is my next objective, removing these implements of torture and enjoy the feeling of my barefeet on the floor. Next..the hairclip and let down the mass of curls that have been trapped and twisted atop my aching skull all night, and running my gloved fingers through the tangles and sigh delightedly with the small relief it brings. The gloves are removed and tossed thoughtlessly to the table in the corner, and only then do I dare sink to the couch.

The room is silent, even the crackle of the fire that was burning so brightly when I left, is quiet, having turned to dull grey, lurking embers in the ash. I hear just beyond notice, the sounds of the market below the window, beyond the heavy dark drapes that blot out the light and sound. I pay it no heed, as my mind wanders in the wondrous stillness of the room, and I consider a moment, rekindling the fire. 'what for?' I ask myself, and it occurs to me how empty this place is now. There is a vacancy here that never existed before him, and as I look around, I fail to see any sign he was ever here. It leaves me feeling unsettled and hollow somehow, and I rise and move to my bedroom, hoping to finish the day quickly with a merciful trip to dreamless oblivion.

Still as I peel off layer after layer of finery, pearls, earrings, and silk, I get closer to the reality of me. I wanted all these things so badly once, and yet now, each one is like a little shackle, that ties me to expectation and conformity. When it is gone, it is just me in my oversized linen shirt as I crawl into my bed, sinking into one comfort I never take for granted. I snuggle deeply into my pillows and schooch down beneath the heavy, down comforter and sigh. As sleep claims me it occurs to me how very ironic it is that even after all this time, the whore sleeps alone.