The rooms are bare now and echo. I am moving. I’ve lived here since childhood, as a daughter, wife, and widow.
I had my first orgasm here and my biggest best orgasm there, after the 1998 world cup final.
If you look closely at one wall in the living room, there’s a dim handprint. It’s mine. I was bracing myself against the wall as my then-boyfriend fucked me hard from behind.
I’ve watched eight men undress here and used hundreds of condoms. In the silence, I visualise their shades disrobing again.
The bed has been disassembled and packed away.
