revolvingdoor (revolvingdoor) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-09-17 20:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | rehab |
Who: Rehabilitation
What: Laundry
When: Afternoon
Where: Her Apartment
Warnings: Self-pleasure in under 300 words.
Her washing machine was older, circa 1963. It was a giant white thing that sat in the small room next to her pantry, and it shook nearly the whole of the small apartment when she ran it. If she wanted she could escape into her room and ignore the shaking with a good book and a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. Normally that was what she did while she waited for the laundry to be ready for the long process of ironing, folding, and hanging. But three weeks ago she'd leaned over to slip her detergent back up on the shelf while the machine was running. Her waist pressed against the appliance. Even through the two crinolines she was wearing Rehab could feel it; the harsh vibrations, softened and tenderized by those plush layers of fabric until they were simply light strokes against regions she'd never even considered in this form.
She did her laundry twice a week these days, and it seemed she never read anymore while she waited. Instead she stood in front of the washer, tentatively pressing against it and pulling away when the forbidden came too close. It wasn't an addiction if she didn't fully succumb, she told herself, even if she was doing laundry more than usual.