Pulp Fiction Sinful Beddin

Sinful Bedding…an obsession.

Pulp Fiction Sinful Beddin

He wandered down the street whistling a new tune, one he’d heard on the jukebox only mere minutes before as he grabbed a burger on his lunch break. Now, as he made his way back to the office, his tie just a little loose and his wallet just a bit lighter, he kept flashing back to the night before. After grabbing drinks with coworkers at a nearby lounge, he’d met someone. A woman with smoky eyes and heels to the sky. They’d talked for what felt like hours and then continued their, shall we say, interactions back at her place.

Her home was small; a seedy apartment above a street corner deli. With sheer curtains that allowed neon street lights to hum through and a faint hint of cigarette in the air, she lived in humble means with little needs. In fact, the only need she seemed to have was one of flesh. And luckily, he was there to help her out.

Now, as he passed strangers on the street and dodged oncoming traffic, he realized there was only one thing he was still thinking about. Only one thing that truly caught his eye the night before: her sheets. Sure, her skin had been soft and her touch had been urgent, but the sheets on her bed were unlike any fabric he’d ever encountered before. Luxurious, colorful, and more delicate than any silk from the far East. Prying his body away from that fabric in the morning had been damn near impossible.

He found himself reaching into his coat pocket, fishing around for loose change. Pulling open the door of a nearby phone booth he quickly sealed himself inside, silencing the rumble of downtown noise.

“It’s me,” he said, after she picked up on the other end.

Almost breathless, he asked, “Can I come over again tonight?” His mind filled with visions of her sheets. He could feel his blood churning just at the thought of being near those sheets again. It hard become an obsession to be near that sinful bedding. He needed to be near those sheets again.