Drawers
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2025 by Mat Twassel
Fiction Sex Story: What happens in drawers doesn't necessarily stay in drawers. Illustrated.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Interracial Pregnancy Illustrated AI Generated .
“The Feather and the Egg”
In a house that had long forgotten its own builders, a drawer creaked open one morning without cause. No hand had touched it, no breeze had stirred. Yet there it was—ajar, revealing a single white egg nestled in the velvet hush of wood.
Above, on the polished surface of the table, a feather had landed. It was not there the night before. It had not fallen from any bird, nor drifted through any open window. It simply was—as if summoned by the egg’s silent longing.
The feather did not roll or tremble. The egg did not crack. They remained still, separated by a few inches and a world of meaning.
Some said the egg had waited years for the feather. Others believed the feather had come to remind the egg of flight. But the truth was simpler: they were both remnants of softness, resting in a world of hardness, and for one brief morning, they shared the same light.
“The Drawer That Remembered Spring”
The nightstand had stood quietly for years, its drawers closed, its knobs untouched. It had once held letters, then keys, then nothing at all. Dust settled like memory.
But one morning, the top drawer opened—not with a creak, but a sigh. Inside, where old receipts might have lived, there were flowers. Pink and purple, fresh and fragrant, as if the drawer had bloomed from within.
A butterfly landed on the edge. Not the first, not the last. Yellow and black, then orange and black—each one different, each one drawn by something they couldn’t name. They didn’t flutter. They rested, as if the wood had become a meadow.
No one saw it happen. No one asked why. But the drawer remembered spring, and the butterflies remembered where to go.
“The Drawer Was Not Empty”
The dresser had always been a quiet companion. It held socks, secrets, and the occasional forgotten receipt. But lately, it had begun to stir.
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