The Crimson Touch

There is silence about me, enveloping me, caressing me and crushing me in it\'s complex simplicity. I can feel my fingers as they grip my arms in a tight and personal embrace made either of fear or the cold, I am not certain. My eyes are burning as though I have been weeping for a long time, though I cannot recall when I was. If I were to gaze down upon myself, I would discover the ratty and torn clothing I have donned since I was born...into this life, this...existence. If you will grant me the luxury of calling my abject divinity even that.



I wake each morning with a throbbing ache in the back of my mind, and certain shards of memory from the night before seem lodged in an unbreakable jar I am forbidden to open. Yet, I can still glimpse the pieces as if from the distortion of a glass container.

The sensation worries me some, as I rub the seeds of sleep from my coal-black eyes and gaze at myself reflected in the cracked and dirty mirror over the sink.



Pallid flesh with eyes a bit too large, my mouth is curved in a lop-sided ghost-grin that I cannot control, and my hair, a rich mahogany, falls across my narrow shoulders and down my back in reckless curls and waves. I pull it all back into a brief ponytail and secure the bond at the nape of my neck.

My head is worse and now a trickle of blood is oozing from one of my nostrils. I reach for the roll of toilet paper set upon the sink and rip off a large length. Wadding it up, I place it to my nose, and inhale the detestable scent of cobwebs and flakes of dead human skin.

An hour later I check out of the dingy little roadside motel and make my way inward, towards the town I know I shall find.



Meanwhile, the road ahead stretches onward seemingly forever with only a random car or truck to ruffle my long, shabbily worn gray dress and hair in the wake of their passing.

My chest seems on fire after the first mile. I must stop and rest. I feel the wrenching begin in my stomach and the spasms that follow are not agreeable. The sky suddenly becomes the earth as I succumb to a taste of vertigo....



I look up and into a face, tan, smiling, eyes blue as the sky I can see beyond his features. The brightness of the summer sun haloes his head like a ring of yellowish fire.

His lip move and although I can hear nothing, I know he is speaking to me, I know what he is saying.



Are you all right? Can I help you?



I sit up and pull him towards me, almost laughing at his shock, as I crushed his mouth with my own and plunged my ue bue between his teeth. He tried to break the embrace, but I would not allow that, could not allow that. I increased the pressure on his mouth and let my hands drift lower.

Shock had turned to shame, which, eventually I knew, would turn to excitement and then, ultimately, to shameless lust.



As my hands found what they sought, I realized that I was not longer controlling the kiss, his mouth roved over mine insistently as his hands fondled and probed my body beneath him. I waited as he sat back to unbuckle his thick, brown leather belt and lowered his faded blue jeans to his knees. I reached past the waistband of his underwear, wrapped my hands about his manhood and felt the velvet flesh quiver slightly. Beneath my touch, his silken burning hardened by degrees. I held my breath at the feeling of power overwhelming. I wrapped my fingers about it and coaxed it further, almost laughing at how easy this was, my hand moving in rhythm to my beating heart.



Almost, I tell myself, my breath coming in short puffs of anticipation. I gasped as he lowered his face to my throat and pinched my left breast between his fingers. I did not mind the pain of his coarse touches, soon I would be leaving him anyway.

I felt his breath near my ear, whispering, I knew, of his need for me. I smiled, increasing my ministrations, it had become a game to me, I wanted to see how fast I could help him achieve orgasm.



I felt his spasms as a surge of damp stickiness spilled over my hand and soiled the white cotton of his shorts.



Now! an inner voice commanded. I obeyed, having little choice.

I tightened my grip until I saw the widening of his eyes and could almost hear the screams...as I reached into a hidden pocket of my dress...Oh! His agony and fear were overwhelming...I gasped in pleasure more intense than mere sex could ever be...my hands trembled with the sensation as I brought the sharpness of the blade down....He was too involved in the last throes of his culmination to notice. So trusting, I couldn\'t help thinking, so foolish, these men....



I cut. I severed. I felt his pain washing over me in waves of crimson ecstasy and felt the need to squeeze my own breasts, plunge my fingers into my own dampness and writhe within my own pleasure, bring myself to the very climax of pleasure as I did for him, it would only be fair. I did none of this, only stared at him, now sprawled away from me, clutching his bleeding crotch in the dirt as I convulsed in the tremors of another\'s suffering. How insignificant sex seemed in comparism to the gratification I was in the midst of. His anguish, both physical and emotional, fed my unappeasable hunger. I closed my eyes as it pervaded my essence in waves of maroon too intense to calculate beyond reason.

When I could stand no more, (like too much chocolate, I could not always digest all that I swallow), I stood up and walked over to him.



I stood above him and bent down to savor the last bit of fear and pain reflected in his eyes, in his blue, blue eyes. I brought my hands to his head and caressed his sun-bleached hair, short and waved, allowing my fingers explore the locks. I grabbed a handful and yanked his head back.