Part 5:
Maybe there is nothing in this world that can make you hunger for me, only a few triggers that make you crave. I feel small and diminutive, unable to grasp even the slightest inclination of your desire towards me. I’m staring to feel insane, needy all the time, less stable, just waiting for that moment when you slip inside me. It is a small and obsessive existence that I’m embarking upon that is futile and potentially, inevitably destructive.
There is a soft persistent knock on the door. I can feel the expectant energy from here, radiating off her skin as she waits and anticipates when the door will open. Sliding a hand down to the doorknob I wrap my fingers around the tarnished brass. Feeling it warm at my touch, I realize how long I have hungered for this. My patience wearing away as I waited for her answer, her movement towards me. With a soft click I open the door, barely an inch, she leans in towards me through the gap. I see an eye, a cheek, a shock of dark hair and moist lips.
The door doesn’t open any further leaving both of us with a partial glimpse of flesh. She slips her hand through the opening and places her fingers on my mouth, stroking my bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. Like her first tentative knocks her strokes are gentle but persistent. Slowly she slides the tip into the warmth of my mouth, letting me wrap my lips around it. I moan as I take it in deeper, mewling around her flesh.
The door opens a fraction further as my resistance gives way to something hungry and urgent. She moves into the room while her finger is still embedded in the soft folds of my mouth. Moving towards me her other hand slips around my neck, supporting my head. Her fingers work up into my hairline and grab at the loose tendrils of hair. Taking a clump into her fist she gives it a soft tug that is echoed by her thumb thrusting further in.
Maybe there is nothing in this world that can make you hunger for me, only a few triggers that make you crave. I feel small and diminutive, unable to grasp even the slightest inclination of your desire towards me. I’m staring to feel insane, needy all the time, less stable, just waiting for that moment when you slip inside me. It is a small and obsessive existence that I’m embarking upon that is futile and potentially, inevitably destructive.
There is a soft persistent knock on the door. I can feel the expectant energy from here, radiating off her skin as she waits and anticipates when the door will open. Sliding a hand down to the doorknob I wrap my fingers around the tarnished brass. Feeling it warm at my touch, I realize how long I have hungered for this. My patience wearing away as I waited for her answer, her movement towards me. With a soft click I open the door, barely an inch, she leans in towards me through the gap. I see an eye, a cheek, a shock of dark hair and moist lips.
The door doesn’t open any further leaving both of us with a partial glimpse of flesh. She slips her hand through the opening and places her fingers on my mouth, stroking my bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. Like her first tentative knocks her strokes are gentle but persistent. Slowly she slides the tip into the warmth of my mouth, letting me wrap my lips around it. I moan as I take it in deeper, mewling around her flesh.
The door opens a fraction further as my resistance gives way to something hungry and urgent. She moves into the room while her finger is still embedded in the soft folds of my mouth. Moving towards me her other hand slips around my neck, supporting my head. Her fingers work up into my hairline and grab at the loose tendrils of hair. Taking a clump into her fist she gives it a soft tug that is echoed by her thumb thrusting further in.
Part 4:
I cry with longing, I watched the world, I held you, I want to know what you felt, she felt cold, the knowledge would leave her cold, she felt special, I felt special, I felt I had taken something away from her experience, I liked that I had that knowledge that I wasn’t inclined to share, I’m waiting for a membership, it is on its way, he knew that I would remain inactive only for so long, he felt sad, I was happy about that, I lost consciousness, he bit down hard, I have bruises, now a sigh, then a gasp, it was awkward, delicious and kind, you were, yet it was, I never mentioned it, I covered my tracks, back-peddled, denied it profusely, gave in, told it all, accepted it, covered my face, cried with delight, we looked at the sun, I observed the universe, I embraced you, I crave to acknowledge what you fondled, the information would leave her unkind, she felt distinctive, I felt distinctive, I sensed I had withdrew something.
I cry with longing, I watched the world, I held you, I want to know what you felt, she felt cold, the knowledge would leave her cold, she felt special, I felt special, I felt I had taken something away from her experience, I liked that I had that knowledge that I wasn’t inclined to share, I’m waiting for a membership, it is on its way, he knew that I would remain inactive only for so long, he felt sad, I was happy about that, I lost consciousness, he bit down hard, I have bruises, now a sigh, then a gasp, it was awkward, delicious and kind, you were, yet it was, I never mentioned it, I covered my tracks, back-peddled, denied it profusely, gave in, told it all, accepted it, covered my face, cried with delight, we looked at the sun, I observed the universe, I embraced you, I crave to acknowledge what you fondled, the information would leave her unkind, she felt distinctive, I felt distinctive, I sensed I had withdrew something.
Part 3:
Tender young blondes with lobotomy eyes.
I just had to get out, I didn't care where. I just had to go, the suffocation of my own predicament was overwhelming. The problems I have moulded from my own two hands are inhibiting. I couldn't even face another conversation, another partial dialogue.
What we hold onto is such a limited illusion, a vague idea. How do we even translate globally, we don't. We are so completely situated within our locale. Controlled demographically. My whole identity has been shaped within a 200km radius, a pathetic geography in comparison with the vastness that exists. How can a world be built within such existent limitations, how can you forge your own path in a limited pool. So tonight, I want to scream and yell and fume. Feel enraged at the cards I have dealt myself, feeling utterly helpless in the face of better, more adaptable individuals. So tonight, this is completely un-erotic, impotent, awkward, untouchable. Tonight is about the fractured moment that signals the point at which this world has become so barren or in the words of the Marquis de Sade “This mark indicates the exact place where the account of the passions begins, and the end of the paragraph always indicates where it finishes.”
Tender young blondes with lobotomy eyes.
I just had to get out, I didn't care where. I just had to go, the suffocation of my own predicament was overwhelming. The problems I have moulded from my own two hands are inhibiting. I couldn't even face another conversation, another partial dialogue.
What we hold onto is such a limited illusion, a vague idea. How do we even translate globally, we don't. We are so completely situated within our locale. Controlled demographically. My whole identity has been shaped within a 200km radius, a pathetic geography in comparison with the vastness that exists. How can a world be built within such existent limitations, how can you forge your own path in a limited pool. So tonight, I want to scream and yell and fume. Feel enraged at the cards I have dealt myself, feeling utterly helpless in the face of better, more adaptable individuals. So tonight, this is completely un-erotic, impotent, awkward, untouchable. Tonight is about the fractured moment that signals the point at which this world has become so barren or in the words of the Marquis de Sade “This mark indicates the exact place where the account of the passions begins, and the end of the paragraph always indicates where it finishes.”
Part 2:
These days we gasp, choke and feed on it. The deathly weight that is our desire, desire for us has become nothing but a desperate gesture towards something awkwardly dripping in seminal fluid, a hot gushing of endless tirade. In this time and place all manner of things have fallen away. My expectation of the perfect moment, the instantaneous gratification of a fuck well done, an intense tingling pain in my cunt that signals that all went well. Today I have fallen a step further than expected- a shaking, halting step that was an uncomfortable adjustment to my tastes. A single rope of woven chord that fits just so around my neck. With three wraps around my wrist, assuming the knot doesn’t tighten and I choke myself, which would be one of those delicious ironies. A mortal fear of such an incident and yet I indulge in something as ridiculous as that, I stun myself to silence. What unequivocal stupidity I indulge in. Yet my life is a series of indulgences (stupidities), now I crave some imaginary figure that I have constructed. His reality is so far removed from me that I can no longer relate to you what kind of person he is, I would not know but when I noticed his first awkward body movement I felt disappointed that somehow he had let his facade slip, the fracturing of my ideal. Here is what I had before…..
We sit in front of a mirror, the room is darkened but I feel it is a cavernous space, void like. I sit on a hard, unyielding chair at a wooden desk staring into an oval mirror that is standing on the table. He moves behind me, immaculate in his suit, except for the unbuttoned top button and the hastily loosened tie. He looks up, straight into my eyes that are reflected in the mirror. My hair is loosely curled, lipstick worn but still staining my lips the slightest dark brown shade. He pulls out the noose and smiles, a slightly wicked but highly controlled smile. He knows how much I hate it when his mask slips and I can see how unsure he is about this. The rope in his hand gets rubbed against the back of my neck. He drags it along my flesh so I can feel every fibre, not in a hurried way but a way that is calculated sensuality. He slowly lifts the noose above my head, watching me, always watching me. He sees it now, I have caught my breathe, holding, waiting……
These days we gasp, choke and feed on it. The deathly weight that is our desire, desire for us has become nothing but a desperate gesture towards something awkwardly dripping in seminal fluid, a hot gushing of endless tirade. In this time and place all manner of things have fallen away. My expectation of the perfect moment, the instantaneous gratification of a fuck well done, an intense tingling pain in my cunt that signals that all went well. Today I have fallen a step further than expected- a shaking, halting step that was an uncomfortable adjustment to my tastes. A single rope of woven chord that fits just so around my neck. With three wraps around my wrist, assuming the knot doesn’t tighten and I choke myself, which would be one of those delicious ironies. A mortal fear of such an incident and yet I indulge in something as ridiculous as that, I stun myself to silence. What unequivocal stupidity I indulge in. Yet my life is a series of indulgences (stupidities), now I crave some imaginary figure that I have constructed. His reality is so far removed from me that I can no longer relate to you what kind of person he is, I would not know but when I noticed his first awkward body movement I felt disappointed that somehow he had let his facade slip, the fracturing of my ideal. Here is what I had before…..
We sit in front of a mirror, the room is darkened but I feel it is a cavernous space, void like. I sit on a hard, unyielding chair at a wooden desk staring into an oval mirror that is standing on the table. He moves behind me, immaculate in his suit, except for the unbuttoned top button and the hastily loosened tie. He looks up, straight into my eyes that are reflected in the mirror. My hair is loosely curled, lipstick worn but still staining my lips the slightest dark brown shade. He pulls out the noose and smiles, a slightly wicked but highly controlled smile. He knows how much I hate it when his mask slips and I can see how unsure he is about this. The rope in his hand gets rubbed against the back of my neck. He drags it along my flesh so I can feel every fibre, not in a hurried way but a way that is calculated sensuality. He slowly lifts the noose above my head, watching me, always watching me. He sees it now, I have caught my breathe, holding, waiting……
Part 1:
I sat across the table from him. Feeling the mass of food in my mouth stick and wedge in my throat, every mouthful an effort. My immediate urge was to spit a wad of half chewed food back on to the plate just to watch his reaction, picturing the utter contempt as it swept across his face. Though the images in my mind were not translating to my actions.
I watched him and tittered at his jokes, made awkward attempts to tackle subjects more suited to his knowledge. I am sure that to him I looked like an utterly foolish woman who laughed too often and in an artificial, strangely pitched way. I wondered if he could feel the unnaturalness of the situation, feel my awkwardness as I caught myself staring vaguely at his face.
I loathed myself, for this utterly comical display. In my mind I was vaguely disgusted by the whole situation and at the same time picturing a very different woman, myself as something far more menacing, far more cold and self composed.
I cut him off mid sentence, picking up the knife and placing it point down on the back of his hand. Pinning it to the top of the table where it had been resting. He could of pulled away, the pressure from the knifepoint barely left a mark on his skin where it lay. It was a farce, a promise of what was to come, a test.
His face registered a vaguely humorous surprise but also a distinct revulsion. His expressions tinged with patronization, like he thought that this tittering, idiot of a woman had just done something ridiculous. I wanted to cut that stupid look off his face as my rage festered. Now he could see it, the coldness as it crept into my features something in my face made him wary. He gently started to slide his hand out from under the knife while looking around the restaurant, embarrassed by the whole scene. I increased the pressure, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. His embarrassment stopped him from reacting, like if he responded the whole restaurant would turn and acknowledge this unusual gesture.
“Aren’t you sick of this? Do you even know me, would you even care to?”
He opened his mouth to reply but I silenced his speech by digging the knife in deeper.
“Just listen for a while, Okay?”
He nodded, looking nervous and now intensely self-conscious like he had been made aware of his own arrogance. I raised myself off the chair slightly and leaned in over the table. With the rest of the diners positioned behind me it must have looked like I was leaning in to kiss him. I placed my mouth by his ear and with an audible sneer I whispered.
“I am tired of that look on your face. How about we play a different game?”
I was worried that this would push him too far, I knew his need to maintain self-control would only keep him docile for so long. He could of thrown me off and just left but he didn’t. I was hoping that it was something in my voice and my actions that rooted him to the chair. I started to suck on his ear and then I clamped down with my teeth. The sudden pain from hand and ear made him stiffen in his seat. I could feel the sweat break out on his face and his rapid breathing against my neck.
“Lets leave here, I want to see that arrogant face of yours buried in my flesh.”
I sat across the table from him. Feeling the mass of food in my mouth stick and wedge in my throat, every mouthful an effort. My immediate urge was to spit a wad of half chewed food back on to the plate just to watch his reaction, picturing the utter contempt as it swept across his face. Though the images in my mind were not translating to my actions.
I watched him and tittered at his jokes, made awkward attempts to tackle subjects more suited to his knowledge. I am sure that to him I looked like an utterly foolish woman who laughed too often and in an artificial, strangely pitched way. I wondered if he could feel the unnaturalness of the situation, feel my awkwardness as I caught myself staring vaguely at his face.
I loathed myself, for this utterly comical display. In my mind I was vaguely disgusted by the whole situation and at the same time picturing a very different woman, myself as something far more menacing, far more cold and self composed.
I cut him off mid sentence, picking up the knife and placing it point down on the back of his hand. Pinning it to the top of the table where it had been resting. He could of pulled away, the pressure from the knifepoint barely left a mark on his skin where it lay. It was a farce, a promise of what was to come, a test.
His face registered a vaguely humorous surprise but also a distinct revulsion. His expressions tinged with patronization, like he thought that this tittering, idiot of a woman had just done something ridiculous. I wanted to cut that stupid look off his face as my rage festered. Now he could see it, the coldness as it crept into my features something in my face made him wary. He gently started to slide his hand out from under the knife while looking around the restaurant, embarrassed by the whole scene. I increased the pressure, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. His embarrassment stopped him from reacting, like if he responded the whole restaurant would turn and acknowledge this unusual gesture.
“Aren’t you sick of this? Do you even know me, would you even care to?”
He opened his mouth to reply but I silenced his speech by digging the knife in deeper.
“Just listen for a while, Okay?”
He nodded, looking nervous and now intensely self-conscious like he had been made aware of his own arrogance. I raised myself off the chair slightly and leaned in over the table. With the rest of the diners positioned behind me it must have looked like I was leaning in to kiss him. I placed my mouth by his ear and with an audible sneer I whispered.
“I am tired of that look on your face. How about we play a different game?”
I was worried that this would push him too far, I knew his need to maintain self-control would only keep him docile for so long. He could of thrown me off and just left but he didn’t. I was hoping that it was something in my voice and my actions that rooted him to the chair. I started to suck on his ear and then I clamped down with my teeth. The sudden pain from hand and ear made him stiffen in his seat. I could feel the sweat break out on his face and his rapid breathing against my neck.
“Lets leave here, I want to see that arrogant face of yours buried in my flesh.”
