Monday, February 07, 2005

Untitled (Very graphic, disturbing, death)

“So, you’re depressed.”

“No, no. You have it all wrong.”

The two had only met that evening, but had quickly found the eerie closeness that only develops between two strangers when large amounts of alcohol or drugs are involved. Now the party was winding down, and aside from the half-naked couple in the far corner, the dim living room was theirs alone. He lit a John Players Special, then continued.

“I’m not depressed at all. Indeed, I’m completely satisfied with my life. And that’s just it. I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to, everything I’ve dreamed of. I’m ready now.”

“But why not just wait,” she protested. “It will come eventually in its own time. That’s the way it works.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be hit by a semi and not even notice. There’s no fun or satisfaction in that. No, I’ll go my way, at my chosen time. I’m looking forward to it. Death is about the only thing I find exciting these days.”

“I guess I’m like that myself.”

He leaned towards her in his seat, startled and intense. “Oh, you want to off yourself too?”

“No. Not myself. Other people. I’m fascinated by death in other people. I would never kill in anger or for revenge. I’d kill so that I could see the look in their eyes, the expression on their face, so that I could understand it.”

She glanced away, was silent a few moments, then turned back.

“I guess I’m more than a bit fucked up,” she admitted, embarrassed.

He chuckled softly, and with a contemplative look at her, replied, “Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

* * *

“Are you sure,” he asked.

She glanced into his eyes. “Of course I am.”

Leaning away from his chest, she laid the point of the kitchen paring knife against the soft, white skin of his ribs, two inches right of the nipple. Firmly, she drew the blade in a gentle arc down his ribs and across the top of his stomach. He didn’t flinch. In all, it was 14 or 15 inches long, and quite deep. She could see the edges of skin as they gaped away from each other, and blood was welling up quickly.

He released a sigh. “Okay.”

Feeling his eyes on her, she caught a thick drop of blood that had begun to roll down his side on the tip of her middle finger, and put it to her mouth. Salty copper. When she looked up, he was smiling at her tenderly, and with his left hand behind her neck, pulled her in for a kiss as she pressed the knife to his thigh.

* * *

“Well, everything seems to be ready.”

“Yep,” she agreed. “I can’t think of anything left to do.”

The sat side by side on the couch, the note they had composed together of the coffee table before them. It was the third and final draft; the two previous had been burned and flushed down the toilet. The contents of the letter were pretty basic, it was the look of it that was important. The handwriting, his of course, had to be shaky yet determined, desperation mixed with resolve. The first or second version probably would have been adequate, but both were perfectionists and wanted everything to be just right.

“Are you sure you don’t want these,” she asked. “They might make it easier.”

“No.” He took the bottle of Tylenol 3’s from her surgically gloved hand and placed them next to the note. “It has to be clear. I can’t be numbed in body or mind. I want to experience all of it to infinity.”

She stood, turned to face him with her legs on either side of his, and bent at the waist to peer closely at his face.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

He laid a gentle palm against her cheek and kissed her once softly on the mouth. He nodded his head and smiled. At that she pressed the hunting knife they had bought and prepared together into his throat as hard as she could, and slashed to her left at the same time. Once he jerked, and she saw his breathless gasp, then he faded quickly. In moments he was gone.

She stood before him a few minutes, breathing deeply, just looking at him. There was virtually no expression on his pale face. No pain, no alarm, maybe a touch of contentment or relief. But that could have been her imagination.

Carefully, she picked up his right hand and wrapped it, still warm, around the black molded plastic handle of the knife. As carefully, she placed the two at his side, in what should appear to be a natural position.

She peeled off the surgical gloves and brushed her naked hand through his hair.


As quiet as her lover, she left.

Finished October 1997

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

A Present (fiction, graphic)

panthers_little_lynx_wols (1:37:19 AM): Finding Him still out, she creeps into His bedroom. Slowly she undresses, enjoying the feeling of getting naked, touching herself as each piece of clothing comes off. Finger tips down her neck and shoulders, dragging her fingernails down the sides and under her breasts, watching her nipples get hard, skimming her hips and rubbing down her legs. She sits on His bed, massaging her feet. Imagining His cock instead of her hands, she strokes her soles, heels and toes with the edge of her palm the way she thinks He would do it. With one hand she cups her sex, feeling how hot it is, but not doing anything more, wanting to wait for Him. She stands, looking around and finds His toy bag. Dropping to her knees she opens it, pausing to enjoy the smell of leather.
Items that she wants are placed on the bed. When she has found everything, she begins working. First she binds each ankle, the way He has told her He would, not tightly but with many turns. Then centering herself on the bed, she uses the remainder of rope that she has left to bind her ankles to her thighs, leaving just enough play so that the soles of her feet can touch. Next are the cuffs around her wrists. These she can tighten more. The soft lining keeps the leather from digging in and cutting off the circulation. And it feels to good; she can imagine that it is His hands holding her.
Taking one silk scarf in her hands, she pulls it between her fingers, loving the cold, ultra soft texture. She begins dragging it over her body, mostly her breasts, but also her legs and calves, shivering at the feeling. Before she gets so turned on that she can't stop, she ties it halter style around her neck and under her breats, lifting and pushing them together slightly. She wonders if He will use her that way when He sees it. Taking the second scarf, she ties it around her head several times, making sure that it covers her ears as well as her eyes. It muffles the sound, like being under water and she can hear her own breath and heartbeat amplified, but all other sounds become distant.
The last part is the most difficult. Stretching full length, barely reaching, she grasps the chain so thoughfully placed by Him, with the caribeaners and clasps, and fumbling slightly, sightless, she clasps the cuffs tightly. She imagines that she might not be able to free herself if she wanted and that makes her happy. Without sight or clear sound she feels like the world has become smaller, just her, the bed and her bindings. It's almost relaxing, waiting for Him, but unable to do anything other than lie there, very slightly chilled, feeling goosebumps of cold and excitment break out on her body, tightening her nipples even more.
She imagines in her mind what she will look like to Him. Will He be surprised? Will He look at her for long? What will He do with her first? Eventually these images slip from her and she becomes very still, her head turned on the pillow, breathing the smell of Him and slowly drifting into a dream filled light sleep.
Finished 1/31/2005