"So you've been at war? You've killed people?" The question seemed more surreal than my current situation.
"Yeah," he said in a casual manner. "That's kind of how I'm here." His knees now dug into the side of my thigh.
"Wow," was the only thing I managed to say. My initial fear seemed realized. I sat next to a killer in my own house. But, instead of running him off, I wanted to make sure he stayed. A sense of serenity covered me completely. I felt protected. When we each finished our drinks, he took my glass and placed it on the floor next to the couch; he did the same with his. My tired I forced my tired eyes to stay open. He placed my head on his shoulder and held my hand.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked softly.
"Not at all," I answered quickly.
"You know it wasn't my intent to get your defenses down by getting you drunk," he said sliding my right leg over his lap. I felt his thigh muscles beneath his jeans push up against my own. Foreplay needed to be over fast. While I hadn't been trolling for a hook-up, getting laid proved to be most urgent
"Liar," I said straddling him.
His hands travelled beneath my shirt again, this time I moved closer. The brittleness of his facial whiskers on dug into my palms when I cupped his face with both of my hands. Our lips locked. Our tongues pushed against and around each other. He tasted like caramel; smooth and sweet. He lingered on my palate and clung to the back of my throat. I felt his fingers push into my bare flesh beneath my shirt. I pulled his shirt out of his jeans. My hands moved around his bare back, they felt tiny-his skin-smooth and warm. He grabbed hold of my right wrist and twisted my arm behind me. I attempted to wiggle it free, but his grip got tighter. I tried again, with the same result. I figured this was what a python attack must be like, a life and death dance between predator and prey, which advances further at the struggle of the kill.
I felt his hips push up between my legs. I ceded to his grasp mostly because I couldn't really fight him and I feared physical harm. The thought of visual proof of this encounter quelled the fight in me. Only victims ran around with bruises and casts. Or, perhaps the lack of fight stemmed from a latent desire to experience complete abandon, or the amount of control I faced daily in my life. I started to struggle again this seemed like the best alternative to gain greater domination.
Our teeth crashed into each other as he kissed me. Blood run down my throat, who it belong to meant little. Its salty taste provoked further desire. Body fluids, while a necessary by-product of a sexual encounter, never enticed anything more than a need for a shower. A life-long advocate of safer sex and stranger danger, I generally carried the need for control even in to the bedroom. This came from my first internship in an HIV research laboratory. The knowledge gained there followed me though out my life. The awareness of a lingering wasting death and prolonged suffering made the need for a condom a no-brainer. Responsibility overwhelmed any need for spontaneity. Restraint belongs to foresight. A stranger held me in a vice like grip while we exchanged bodily fluids. A part of me analyzed the situation, but because of an overabundance of champagne it failed to contemplate the full extent of decadence taking place.
Perhaps I wanted to tempt fate, or see if I could be different than all of the other victims I read about in the case files at the lab. I wanted to face the unknown and prevail, to prove I could avoid that label no matter what or who I allowed in my house. By doing this properly, I would beat the odds and thus gain the grace of providence.
The muscles around my shoulder remained stretched and bent out of normal alignment. I felt his fingers tighten around my wrist. Discomfort turned into pain. I wondered if my long-sleeved blouses would cover the bruise I imagined I would have the following day. My co-workers lived vicariously through other's exploits and offered little restraint in sharing their observations with the rest of the office. While I recalled my wardrobe, he twisted my wrist that shot a sharp pain from my hand and to the front side of my face. He gazed at my face as I tried to break free. His expression remained stoic yet held steady as if taking notes of his observations. My alcoholic buzz dissipated. Every single muscle bundle beneath my skin burned. My struggle for release now included my other hand. I wanted not to panic, I felt stupid. Do those girls whose panties end up on my evidence table feel stupid? I noticed his grin. After a while, I realized the futility of my struggle.
I still squirmed.
Somehow the instinctive fight or flight response required the continued stirring, and after a few minutes a burning sensation caused by the hyperextension appeared and travelled from my upper to lower back. My back went into several series of involuntary contractions, it fought to bend forward at my waist, and this caused him to keep my hand fixed at my back. His nails dug into my wrist.
A few years later, while seeking relief for my chronic pain condition, a doctor introduced me to the Visual-Analog pain scale. While intended to provide a precise measure of patient pain, it does little more than rate intensity of a person's ache by use of an arbitrary number range. The scale runs from numbers one to ten. Accompanying the numbers are words such as annoying, uncomfortable, dreadful, horrible then finally agonizing at the ten mark. At the height of my illness, I writhed around in my bed in my agony.
"It really hurts," I said once the pain became dreadful also known as a six.
When he let go of my hand, I was able to relax. I shook the blood back into my tingling hand. The relief lasted a few seconds.
"Are you better?" he asked massaging my shoulder. I leaned into him, our foreheads touched. "You want me to leave?" I wanted to say yes, but I liked how he felt while I straddled him. I rubbed his face with mine and ran my fingers through his hair. He did the same to me. "Does that mean you want me to stay?"
"Stay," I whispered.
Just then, he pulled a wad full of my hair while he kissed my neck and chest. He leaned me back rapidly. His mouth moved about me just as rapidly. I found myself curved back further than I had ever been bent. I yelped when I felt my sternum or backbone pop. The sound and feel reminded me of popping fingers only twice if not three times as loud.
Silence followed the snap.
He released me. I don't know if the sound freaked him out as much as it did me, but his actions held no sign of it. He slid us off the couch then pinned me down on the floor, holding my hands above my head. His knees slid my legs open effortlessly. Instinctively, my hips reached to greet his while my legs wrapped around him.
As much as I wanted to stay in the moment, I needed to determine damage. I quickly decided pain, the universal indicator of maladies, needed to present in case of any breaks or tears. Since I had none, I assumed no lasting damage came from the noise. I noticed that some of the candle wicks no longer held flames. I could no longer see the miniscule details of his face.
"Are you scared?" He whispered in my ear. A good response appeared beyond my grasp. A true response also failed to materialize. This situation, while unfamiliar, still lacked the intensity for me to respond in the affirmative. I associated the word itself to life threatening danger and the need to scream at the top of my lungs for rescue.
"Do you want me to be?" I asked his silhouette.
"Yes," Tom whispered into my ear. I smiled at the feel of his warm breath on my skin. I recognized I still controlled the dance. He performed for me, no matter what he imagined for us, he did it for my reaction. I love attention, I always have and at that moment all of his belonged to me.
"Give me a reason to be," I responded. I wanted it to sound seductive, thinking this would eventually lead to a greater moment of primordial zeal. Unfortunately, it sounded like more of a dare. I thought of saying I was kidding, that it was a joke. I notice I do that in uncomfortable situations, this ploy allows me to say anything I want, and then pretend that I only cared to entertain. But I didn't get a chance to. We kissed again, I closed my eyes for what seemed like a second then I felt the cold strap around my neck, it was his belt. I shuddered when I felt him tighten it and pulled me up from the floor. Was this when a safe word needed to be chosen? When did I go from woman to pet? Better yet, why did I not mind my new lot in this new relationship?
"Come on," he ordered.
He walked me slowly to the bathroom. The belt scraped against my chin, I tried not to move around so much, in case I survived this evening, a bruise around my neck would be difficult to explain. I stared at the dancing lights on the dark walls surrounding us as he led me to the bathroom. Since we stood up, I saw his expression a bit clearer, but not clear enough for me to know his next move. For a woman who loves to read the last chapter of a crime novel first, this situation managed to absorbed my complete attention.
He tugged me harder when I hung back for a second. When we reached the bathroom, he flipped the lights on. Their quick introduction offended my eyes. The stark white color in that room betrayed the mood the soothing darkness captured in the rest of my place.
The dreamlike state moved to a realistic setting.
In this room, he was a man, not a screen name, a soldier or a silhouette. It also accentuated his flaws. Tiny wrinkles and dark circles around his eyes replaced the smooth features which entranced me earlier. He sat me down on the toilet and held his belt around his hand as one does with a pooch in the park.
While I watched Tom adjust shower temperature, I remembered a Law and Order episode where the girl killed in the shower left no evidence behind. Before I completely recalled that the defendant melted her using lye, he began to undress in front of me. Our eyes locked, as much as I wanted to look at every muscular bulge and crevice I wanted to see if I could read his mind. Eventually, I learned the futility of this exercise. His skin looked so white and soft.
