Out of the Fire
I cried myself through a shower that night, it was a good cry, the kind that sheds pain and guilt, the kind that in the end brings a type of clarity and renewal that you only experience through loss. But truly, in the end, it accomplishes nothing. The guilt isn't truly shed, you simply pay it homage. The pain is still there, it's simply been acknowledged. In the end, nothing has changed, but we feel better. It's a selfish thing really, that type of crying, it's more of a bemoaning, but we convince ourselves that we've somehow paid a penance. Really, I'm not sure if there is a penance for me. I'm not sure if there is forgiveness for what I've done. For what I've done to Tom, for what I've done to our lives, for what I've done to the past seventeen years, and for what I've done to myself.
I had purpose. I had a life. I had a man who loved and cherished me for who I am. I had a career, a job that I was good at. I was careless. I tossed it all away for the physical. And what has that gotten me? I've been used in every way except in the way that I wished to be used. Instead of closing a chapter of my life, I started a new one, a dark one. All the good in my life now tainted, all the good in me tossed aside and forsaken so that I can be what? I hate to say the word, I hate to think it, but it's the truth... So that I could be a whore. That's what I've become. In one week I went from a successful woman about to get married to a whore who spends her day thinking about how I'll get used that evening.
Over the week my mind wandered less and less to Tom, to my fiancée, and more and more to Gavin. It's not the same mind you. When I think about Tom, however less it is now, I get butterflies in my stomach. Tom is Prometheus, a man who brought light to my life. He is everything that is good. All that I am, I owe to him. But good can get dull. We need the dark in order to appreciate the light. That's where Gavin comes in. He doesn't care about me. He doesn't inspire me to strive to become the best of me, he doesn't motivate me to be. No. He makes me wet. He's going to use me, he's going to humiliate me, he's going to suppress who I am and make me his.
As the competing thoughts of Tom and Gavin float through my mind, struggling for dominance, struggling for control, I look upon them both, turn my head to one, and whisper, "Use me, I'm you're whore."
Tom fades, becoming a feeling, a ghost, and in the darkness, I'm left with Gavin.
I stare at myself in the mirror after my shower, after I carefully towel myself dry. The welts still crisscross my back and chest. They're fading now. Scabs have formed where the skin had broken. Nothing deep, nothing too painful. I enjoy touching them. It's a penance, I deserve the pain, and it turns me on. God, what is wrong with me.
"Who are you?" I ask the image in the mirror.
"You're a whore." My mind shoots back.
I have half a mind to go to Gavin right now, to throw myself at his feet and ask to be his. I know I won't be a wife or girlfriend. I know I won't be his equal. No. I want to be his whore. I want to be kept by him. Oh, how glorious. To shed everything, to shed the weight of Tom, to shed my job, to shed me, and to live as a nameless and faceless whore. To be kept a slave. The idea turns me on and I can't help but to think I need counseling. Dear god, help me.
Everything is a chore now. Eating, sleeping, work, it's all a chore. It's all something I do in order to make it to the next time I see Gavin. I'm a zombie. I shuffle thoughtlessly through my day with only one thing on my mind. More than that, I consume and consume and consume. There is no satiation point, there is never enough, there is no depth to how low I will sink.
At work, going through my day in a haze, I sit at my desk and check my email and a feeling of excitement and dread fills me when I see Gavin's name pop up. Quickly I click the email open.
Whore,
Be at this address tonight at 5.
The address is a local hotel, a seedy place.
There is a link. I follow it. It's a craigslist ad. I cringe. There is a picture of me, one of the pictures that Gavin snapped, cum splashed across my face, my mouth open... oh god. "$eeking $ome $pecial company, tonight only. Generou$ men only. Open to all $uggestions. Call..." the phone listed is Gavin's.
My god, what has he done? My picture is on the internet, my face, my cum splattered face, forever on the internet. What if Tom sees it? What if one of my clients sees it? Jesus, what if my coworkers or bass sees it? Sure, they'd have to explain why they were looking there, but that seems like a small transgression compared to the ad with my face plastered on it. There is no explanation, there is no excuse.
My head snaps up, I look out at the sea of coworkers through my office window, none are looking, none are staring. Oh god, someone will find out. Someone will know. Somehow this will get back to Tom. For a moment I feel good, my mind finally went to Tom... it's been days since he was my first thought. Maybe I'm not lost after all, but, this ad, my picture, it's out there and it doesn't matter. I'll be caught. Tom could be my first thought, he can be my only thought, but this will get back to him... then it doesn't matter. God.
Then my mind wanders again, this time to Gavin. Oh, how he must enjoy this, knowing that I've been exposed. How he must delight in this, in the humiliation of it all. And then it happens, a sickening feeling comes over me, I'm turned on by it. Dear god, the idea it turning me on. Not just the humiliation, not just the prospect of being whored out, but of people finding out, of their knowing that I'm a whore, a whore, owned and displayed. Dear god, what is wrong with me.
I'm frozen for the rest of the day. No work gets done. Sure, I shuffle papers and I make some copies. I pick up the phone and pretend. This whole part of my life has been pretend. My mind wanders back and forth like a ship entering a storm, pitching and rolling, the ups and downs. My thoughts turn to Tom and how this will devastate him, the ship pitching down and crashing. My thoughts go to this evening and what is in store for me. I've learned not to think I have Gavin or his plans figured out, it's always worse, it's always twisted, it's always more depraved than I could ever imagine. The ship comes up from the crash, pitching forward. Then my mind goes to Gavin. I loathe him at the moment, but I smile despite myself. I almost find myself mouthing his name. He's good looking, sure, but so is Tom. He, he , he... he owns me. I get wet at the thought of him. The ship lurches up high, but thoughts of Gavin always bring Tom to mind, the two are forever interconnected, and the ship crashes again. The time alternately drags and races, drags and races. I'm going out of my mind watching the clock, I'm anxious to play, I'm dreading it. Oh god help me.
Piggy, Piggy, Piggy
Gavin is waiting at the door to the hotel room, standing there leaning against the wall. For a moment I consider throwing the car into reverse and backing away, leaving Gavin as nothing more than a fading image in my rear view. I could leave him there, not just a fading image now, but a fading image in my life. I could go to Tom, explain everything and put myself at his mercy. He might leave, he might stay, but I'd at least have a clear conscience. I'd have to live with my choices, regret them, but they'd be done and behind me. Tom, he took me from all of this once before, but I had nothing to apologize for at the time. I was with Gavin then, I wasn't cheating or catting around. This time it's different, this time I made a decision to become a whore. This time I turned my back on Tom in favor of Gavin. But I also know it's all just fancy thought flittering through my head, distractions from what I'm really thinking about... the way I'll get used tonight. Again, it's a defense mechanism, if I acknowledge the sin, then I'm still somewhat of a good person, even though I have no intention of not going through with this.
"I wasn't sure if I'd come here." I said to Gavin, closing the car door with a heavy thud.
"I had no doubt that you'd come." He met my eye, a sure and confident look that made me look away, look down, the way I always did in the past, "You know that you love this, that you were meant for this." Gavin could be so arrogant and smarmy, as much as it was a turn off, as much as it made me want to smack him, it was all part of this, I loved it, none of this would be the same without that arrogance from him.
I smiled, I couldn't help it. It was odd, this moment of normalcy with Gavin in what has been nothing but a sea of depravity, "Are you going to let me in or what?" I asked, standing in front of him, closer than I would anyone else, except for Tom of course. But Tom isn't here, this is my other life.
"Princess." Gavin opens the door for me and extends his arm, bowing slightly with a genuine smile. I felt giddy.
It's a typical cheap hotel room: two queen beds with that cheap and thin blanket, bland wall paper and carpet, a small table with a brandy snifter full of square condom packets, and two chairs, and a nightstand that probably has the bible in it. No room for a bible in here. The air smells of disinfectant, cheap deodorizing spray and stale cigarettes. Lydia isn't here, it's just Gavin and I.
"So, am I your whore for the night?" I was feeling playful and let the rules slip my mind.
Gavin smiled at me, I met his smile with one of my own. I screeched when his hand shot up, grabbing a handful of my hair and twisting it, pushing me down onto my knees.
"You don't get to talk to me." He whispered in my ear, almost spitting. I could hear anger, no, hatred in his voice, "You keep your whore mouth shut unless there's a cock waiting to go in it. Understand?"
"This whore understands." I yelled against the pain.
