Johnson wanted nothing more than to turn her over. They were already on the bed in her apartment, tongues blind and wet in each other's mouths. Her skirt was lying on the floor, her blouse completely unbuttoned. As his fingers pressed against her panties, warmth radiated through them.
She wanted him to take it farther. He knew this by the motion of her hips and the short, impatient nature of her breath. She raised her hips off the bed, practically begging him to tear her panties away. He almost moved for it, almost slid his hand into that soft cotton pocket between her thighs, but it wasn't what he wanted. Instead, he turned her over so she was face down to the bed.
Her arms folded under her so her fists rested on either side of her chin. She turned her head questioningly, looking surprised and vulnerable as he moved behind her. Still, she didn't resist when he hooked fingers under the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her thighs. The crotch stuck for a moment and then followed as he eased her panties below her knees and then freed them from her ankles. Johnson dropped them on the bed and looked at the delicate folds of cloth. He gazed at the discarded panties for a long moment, but could not see the place where stains would be hid.
Johnson straddled her, both his pants and shirt unbuttoned. He moved down the bed and placed his hands on her buttocks and squeezed. She had a beautiful bottom. It was plump and round, and her tan lines formed a pale bikini. Pubic hair snuck out between her thighs, black tendrils tickling those lips. Again, he felt the pull of her vagina, felt her willing him to be in the usual spot, but he had another desire.
Music played over their thoughts. Good, because talking would be awkward. Her stereo. Her apartment. Her idea. Sloppy bar talk had led to this.
Johnson couldn't remember her name. He had been drinking vodka over ice and had quickly become intrigued by her black hair and violent blue eyes. She had literally bumped into him at the bar. Her hair and eyes, like night and day, or like a bruise, he thought, black and blue.
"Excuse me," he'd said at the bar.
"No," she'd said laughing, also drunk, "Excuse me."
Her cheeks, spread by his hands, revealed the eye he longed for. It puckered as if leery. Johnson pressed his face into her and tasted her. He could smell the faint, leftover scent of excrement. She relaxed under the moist excesses of his tongue, her anus opening. She groaned and released a stronger odor.
He had bought her a drink because most of hers had spilled down her arm when she'd almost bumped into him. "It's all right, it's all right," he'd said while wiping a bar napkin over her wet sleeve. "I'm going to smell like a drunk," she'd said, laughing.
The people around them had become others. They had become two. It happened that quickly.
Before they left the bar they'd been accosted by someone carrying a basket of red and pink roses, hoping to make a sale. They were in too much of a hurry to care.
He continued to press his tongue into her and she didn't mind. Perhaps she was drunker and more tired than he'd realized. She seemed to be melting beneath him. She writhed only vaguely, maybe just with the heavy beat of blood through her body. He doubted now that she even wanted him at those other lips.
Johnson dared a finger, suddenly nervous. Do it quickly, don't prolong the inevitable. He sucked the finger to moisten it and then probed the hole with its tip. The ring of sensitive, wrinkled skin became all. His fingernail found the opening, entered it. Johnson pushed in to the knuckle, feeling all the surrounding meat of her bottom clench, ready to ease him out. Farther, though, was what he wanted. The finger went in deeper, then still deeper, every millimeter for him a delight. He held one cheek with his free hand, but in truth the rest of her had disappeared. All he knew was the finger and the hole.
Johnson had very nearly inserted his finger as far as it would go when his fingertip met something unusual, something with a smooth, wet surface. Puzzled, he began to pull out and found that the pressure on his fingertip remained constant. He pulled out farther and the thing, whatever it was, seemed stuck to his finger. Johnson shuddered. With a retracted dart he pulled back his hand and his finger met cool air. He caught a glimpse of white in the hole. The woman's anus widened to allow the thing out, a ball indeed, and now he could see blue surrounding black as a pupil shrunk to meet his gaze.
Johnson felt the blood drain from his penis, electricity souring his saliva. The walls of his throat and stomach seemed to rot. He had to get away. The eyeball watched him, nestled in the woman's ass cheeks like a jewel upon a bed of velvet. Johnson took a handful of sheet, pushed away, and threw out his legs to meet carpet. Twisting to be free of the bed, he turned and saw her face.
Her head was turned toward him so he could see the ruined socket, the missing eye. Much of her face was twisted toward the empty socket, where a tunnel seemed to lead down into her. Her nose was pulled out of true and made one of her nostrils much wider than its twin. A blood vessel in the wider nostril had ruptured, leaking blood into her mouth. So ruined was her face and so bereft of life, dried and hardened, that she might have been dead for some time. He fled the room only partially dressed.
