Sea Lions

Two pushes every one second for forty five minutes. Sometimes for an hour and a half. Two pushes every one second. John never moves his right hand from my throat or the other from my left leg by my ears. My nails are red crescents mooning into my palms. My breathing is labored though he is not very big. Average comes to mind. His hummingbird blue eyes pin me to the bed. Two pushes. One second. My lips are swelling, making his comings and goings that much tighter. I do not make eye contact. Too intense. "I want you to come inside me!" I yell.

He likes it when I tell him that. Loudly. The pressed particle wood headboard is banging against the wall. Two pushes, one second. Sweat drips off John's nose and into my eyes. It stings. He laughs. I do not wipe them. Any sudden change in pace right now would be detrimental to his rhythm. Balls of dried up spit and skin roll back and forth with his movements, slowly splitting the skin on my inner lips. Little beads of sweat form around my fuzzy blonde hairline. He is close. "Yes!" I say "Yes! That's it, come inside me!" Two pushes one second, two pushes one secondtwopushesonesecondtwo-- "You feel so-o good. Come inside me, baby, NOW!" I cry out as he thrusts it deeper and fills me. He is spent.

I watch my skin peel back in strips. My knees ache from sitting Indian style for so long, but I don't move. My right foot is cradled in my left arm like a baby, the sole facing up. My attention is so intent on my big toe and heel that I do not realize how I have folded over and am now only inches away from my foot. I pick at another area of skin and start another piece. It always peels in strips, never huge chunks, like it tries to follow the grooves of its natural print. Each pull from my hand causes it to further peel, a purer sensation. A tug. Slow pull. Sharp pain. Tears fill my eyes. Blood fills the grooves and spills over. I stick my index finger in my mouth and mix spit in with the blood. It stings.

I am prepared as always. I dab at the blood with toilet paper. Apply direct pressure. Almost hurts too much. The blood is quickly absorbed. Crystalline threads of red dominating the white. I hope I can walk tomorrow. Sometimes I use the clippers if I'm having trouble getting started. I just clip a few layers of skin--just enough to give me something to hold onto. I am fascinated by how quickly the blood dries and clots, by how the skin swells to stop any further bleeding. I squeeze it started again. Already an hour has passed.

Liquor and cigarettes pierce my nostrils. John is home. My homework is scattered around me on the burgundy couch like a blanket. I do not move to greet him. He walks in rubbing his dick through his white Levis. He saunters towards me, flicking his tongue up and down as if he were licking my pussy. He tells me how much I need it, how much I need him, how much I want it. "Yeah," he keeps saying, "yeah--" He puckers his already full lips at me, making loud kissing noises. He steps on a few papers scattered on the floor, leaving size ten restaurant grease Reebok footprints in the wake. He is standing in front of me, my head at the level of his waist. He pulls his penis out and begins to rub it on my face.

"Oh, you want me to get you ready? You want me to lick your pussy, nympho?" John grabs my arm, jerking me up on my feet. He rubs my pussy through my pants, pinching the fold into my lips. I move at the sharp pain. He presses harder. He forces most of his tongue into my mouth and begins the search for my back molars. I try to tilt my head so I can kiss back, but his hands hold my head still. A rush of warm saliva tainted with used alcohol and stale cigarettes fills my mouth. I swallow.

I squeeze until it bursts, squeeze until it bursts. Sometimes the juices splatter against the mirror and dry there. I try to wipe them off later, but they leave long tiny smears like fixated shooting stars. I press around the pore and watch the hardened yellow oil come out. I can't believe that so much crap can fit into such a small hole. Tears gush out of their ducts and chase each other down my face when I squeeze too close to my eyes. I never look into them, my eyes, never. It would be too much. Just the hole. I focus on the hole and anticipate whether the color of the pus will be a light creamy yellow of lemon sherbet mixed with vanilla ice-cream or a dull orangish yellow of milk hardened in the sun. I always start around the hairline and work my way in, the best ones are always along my check bone so I save those for last. I never think about what I'm doing

I imagine my stomach stretched taut as I push

with my hands on the slick black rock washed smooth beneath me. With my head back and tail spread, I copy the many sea lions around me soaking in the afternoon sun. The sun warms my scales of iridescent greens and blues, changing the colors to lighter hues that match this section of the shallow sea. A slight movement of my tail causes cascading scale waves to travel up to my waist. My pink nipples stand erect at the newness of this warmth. Though sea lions barking me to play are enticing, I choose to sit and enjoy the sun a little longer. A slight breeze whispers through my hair, kissing my body with sea spray...

too much

time has passed and I don't remember it being so close to dusk. I switch on the bathroom light and wash my face. Cold water to minimize the damage. I refuse to meet my eyes. My skin is blotchy, red, bumpy. Ugly.

I don't want to go, but I can't stop it. I can feel it coming from somewhere deep in my bladder. The cold gray linoleum numbs my feet and starts to climb up my legs. I can't stop shivering and hug myself as tight as I can. I squeeze my thighs and vagina muscles together to try to stop it to try to stop it. My inner lips are so swollen, they hang down a half inch from my outer lips. They feel numb and on fire at the same time, but not a part of me. I touch them gently with my fingers, sure I can feel them with my fingers, unsure that my inner lips are able to communicate the touch of my fingers to my brain. I carefully spread them back, away from the hole, hoping to minimize the damage.

I can feel the hot fluids traveling down my urethra. I take a deep breath and hold it, waiting to exhale when the first drops hit my lips so I won't cry out. John is asleep. I never get used to it. The first few drops always makes me shiver and cringe at the same time. And always, no matter how deep a breath I take, a deep moan releases itself from somewhere inside me, escaping from my mouth the same time the urine and cum spurt out into the basin below.