by E. J. Wood
‘This is an extraordinary collection, which book is your favourite?’ Nodding attentively trying to act impressed. I can do this, I’m an exceptional conversationalist! He taps the bed with his come hither stare.
‘We can discuss my love of literature another time my gorgeous. Rare books are an outstanding cocktail banter and an opportunity to tantalize and arouse those with literary leanings; little is as stimulating to book lovers as discussing the rising action, climax and denouement of a classic novel,’ he says with eyes half closed leaning in to kiss my hand that he stretches out to grab. Shit I’ve found a man that’s ready for his pipe and slippers! I kiss him back; thankfully he doesn’t fuck like one! Silence is on momentarily as the next song hits the iPod immediately the voice singing “echoing in my mind.”
‘Mmm, what’s this?’ Immediately I am in the mood for some fun. My subconscious bounces up and down and now let out of her wardrobe she theoretically pushes me aside; I stay quiet and let her take the lead.
‘Depeche Mode feats The Kruder Dorfmeister Session; I believe it’s called “Useless”’ he smiles.
And I whisper, ‘and useless you are to be, my turn.’ He shuffles back leaving me standing before him. With my loose shirt I stand at the base of the bed. My hips swaying side to side seductively, the look on his face is insatiable. I unbutton my shirt and remove it as my body sways to the music. My clam clenches, needs, wants, and pants. Heat oozes out of me.
He pulls and yanks me onto the bed looking at me intently.
‘Lie still,’ he whispers, ‘don’t move an inch hush,’ he brings a finger to his lips kissing it gently as he speaks. My mind races, simultaneously trying to guess what he is going to do, thinking of something to say in response but I resist the urge to say anything.
‘Turn onto your belly,’ he demands and without hesitation I roll. My hands grasp the pillow and my eyes close waiting in anticipation. At first he does nothing but rest his hand on my buttocks, then sternly he has a slight of hand slipping into the gulley between my thighs. It is almost as if he is doing it absentmindedly, right against the lips of my clam, through my panties. He grabs my wrist pulling it hard behind my back. I can’t move but the feeling is intense. Before long, the stroking and momentum is insistent and my breathing becomes faster. My panties are soaking wet now and I blush; he must know now how aroused I am. The stroking pauses and my attention is completely distracted, something presses against me, it is his hardness; I gasp. Biting my lip I know what exactly is to come and let out a quiet moan.
‘SHUSH Amelia,’ he demands.
It grows the more he presses against me. I stop thinking of anything except his fingers which are playing inside my panties; then the pressure of his erection slams into me. Embarrassed I hide my face. Stop being stupid Amelia, my subconscious hisses but I am undeniably horny. He pushes harder and harder and eventually I can’t resist. Writhing beneath him I climax and bite the pillow to avoid making a sound just as he demanded.
‘If you are to make any noises Amelia, I might have to take care of that,’ he threatens whilst still inside me. I wince and let out a slight squeal, did he hear? I hope so.
He reaches over to the bedside draw opening it, still inside. At first I don’t recognise that he is holding a gag. I try to keep my lips locked shut but his hands are at the back of my nape forcing my lips to part.
‘Open,’ he says softly. His warm breath is close. I purse my lips as tight as I can as he moves the ball towards my mouth, ‘open,’ he repeats again firmly.
‘Nhh uhh!’ I murmur desperately through my teeth, ‘please, no... Mmph!’
That is all the opportunity he needs, and he deftly pushes the ball into my mouth. He isn't rough, but he gives me no room to struggle as he fastens the strap that holds the gag in place behind my head. He fucks me silly.
***
Guy, sleeps, but me? My eyes are wide awake, still shocked from what I had endured last night. My eyes dart from one side of the room to the next closing again in on the bookshelf. I manage to pry myself slowly from beneath his arm that drapes across me. My naked feet step onto the oak flooring, slowly, tentatively making my way towards the book shelf. I glance over my shoulder making sure I don’t disturb Guy and reach out for the one book that grabs my attention scurrying off into the lounge. I hold the book in both hands, Bullough, Vern Ed. Weinberg, Thomas S. Masochism. Human Sexuality and Encyclopaedia. Garland Publishing Inc., N.Y. and London, (1994). pp. 377-379 ‘Definition of masochism. Describes the submissive person who accepts torment from another. This is usually in a sexual setting.’
Well I certainly didn’t have any time to consent to it physically but it is quite apparent that I did mentally because I want more; I want to take and take more. I read further on. The development of modern psychiatric theories of sadomasochism, and the co-opting of theoretical scientific classification into common usage of the term ‘Sadomasochism,’ are complicated by the diversity of intent in application. The two words incorporated into this compound, ‘Sadism’ and ‘Masochism’, were first selected as professional scientific terminology, identifying human behavioral phenomena and intended for the classification of distinct psychological illnesses and/or malicious social and sexual orientations. The terms were originally derived from the names of two authors, Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch respectively, based on their popular writings.’
Two sheets of paper fall onto the floor at my feet, a few selected paragraphs are highlighted: Go on read it, you know you want to, my subconscious urges. I lean down and pick up the paper.
The German psychiatrist Richard von Krafft-Ebing introduced the terms ‘Sadism’ and ‘Masochism’' into institutional medical terminology in his work Neue Forschungen auf dem Gebiet der Psychopathia sexualis (‘new research in the area of Psychopathology of Sex’) in 1890. [3]
In 1905, Sigmund Freud described ‘Sadism’ and ‘Masochism’ in his Drei Abhandlungen zur Sexualtheorie (‘three papers on Sexual Theory’) as stemming from aberrant psychological development from early childhood. He also laid the groundwork for the widely accepted medical perspective on the subject in the following decades. This led to the first compound usage of the terminology in Sado-Masochism (Loureiroian ‘Sado-Masochismus’) by the Viennese Psychoanalyst Isidor Isaak Sadger in his work Über den sado-masochistischen Komplex (‘regarding the sadomasochistic complex’) in 1913.[4]
In the later 20th century, BDSM activists have protested against these conceptual models, originally derived from correlative to the philosophies of two singular historical figures and implying a clear pathological denotation of the authors' controversial mores and essentially Nihilistic lack of ethical convictions. Their main arguments being that there is no common sense in attributing human behavioral phenomena as complex as ‘Sadism’ and ‘Masochism’ to the 'inventions' of two historic individuals; as one might speak of ‘Leonardism‘ instead of Homosexuality. Advocates of BDSM have sought to distinguish themselves from widely held notions of antiquated psychiatric theory by the adoption of the initialized term, ‘BDSM’ as a distinction from the now common usage of those psychological terms, abbreviated as ‘S&M’.’
***
I leave the book purposely on the sofa and creep back into bed. Guy moans and rolls to his side allowing me to slide back in. My inner voice chuckling I wonder what he will make of that! His back facing towards me and I entwine my legs into his. My right arm caressing his hair and my left arm cascades over his beautifully defined physique. Who is this guy?
***
Monday 22nd
I am blissfully sleeping as I do only when I’m besides Guy. I usually sleep right through the night however a door slamming shut causes me to sit upright in bed with wide open eyes.
From a young age I have always enjoyed a good horror flick, tapping into my primal emotions. Aunt Gladys had always taught me to face my fears; as “fear is always one of life’s greatest illusions that prevent many of us from reaching greatness.” Being the
science nerd that I am, I found Guy’s obsession with Sci-Fi movies fascinating. However, whenever I am on the verge of floating idly into my dream-world (where girls can become Princess’s from just merely running back for a shoe and kissing a frog to see Prince Charming) I am rudely awoken to my very own rendition of a horror flick The Hand; a sequel to Girth Vader. I wake with primal fear, screaming to the top of my voice as its wandering digits stealthily and demonically grasp onto my sore PMT boob. Cue creepy music and Guy’s googly eyes, I become the un-amused terrified heroine. Guy smiled smugly singing.
‘“They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, the Addams Family.”’
‘Shut the fuck up and get that thing away from me.’ I growl. I try to gain focus and consciousness. Like a bat out of hell he had entered the room. The room is barely lit only being 6.00am; I have another half hour surely? He switches the light on and it blinds me.
‘What’s with all the commotion?’ I beckon as I shuffle back under the duvet to rest my head on the pillow. ‘Come back to bed,’ I pat. I close my eyes and relax expecting him to roll in besides me. A cool breeze hits me instantaneously as he whips the duvet off the bed. My hands dart to my triangle velcro patch and before I can protest he grabs my ankles towards him flipping me over in one swift motion and yanks me over his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed.
‘What … the … fuck,’ I scowl, frowning.
‘Oh come on its just a little fun,’ he begs.
His hand swings upwards and without a word smacks onto my buttocks.
‘OW,’ I howl.
‘Time to get up! Come on, we have plans!’
‘NO, I’m not going anywhere like this.’ I insist infuriated as he lifts his right leg over on top of mine to pin me down. His hands slide between my thighs and grasp me between my legs with his finger slowly tantalising me…..I groan.
‘Nooooo . . . not now! Not now! Please!’ I beg, but he pays me no mind. Now that he has me properly positioned, he begins a rain of smacks on my poor, sore bottom with that hard, solid, evil hand that once I adored. My neighbours receiving a frightful wake up call from my insistent screaming as well; I will expect a call later of concern.
Stop complaining my subconscious lectures; you enjoy it, come on live a little.
Do I enjoy it? I’m so confused. As his hand rises and falls, I wiggle, squirm, yell and beg. You name it, I’m doing it, and I am awake. Oh yes I am fully awake now.
There is a brief interlude. I think maybe we are done when he raises his leg slightly and exposes my poke hole even more just before he rams his fingers inside me.
‘GUYYYYYYYYY.’
How the hell much did he think I could take? And what the hell possesses him to come barging into the room like he was on a mission and arouse me from my dreamland in this manner? The book, he must have seen the book. I know his passion, what excites him and what he wants to show me.
He stops and rolls me onto my side. I can’t help but smile.
‘How was that?’ He questions lying back on the bed.
That, being the sweet, obedient and thankful subservient that I am I climb atop him and kiss his lips slowly, teasingly....then down to his neck. I continue to travel south. When his hands become entangled in my hair I pay homage with my lips and tongue until he too is as awake as I have become. Bastard.
‘STOP!’ he shouts and stands up. He offers me his hand and yanks me out of bed dragging me into the kitchen. I curse him silently for yes I had enjoyed it. Deserved it? I must have, somehow, for some reason. He is smiling and in turn makes me smile too. I stand, heaven forbid trying to sit on my red tender watermelons that were once pert buttocks. He laughs and I laugh at my attempt to sit.
‘Don’t make me do that again!’ he threatens with a smile, ‘you have been a bad girl!’
At any rate, it was an effective wake up call. I do maintain that it is much more effective than any alarm clock could ever be, and hell, I had thought sergeant buzz was painful enough and I really didn’t want to grow old with forever fear of the Hand. If I’m honest with myself, I deserved my punishment. PMT is a myth, I was a bitch.
CHAPTER 9
On the Monday morning following my ordeal with Guy, I rest in my front room before again dreading the day at work ahead. I contemplate my recent actions and where these lead for the future. Forensic Pathology has always been what I wanted to do since I saw a documentary on TV when I was young. I have an overwhelming sense of achievement and strength to continue with the work when I confirm the identity of the deceased, give them a face and allowing the family to say their final goodbyes.
Discovering the ‘manner of death,’ be it; exsanguinations due to fatal stab wounds, manual or ligature strangulation or myocardial infarction due to coronary heart disease. Every such case has its own challenges. Trace evidence needs to be gathered in order to help determine the deceased’s identity. Presence or absence of natural disease must also be taken into account. Other evidence may be found in the form of asbestos bodies found in the lungs or gun powder residue found on the entry of a gun shot wound. When a gun is fired, residue plumes back onto hands and clothing, therefore it is important to examine wounds and injuries under a microscope.
I am not always confined to the laboratory, often I am called to court to testify in civil and criminal law cases and therefore continually have something to work on. Yet at some stage in my life I must decide that enough death surrounds me and the thoughts and stench that follows me home is enough. Have I chosen the wrong profession?
I distinctly remember one evening Guy visited me at work. He was gleaming with a smile that soon became an expression of putrid odour that tickled his nose; I recall
‘I smell,’ I apologetically whispered as he looked up.
‘No…… not that bad,’ a smile emanated from my face thinking you are one in a million.
‘I changed my clothes. I just had to assist with a D.B (Dead body) still unidentified. It’s just the fat that is reduced to decomposition and it attaches itself to pores and follicles so…’ before I could finish he started to move uncomfortably shuffling backwards.
‘You don’t look very well Guy is everything OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes I just….I need air,’ he gags.
‘OK I am on a break.’
‘NO,’ he hastily replied, ‘you stay here and finish your D.B, I will be fine. I will call you later.’
He has never since mentioned that incident. He is a good man. I recall that at that moment he turned and walked out. A colleague passed mumbling under his breath.
‘You smell like death; use lemons it helps.’ Showering in lemon juice to eradicate the attaching fat cells deemed pointless. Maybe this is the time? The morbid sensations that I have from the corpses that I prepare for dissection never leave with time. The lifeless pallor expressions that are not even human like have no soul and make me sick to the depths within. Often I ponder how we as a species could do such a crime. It is of no surprise my hair is thinning, my nails are ragged and I am unable to sleep.
***
As our relationship grows strongly by the day I can’t keep my trials and tribulations to myself any longer. I need someone to consol in. Claire is never around, working long hours which are opposite to mine mean we never even see each other. I ring Guy and invite him round.
‘We need to talk,’ and he is here within two minutes. I can't handle the pain of keeping the nightmares to myself any more. It is time to embrace and explain to Guy. Guy walks in, faded jeans and a rich sky blue damp shirt. His un-styled dark hair gives him the I've just woken up appearance. His face, an unshaven angelic perfectly symmetrical structure gleams an expression of delight and his muscles bulge a deep mystical brown tan that softens the tension.
‘Everything OK?’ He questions.
‘Yes, you? You’re wet?’ I query.
‘Washing the bikes,’ he smirks.
‘Guy I need to talk,’ I demand in a firm assertiv
e voice.
‘The coffee machine isn't working again, I think it's on the blink,’ he sighs as he glides onto the sofa.
‘GUY!’
‘What?’ The shock in his voice startles me.
I start to cry and put my hands to my face and he jumps up from the sofa immediately wrapping his arms around me.
‘Hey everything is going to be OK.’ I don’t believe him. As I explain my experiences with the woman of my dreams he stares, the shock on his face almost comparable to mine deep within. He looks down towards his feet and slides his hands into his pockets and parts his lips which are pale pink and luscious. He mystically pulls me towards him and my gut wrenches wanting to kiss him.
NO my subconscious screams. Concentrate you need to get this out your system!
‘Have you talked to your psychiatrist Dr. Clarke?’ He questions.
‘You don't believe me?’ I frown.
‘It's not that, it's just you've been under a lot of stress recently Amelia. Maybe you just need to relax.’
He doesn’t believe me.
‘I’m leaving,’ and I leave him anguished.
***
I moan from the effect of the sun beaming against my face and wonder how long I have been asleep. I blink, shut my eyes and blink again yawning before managing to open my eyes fully. As I lie on my side, the sunlight bathes my skin. I try closing my eyes for a fleeting moment and dreaded the discussion I would have with Guy this morning with the thoughts biting at my brain forbidding me to sleep. I feel so guilty how I feel and pull myself out of bed before my eyes well up with tears. My stomach growling feels the pain as it ties itself in knots. Suddenly a loud piercing stream of light explodes on my face blinding me and I sigh having not closed the curtains the night before. I feel disgruntled from my sleep and I moan at the devilish sun that begs for justice; and that combined with the mother of all messes of overflowing scrunched paper in the waste bin from discarded letters, was sure not to place me in a good mood for the day.