He leans forward, hands gripping the arms of his seat, heart thudding in his chest, palms sweaty. No matter how many times he has witnessed this scene, it still makes his blood rush and his pulse race. The beat starts softy, the throbbing rhythm in sync with his own heart. The distant sound of a jungle drum, gets closer and closer. The smoke swirls along the floor, clearing slightly to reveal a prone figure draped in heavy black lace. Slowly, the figure moves, arms unfurling out to the sides, rising up slightly off the ground. Muscles writhe under lace, uncoiling like a snake to the charmers flute, only this time the hypnotized ones are the watching crowd. She rises from the ground, movements sensual and suggestive, despite her form being hidden by a shroud of lace. With a brutal movement, the veil is ripped away allowing everyone a lightening glimpse of the tall, supple female form that lies beneath, before a sudden rush of flames shoot skyward from the floor. He hears himself take a sharp breath, an audible gasp that is mirrored by those around him as a wall of flame surrounds her, threatening to consume the woman within.
But she is there, like the phoenix reborn from the heart of the fire and she dances within, unharmed and untouched, her body becoming one at times with the undulating flames. Each movement seems to invoke a thousand images and rhythms as she twist and turns. The thin shift that covers her shimmers in the heat, like gossamer butterfly wings it glitters at times seeming little more than an illusion itself.
He watches, transfixed, as the flames lick at the delicate material and it starts to turn to ash before hungry eyes, revealing flesh. She sheds her crumbling garments as if shrugging off a skin. Stretching skyward, her naked form seems to lengthen, clothed in flame her skin burns with the heat of the golden sun. Her arms thrust skyward as she twists, heavy hair whipping around her, as she turns faster and more furiously. Naked and proud, muscles gleaming and taut, her passion is an offering for the gods of fire and flame, a defiant sacrifice.
The blood rushes to his ears as he watches, his heart burning as fiercely as the flames that surround her. Sometimes it seems as though his heart will explode through his chest, gushing forth blood for her to bathe in. He sees it for a moment, her golden flesh bathed scarlet in the glow of the fire, her fading image the last thing he would behold, and he yearns for it. He desires her beyond all reason, and to die at her hand would be a pleasure, a privilege.
His hands grip the arms of his chair, holding himself back from rising and rushing onto the stage to join her, to burn with her. While he watches, the room fades from existence and there is only this, the two of them. It is for him that she dances for him and him alone. He can feel the heat of her embrace as she calls to him with her mind. He feels it every time he comes here, desire and pain hitting him over and over, a need that he can taste.
The music reaches a crescendo and her dance becomes wilder, more frenzied. Blood sweat seems to drip from her, little droplets decorating the floor as she spins. Some of the crowd draw closer, hoping to be splashed, to be touched by precious fluids. In tragedy she seems majestic as she throws herself to the ground, her passion spent and the club plunges into darkness.
Silence... a silence so deafening it fills the air. Then the roar of the crowd comes crashing down like the sea. As one they rise from their seats, applauding, calling for more. Their hunger for her unstated, wanting, needing more. He is with them, his need for her more a physical pain gnawing at his insides.
The lights go up and the stage is empty. He hears groans from the room, as others share his disappointment. Knowing what to expect makes the feelings of loss no less, the grief that she is gone is like coming down from a drug high. He sinks back into his seat, empty and cold now. It is always this way, the rush and the come down. He doesn’t understand it himself and can’t explain it to anyone else. Her presence is intoxicating; she surrounds him, blocking out rational thought. Maybe this is obsession? He hugs himself, shaking now, a junkie bereft of his fix.
Clutching his drink, he settles back in his seat; forgotten in the heat of the moment, now he drains the glass. The liquid, soothing and warming, calms his shaking body. The effect she has on him is alarming; perhaps it is not healthy after all, yet the idea of not seeing her again frightens him. This is the thing that keeps him coming back, time and time again.
How many times has it been now, he wonders? His face creases into a frown and he genuinely can’t remember for a moment. This worries him slightly, but not enough to prevent him returning, for when he sees her all else is meaningless, as if, once he enters through these doors, time ceases to exist. Soon, though, he will have to leave the comfortable womb like atmosphere of the dark and return to reality. The show is over and the people here hold no attraction for him. He sees them all around him, seeking solace in each other, but company and conversation are not what he seeks.
On his first few visits he had waited in the vain hope that she would come out, mingle perhaps among her adoring devotees. Bestow smiles and even the odd word upon the faithful who clamored around her, basking in her tainted glory. But it never happened, his queries about her only eliciting pitying looks from those who worked there, no doubt they had heard it all before and were well versed in fielding off over ardent admirers. Or perhaps they didn't know that much about their mysterious star either. Whatever, he learned little and not once had she ever appeared after her performance ended. Finally, resigned, he stopped hanging around afterwards. The endless, pointless waiting, serving only to depress him. The other desperate souls who would attempt to strike up conversations with him, hot, sweaty palms that burned through his clothes as they pressed up against him, eyes seeking his own as he tried to avoid the pleading looks, not wanting to hear the desperation in their voices, afraid that it was mirrored in his own.
In silence, he leaves as swiftly as he can, hands deep in his pockets, hurrying through the throng towards the exit. The atmosphere becomes suffocating, pressing in on him like a thick blanket, threatening to smother and drag him down.
Like a cold shower on a hot day, the crisp night air is a welcome snap back to reality as slowly, he begins to shake the lethargy that seeped into his bones back there in the club. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, his breath is visible against the ebony black night. Digging deep into his pockets he finds a packet of cigarettes and lights one, the match a hot flash of light in the dark. He stands still for a moment, before relaxing against some railings, allowing himself to appreciate the luxury of the silence of the deserted street.
He waits a few moments before starting to make the journey home. He could call a taxi, but he prefers to walk a while, not wanting to talk to anyone else, slowly allowing reality to seep back in. Used to not seeing anyone around, he ignores the first glimpse of movement in the shadowy passage; his eyes, perhaps, playing tricks on him in the half light. But, no matter how softly the wearer walks, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking on the concrete against the stillness of the night is deafening to his ears, forcing him to pay attention. Hugging his coat tighter across his chest, he leans forward, eyes straining as he tries to get a better look at the approaching figure.
Could it be? he asks himself, not daring to hope, but unable to prevent his heart from beating just that little bit faster. Without thinking, he bites down on his lip, unaware of any pain and oblivious to the little fleck of blood that stains his tooth.
Out of the shadows, she comes. Thick red hair that normally frames her face like a fiery halo, is now tied tightly and hangs down her back in a plait. A heavy velvet coat covers the glorious golden flesh that torments him night after night, both here and in his fevered dreams. To see her, like this, seems more unreal than any of her performances. Every step she takes, he sees the grace of her body, hidden inside thick layers; she moves like a jungle cat, totally self-possessed, yet somehow detached from her surroundings, as though this world is just something that she allows herself to move in from time to time. His breath catches sharply in his throat as she draws near. Either unaware of his presence or uninterested, she does not
bother to look his way.
He wants to call her name, even opens his mouth to say something, but his throat is suddenly dry and cracked, his voice barely managing a hoarse whisper. Fear that this moment will pass grips him and in his mind he curses himself for allowing her to slip past him without noticing the pathetic creature that wordlessly screams out for her to look his way.
Perhaps fate is on his side or maybe she really can hear his thoughts, for suddenly she stops in her tracks and fixes him with her gaze, head cocked slightly to one side, regarding him curiously. Like a rabbit caught in the headlight beam of her stare, he is transfixed, palms sweating, skin hot despite the cool night air that caresses him.
A moment stretches into an eternity or so it seems to him. He can feel her taking him in with her eyes, her stare having an almost physical weight to it, so magnetic in its pull that he feels drained by it. Almost as though she could pull out his very soul and leave him there, an empty shell. In that moment all he desires is to be consumed utterly by her. His greatest fear is that she will walk on and leave him there, an opportunity passed by, a chance gone forever due to his own inability to move and speak like a normal adult.
Emerald green jewels blaze suddenly to life in front of his face, startling him and making him stagger backwards. Only the railings at his back prevent him from falling over onto his ass on the sidewalk. Embarrassed now, he can feel heat rising in his face. He hadn’t seen her move! Yet here she is in front of him, cat’s eyes sparkling with amusement, tongue darting across her lips, moistening them slightly so that her mouth shines wet and hungry in the moonlight. An image of her opening that lush mouth to reveal sharp white teeth, ready to eat him whole, dances in his mind's eye, making him swallow dryly.
She smiles, and traces her thumb across his mouth, smearing the blood from where he had bitten down across his lips before placing it to her own, tasting him. A strange gesture that makes him shudder inside, unsure what to do or say. If he leans forward she is close enough for him to kiss, but he knows he has not the courage to try. If anything is to happen here, then she will be the one to invite it. He can feel her strength and power wash over him again, making him dizzy, light-headed even and he cannot comprehend the power that she is able to exert over him, and not just him; he has witnessed firsthand the influence she wields with her presence, and being so close to her is overwhelming. What is it with this woman? Is it really possible that she could have this much power? No, it has to be in his mind; she’s still human despite her strange beauty. He has just become so obsessed with her that she has somehow taken on another worldly quality about her. It is him that has turned her into something else and perhaps she can sense this in him and is playing on it, toying with him for amusement.
Something flashes behind her eyes…and he is drowning in an infinite sea of green, weighted down by sadness, and a longing that seems both ageless and timeless. Pressure and intensity threaten to submerge him as he fights to stay himself, fearful now. Release is a cold, sharp relief; his own senses forcing their way back like a shard of cold ice through his system. Dazed, he looks at her unsteadily. A little smile tinged with pain dances on her lips and a long drawn out sigh escapes them, then she is gone, thick rope of hair spinning as she turns on her heels and walks away from him.
Panic seizes him and he wants to cry out again, tell her no, don’t go. The look on her face makes him feel as though she was disappointed in some way and he has to know why, prove her wrong. Wrong about what he is unsure, but he cannot shake the feeling that she was searching for something and he had not been able to provide her with any answers. Could she see the need and desperation in his eyes? Did it scare her? Or did she just truly find him a sad, pathetic creature unworthy of any more of her time? Whatever the answer he could not just let her walk away from him now.
Taking a deep breath he forced himself to move, willing his voice not to betray him again as he followed her path. Even in such a short time she seemed to have moved a fair distance away even though her steps seemed languorous and unhurried, more illusion? No backwards glances came from her, although his heavy footfall as he tried to catch her up must have reached her ears. He was almost running by the time she turned the corner, vanishing briefly from his sight.
For a moment he thinks he has lost her, eyes searching wildly in a panic, unable to see her in the empty street. A hush blankets the world and only the soft sigh of the wind in the trees disturbs the peace. Frantically, he looks around, afraid that she really could have just disappeared into thin air, even though his brain tells him this is impossible. He feels her presence before he actually sees her, eyes drawn to his right he sees her leaning against the trunk of a large tree, waiting, shaking her head slightly as though telling him he should not have followed her, but resigned to the fact that he had.
With effort, he stops himself from running up to her. He doesn’t want to look desperate, no matter if this is the way that he feels. Somehow he manages to keep an impression of calm as he approaches, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to ignore the fact that are sticky and itchy with sweat. It strikes him that he has no idea what he is going to say, and he curses the fact that he has not had the time to think this through. Every scenario that has played through his fantasies seems to be lost somewhere in the fog, the things he planned to say, attitudes he thought he would adopt, cool, calm, charming, sophisticated, all of them seem alien now as he struggles to find the simplest greeting.
“Umm, hi,” he manages, kicking himself inwardly for looking and acting like an inarticulate idiot.
With fluid grace she reaches out and hooks her fingers under the lapels of his jacket. There is no time for him to react before he is spun round and slammed hard into wood, knocking the wind out of him momentarily, stunning him. She holds him pinned there; her strength belies her appearance, face feral with the threat of violence. He holds still, unsure of what she intends, as if there is anything he could do to prevent it even if he wanted to. A flash of lucidity makes him realize how deeply obsessed he really has become with her, for even in this precarious position it is not just fear that he feels, it's desire. He wants her to hurt him, anything to feel such intense contact. The blood rushes in his ears and his breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling visibly as she releases his clothing and runs her fingers lightly over it.
No words pass her lips, yet he can feel her questions somehow ‘what do you want from me?’ He doesn’t know how he knows, but the question is there, he doesn’t need her to say the words. With all the courage he possesses, he meets her gaze and speaks with his heart and his mind, ‘YOU’. One word unspoken in voice, yet it echoes in his head and she knows and hears it too.
Danger signs flash in his head, warning him to run, get as far away from this place and this woman as soon as he can; where they come from he cannot tell. Is it her trying to warn him off? Or is there some rational part of his own mind that knows that no good can come from this encounter. Whichever it is, he knows it’s too late for flight. Nothing he’s ever experienced can compare with what he feels now; he can’t explain it, not to himself, not to anyone else. Dark eyes rise to meet sharp green ice as he tries to express himself; if eyes truly are the windows to the soul then she must have a crystal clear view into the depths of his.
With a force that threatens to crush him, he is enfolded in her embrace. Arms encircle him pulling him closer into black velvet. His arms are pinned to his side as she tightens her grip, mouth crushing angrily against his own. His eyes are wide with shock as he is hit over and over with a tidal wave of emotions. Flashes of life, anger, fear and pain…so much pain. It threatens to overwhelm him, pulling him down into her, making him weak, and all the while she seems to grow stronger. Parting his lips with her tongue, she invades his mouth, brutal and probing. Her fingers dig into his flesh, bruising him, but her mouth on his prevents him from crying out.
‘This is what you want?’ the question echoes in his head, a soft seductive whisper like a doubl
e edged sword, filling him with hunger, yet creating ice in his lungs so cold it burns, spreading through his insides. Despite all of this the answer for him is still the same, one simple word ‘yes’.
With a distraught cry she pulls away, shoving him backwards, the release is not only physical though as she lets go of his arms; she breaks the invisible tendrils that have hold of him inside his mind as well. Exhausted, he sags, knees going weak, limbs numb and heavy. Sweat beads his brow and all he longs to do is close his eyes and allow unconsciousness to claim him. When he looks up he realizes that she has vanished, desperately he scans the streets, hoping for a glimpse of fire red hair in the distance. But there is nothing, the night and the darkness have claimed her and he is utterly alone.
****
Days pass…the fever, that held him in its grip, eases slightly although the sheets around him remain damp and twisted. It’s hard to recall how he got home that night; it seems unreal, disjointed like the pieces of a half finished jigsaw puzzle. In his dreams, the world becomes a hot, lush jungle where green-eyed cats stalk through the foliage before turning into feline goddesses with Medusa-like red tresses. Sometimes he wakes up screaming her name and other times he just wakes up screaming. The fever gets less, but the feeling of her inside his mind refuses to fade. There are times, in those moments between sleep and full consciousness that he fancies she is really there with him, his body wrapped up in her snake like embrace. In these dreams there is no cloth between them, just the press of her hot, naked flesh against his own as she wraps herself around him, their bodies melting together to become one. It seems so real that it’s a shock to awaken and find that the only thing wrapped around him is his own bedding.
Bloody Sexy Anthology Page 8
