Page 43 of Requiem & Reverie

“Look, if … it’s sex you’re looking for, I’ll just tell you know, I’m a horrible lay. Or so I’ve been told.” A hiccup of terror interrupted a nervous beat of laughter. “Everyone I’ve been with, which isn’t many, they say … I talk too much. I’m a talker during …”

Running his hand over her breast slid the smooth latex across his fingertips. The sensations beneath the plastic were said to be far more sensitive than even touching skin. Her breasts were plump with thick nipples that tickled his tongue, at the visuals of them scraping across the roof of his mouth with his suckling.

“I once dated a guy who got so far as first base, before he … retreated. Just stopped and left.” Shallow breaths punctuated her little anecdote that had admittedly begun to annoy him. “I told him, hey, nobody called a foul ball!”

She was lying, of course. Trying to inject humor and humility into their exchange, but it was all in vain. Perhaps he should’ve opted to cover her mouth, instead of her eyes.

He rubbed his thumb gently over her nipple, tipping his head to study her reaction.

Nostrils flared, she clamped her mouth shut, as though mentally trying to shut out his touch.

He gave one hard twist and a squeal of pain echoed throughout the room. A shiver rippled down his spine at the sound, and he gripped tight to his cock, frustrated that he’d have to forego her purification.

“Please,” she begged, and the show of fear had her lips trembling, curved enough to make him think she might cry any moment. “I have … a family. They’ll be looking for me.”

“Is this what they teach you in your Master’s program?”

“W-wait. I … I know you. Nietzsche, right?” Her lips and cheeks twitched as if she might smile. “Is that you?”

“It is.”

“Why? I … I liked you.”

A spasm of frustration beat against his skull so hard, he flinched.

“You were … the funniest, most interesting guy I’ve talked to. I … I was hoping you’d still be at the bar. But you left.”

Slamming the heel of his hand against his temple, he attempted to abate the pain. He wanted to silence her, but a small part of him was curious, too. “Why?”

“I wanted to see … if you’d … have coffee with me.”

Gnashing and grinding his teeth, he fought the irritation settling over him. The voices inside his head. She’s lying. She’s only telling you what you want to hear. No woman will ever be good enough for you.

“Shut up, Mother,” he whispered. “Just shut up!”

Tell her what she is.

“You’re a liar. Just like the rest of the whores.”

“I’m not lying. I truly … honestly enjoyed … talking to you.”

He shook his head and slapped a latex-clad hand over her mouth, watching her head shift back and forth as she tried to break free from his grasp. “Whores only enjoy one thing. That’s why you take your pictures and post them for everyone to see.” Pressing harder against her mouth, he curled his fingers into her cheeks, bruising them. “You practically beg to be ravaged by someone. Then, when it happens, you’re suddenly surprised.”

The anger overwhelmed him, swept through him like a thick, viscous poison in his blood.

“I could’ve saved you, though. My seed … it has powers. I could’ve purified you.”

She shifted her head back and forth more.

Futile.

“You want to know why we do it, Sunshine? Why we kill so easily, and without conscience?”

The rapid contractions in her chest, the seizing of her body, begging for air, told him she was on the verge of death, and he peeled away the top of the mask until staring down at her eyes. The way they zoned off, as if she were looking at something greater, more magnificent than death. As if she were looking into the eyes of God.

“We do it because we can.”

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