I was sleeping when Serena came in.
"Shhh," she said. "Don't wake Andre. He'd kill you."
I didn't think Andre would kill me. Andre was a "feeler," the type to get depressed. All internal.
Serena forced a sock into my mouth anyway and circled around the back of my head with duct tape. I'm not sure why people so often assume they
can do anything they want to me. In my early twenties, I lived in a large condominium in Chicago with a rich man who would lie on top and force himself inside of me. He was much bigger than me, and he'd wrap his large arms around my chest. I was hairless, young and thin. It must have looked like he was riding a dolphin. He would come in about three minutes, then go back to whatever else he was doing. After a year he started complaining that I didn't care about him. Then he kicked me out, which was the beginning of a whole string of disasters I won't go into here.
Serena tied my hands together with a long piece of clothesline. She went around my wrists and then between my hands all the way up my forearms. Then she tied my ankles together and placed a pillow behind my calves, then ran some thin rope from my ankle ties to my wrists. My knee hurt. I could feel where it had left the socket in Austin, the ligaments stretched like rubber bands. But it wasn't too bad. I supposed I'd be limping later, but I was fine with that. If Serena hadn't filled my mouth, I probably would have told her I loved her. That's how I felt. I don't think I had ever been in love before.
Serena sat on the bed with me. The radiator was blasting at 150 watts, but Serena was still wearing black leggings and a loose shirt.
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She began to pierce me. I tried not to moan.
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She pulled on a latex glove, and I turned on my side and tried to wrap myself around her. She grabbed a handful of Vaseline and wiggled her hand in my ass and stuck her thumb in my asshole. It felt wonderful. She got a finger inside me, then another. I wished my legs weren't tied together. I wanted to be open for her so she could get her whole fist inside of me. I thought about Andre sleeping in the other room. I liked Andre. I doubted we would still be friends after this. Then I thought about the black woman in Vancouver. I wished Serena was black.
Eventually Serena took her hand out of me and began to torture me. First, she pulled out a bag of pins and started tracing them across my body, not so deep but enough to draw blood. She cut long lines up and down my chest to my thighs. Then she began to pierce me, pushing several pins into my nipples, then my balls. I tried not to moan.
"If you make any noise, you will be so sorry," she said. It was weird the way she said it, like she was making a joke. She didn't really mean it; we were just playing some little game. She lit a cigarette and dotted it across my chest where she'd already cut me. I was afraid of infection. Then she brought the cigarette close to my face.
"I'd tell you to relax," she said, "but I don't really want you to." She pushed the cigarette into my face, which is why I have this little scar close to my eye.
She left me like that. I tried not to move too much because it increased my discomfort. The sun came out, the winter light slanting through the pane. I heard Andre in the kitchen just outside the door. "I'm going to get out of here," he said. "Let's not wake him up yet." That was probably my moment to scream, but I didn't. I don't know why. One part of me knew the worst was over. The other wasn't sure.
An hour later, maybe two, Serena came back into the room. I had been tied up for hours and I'd been crying, soaking the bed. She wasn't wearing leggings anymore, just a little black skirt. Her legs were the kind of white that has never gotten any sun. They weren't curvy, but they were fit.
"You were so good," she told me. I wanted to smile, but the sock was still in my mouth. My jaw hurt, and I was dizzy with dehydration. "We're almost done, okay?"
I nodded my head.
"I'm going to take this gag off you, but I don't want you to say anything yet. Can you handle that?" I nodded again and she peeled the duct tape and I didn't scream and then she pulled the sock out of my mouth and held my head and gave me water from a glass. It was the kind of glass that comes in sets of twelve at Target. Everything seemed so ordinary. After I drank the whole glass, I started to cry again. I cried a lot, and she didn't make any move to comfort me, but she didn't try to get me to stop either. I thought she would gag me again or slap me, but she didn't.
When I stopped crying, she undid the line connecting my ankles to my wrists. She slowly pulled my legs straight and rolled me from my side onto my back. She pulled the pins out, then washed me with peroxide, water and a sponge. She paid a lot of attention between my legs, holding the sponge against the tip of my penis, pressing on my balls. "I'd like you to eat me out. Could you do that?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, though I wasn't sure she wanted a verbal answer.
"Ask me."
"Can I eat you out, please," I said, and she lifted her skirt and sat on my face. I was enveloped in her, her pubic hair brushing my lips, ass pressing on my cheeks.
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I was wearing Serena's panties. What was that?
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I pushed my tongue as far into her as it would go. She tasted sour and thick. I tried to do a good job because I didn't want her to get off of me. I went down on her for a long time, and she ran her nails gently across my wounds.
Later, we showered together, and when Andre came home, I was okay, though my leg was stiff and I was walking with a limp. I had aggravated my injury.
The three of us went to dinner in the town. We ate at a local brewing company: fried chicken and amber beer. I was wearing Serena's panties. What was that? A goodbye present? A nice touch? I felt vulnerable. I didn't want to leave Serena and Andre and go back to those vans and another shared hotel room, the TV flickering late into the night, pills to get to sleep, pills to wake up, and more pills for the pain.
"Serena's an artist," Andre said. "She's really great."
"Yeah?" I asked, but Serena just smiled. She was humble around Andre, who has always been insecure and was maybe more so now, out in the middle of the forest, halfway through his forties. She seemed to want to make him happy. I'd never had that urge, to make someone else happy, but I was ready to change. I would have to.
"Check this out," Andre said. "Serena did this."
"I'm sure he's not interested," Serena said. Andre handed me a business card. It had his information on one side and hers on the other. It was green and blue, with something in the middle that resembled a rocket. I still had a show to do that night. The vans were arriving in front of the wide columns framing the university. Children walked past with sacks full of books. Nobody had noticed me missing yet. n°
| ABOUT THE AUTHOR: |
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Stephen Elliott is the author of six books, including the novel Happy Baby and the story collection My Girlfriend Comes to the City and Beats Me Up. |
©2007 Stephen Elliott and hooksexup.com.
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