SHADOW GIRL

In the dark, everyone was beautiful. Everyone’s kisses tasted of heresy and stolen wine, a magic carpet housed in the tip of every tongue. More affection and mercy seemed contained in darkness than in the cocks and tongues of her last twelve lovers combined. Nothing dispelled the flaws and shortcomings of weak but willing flesh so much as sightlessness; certainly not love, certainly not broken promises.

Tremaine’s kisses, though sloppy and warm the way Josette liked to be kissed, always tasted ashen, always stank of cigarettes and gin. Tonight was a special night, however, and the only taste Josette found upon his tongue once she’d cuffed his wrists to the wrought-iron bedposts was her own. Tasting herself upon a man’s lips and tongue tended to make her even greedier, even more feral than she typically acted during physical joinings. This, in invariable turn, tended to intimidate her lovers; shame them into the broken promises, the embarrassed shufflings of feet, the averted glances so damning by the overt glare of daylight.So they’d attempt to recapture that pirated machismo through misogyny; pulling of hair, mauling of breasts, light smacks and hard ones. Or they’d seek exoneration for their failures of flesh and figurative bone through heartfelt claims that it had never happened before. All the more amusing when they did, was Josette’s trust in the sincerity of every limp cock to share her bed. Whenever the words touched her ear, she knew that it really hadn’t ever happened before, not before her, and that made it almost as funny as it was pitiable…