“I love you”, she whimpered again, as if loaded with the weight of her own emotions, exhausted by the session of intercourse we had a good 15 minutes back, while I half-lay on mattress, with a pillow to support my back, naked except for the thin dirty white sheet that covered my groin, with a cigarette in one of my hands, and a bottle of beer in the other. I had no business to listen to her, to her constant rumblings, “what don’t you believe me?”, she lifted her eyes this time, high enough to meet mine, keen to decipher an answer from my expressions. I just raised my left brow, encasing in it the gesture, a doubt of a lifetime, “What’s wrong with you?” she grumbled again. I sipped from the bottle bear, my cigarette had all converted into ash. I threw it nearby on the floor, “You look like the man who took away my virginity.” I could not still motivate myself to speak. She started running her hands over my thighs, holding my thick black pubic hair in her fingers, pushing them around, as if trying to arrange something into order.
“What are you trying to do?” I said calmly, still not retaliating her confession. “I am trying to love you more.” I smacked her hand, hurting myself, as she surprised me by pulling it off just in time. “Ahh,” I had hit really hard I realized. “Don’t try to love me, you can’t love anyone.” I said, overlooking the sudden streak of pain, She abruptly moved, lay herself again my body, “I can love, and I love you.”
I pushed her down, smacking hard at her naked breasts. This was her time of pain, and she lay in front of me holding her chest tightly, “What the fuck, why are you becoming violent?”, “You are loving me a bit too much today, have you forgotten who you are?”
She lay there breathing hard, trying to create some drama to grab my attention. “Yes, I am a bitch, I get fucked for money.” She squealed in a shaky voice, still trying to continue the drama and breathing hard whenever she thought she could hold my attention. “Don’t dare raise your voice Smita, you know what could be the consequences.” She managed to get out of her hard breathing and attacked me like a wild cat, ready to tear me into pieces with her over grown nails, I tried holding her, but still one nail dug deep into the skin of my chest, and dragged the wound to my stomach, I could see a red lining appear on my stomach, this was enough of an excuse I thought, I pushed her back, this time holding both her hands in my wrists, and pushing her legs down underneath mine, I shoved my manhood into her vagina, rammed it again, eating and tearing her breasts with my teeth, with my mouth, by the time I had finished her whole body was full of deep scars, and her body vibrated with orgasms.
I always knew pain and pleasure went together. Its just that today by inserting the love thing in between, both pain and pleasure were achieved by stern violence.
I could not get up for a minute or so, while she lay buried by the weight of my body. I moved away to lie on my back, while she tried to escape out of my clutch by lifting my hands and legs which still lay over her. She sat down and took a couple of sips of the beer, still breathing hard, I knew I had given her a chance to be really disgruntled, an escape from her feeling of love, who could love her tormentor? Who would like a rapist?
She slowly stood up, tried to cover her nakedness with the bed sheet and limped towards the bathroom. There was a moment of loneliness that appeared, the heavy ceiling fan which was rotating with speed of a bicycle tyre appeared to be my only aide in this heinous crime, I knew it was the one which witnessed everything, but did not come to aid Smita.
“Whom are you looking at, you freak, what can you do? I overpower woman at my own will, you can’t do anything about it.” I told the fan, while it kept on rotating at the same speed, unfazed by my challenge, undeterred in its determination to provide me air irrespective of the side that I stood for. It did not have a life I realized, it can do nothing, my thoughts strayed to the person who had life, and could not do anything about the situation either.
I walked across to the bathroom, the door was open, the dim yellow light appeared to be washing the floor of all the filth and puke that had accumulated in years, or perhaps decades, while Smita sat on the seat, crying, loud enough for the light, the puke and filth to notice, but perhaps my fan helped me in not hearing this damn noise.
I went over to her and lifted her face, wiped out the tears which were still flowing down her cheeks, “you wont find solace here Ankur, leave me for good. I am of no use to you, and there is nothing useful for me in the wounds that you’ve given to me.” I did not know but I did not even think about the single red mark that appeared as a red lining on my stomach.
I went over to the room, the fan was still rotating, picked up my clothes, wore them, and was about to walk out of the door when I heard her say, “You know what? I still love you, you look like the man who took me the first time”. I walked across the door, banged it shut, and walked down the stairs.
I pushed her down, smacking hard at her naked breasts. This was her time of pain, and she lay in front of me holding her chest tightly, “What the fuck, why are you becoming violent?”, “You are loving me a bit too much today, have you forgotten who you are?”
She lay there breathing hard, trying to create some drama to grab my attention. “Yes, I am a bitch, I get fucked for money.” She squealed in a shaky voice, still trying to continue the drama and breathing hard whenever she thought she could hold my attention. “Don’t dare raise your voice Smita, you know what could be the consequences.” She managed to get out of her hard breathing and attacked me like a wild cat, ready to tear me into pieces with her over grown nails, I tried holding her, but still one nail dug deep into the skin of my chest, and dragged the wound to my stomach, I could see a red lining appear on my stomach, this was enough of an excuse I thought, I pushed her back, this time holding both her hands in my wrists, and pushing her legs down underneath mine, I shoved my manhood into her vagina, rammed it again, eating and tearing her breasts with my teeth, with my mouth, by the time I had finished her whole body was full of deep scars, and her body vibrated with orgasms.
I always knew pain and pleasure went together. Its just that today by inserting the love thing in between, both pain and pleasure were achieved by stern violence.
I could not get up for a minute or so, while she lay buried by the weight of my body. I moved away to lie on my back, while she tried to escape out of my clutch by lifting my hands and legs which still lay over her. She sat down and took a couple of sips of the beer, still breathing hard, I knew I had given her a chance to be really disgruntled, an escape from her feeling of love, who could love her tormentor? Who would like a rapist?
She slowly stood up, tried to cover her nakedness with the bed sheet and limped towards the bathroom. There was a moment of loneliness that appeared, the heavy ceiling fan which was rotating with speed of a bicycle tyre appeared to be my only aide in this heinous crime, I knew it was the one which witnessed everything, but did not come to aid Smita.
“Whom are you looking at, you freak, what can you do? I overpower woman at my own will, you can’t do anything about it.” I told the fan, while it kept on rotating at the same speed, unfazed by my challenge, undeterred in its determination to provide me air irrespective of the side that I stood for. It did not have a life I realized, it can do nothing, my thoughts strayed to the person who had life, and could not do anything about the situation either.
I walked across to the bathroom, the door was open, the dim yellow light appeared to be washing the floor of all the filth and puke that had accumulated in years, or perhaps decades, while Smita sat on the seat, crying, loud enough for the light, the puke and filth to notice, but perhaps my fan helped me in not hearing this damn noise.
I went over to her and lifted her face, wiped out the tears which were still flowing down her cheeks, “you wont find solace here Ankur, leave me for good. I am of no use to you, and there is nothing useful for me in the wounds that you’ve given to me.” I did not know but I did not even think about the single red mark that appeared as a red lining on my stomach.
I went over to the room, the fan was still rotating, picked up my clothes, wore them, and was about to walk out of the door when I heard her say, “You know what? I still love you, you look like the man who took me the first time”. I walked across the door, banged it shut, and walked down the stairs.
Prose definition: 10.08.2011
