Big Man, Immovable Object

Chapter Two

by Dian Bulfin Winder

November 5, 1969 - May 22, 1999

Ar Dheis Lámh Dé

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chapter 2 SO

Darkness. IMMense dark. Thicker and blacker than plastic smoke. Barefoot. In the freezing cold, wet grass. And yet, a great polished smooth wall on the left hand, topped with merlons, protruding arrow heads and savage spear tips. Sinister, beyond fear. Hundreds of feet high. Unclimbable. Insurmountable. Knows this. Cannot really see. Afraid. Afraid of the terrible battlements that stretch on, forever. Terrified of the black, cruel lancer cavalry that may issue from an unseen gate on muffled hooves, to ride him down. To feel the point rip and burst in your own body. To be slain, and ridden into the lane like mud, at any moment. On the right The Bramble Wall. Merely six or eight feet tall. Green. Alive. Undulating with wicked life and Intent. An old craggy garden wall that lies beyond. The garden, initially overgrown but crimped lawns and escape that surely must lie beyond. Freedom. But The Wall will not let him through. Impenetrable. It bends and twists and scrapes and scraps with him when he makes forays into the thicket. The pain of its vicious hooked thorns is unbearable as it writhes and threatens to engulf him into its mean heart. It is a monster. A living, Writhing, moving Daemon. And when he dares to walk along the track - to get around it, tendrils sneak out to grapple with his legs and make him fall, lash at his face, his eyes - to make him cry out and alert the guardians that must lie in wait atop the wall.

it is a nightmare. a recurring hell to it's sleeper.
So. Wakes. Paralysed. Once again - a dream where he is the victim, the prey; and not the calculating, empowered one. Reversal. You or I might think of our worse things, but the graphic sense of impending slaughter and total frustration leave our man petrified, barely able to draw breath, long after the dream has gone away and he knows that he has awoken. Lying on his slice of the bed, the other person not stirring in the middle of the night. She is sleeping most like. Most people who are not working are asleep at this time of dark. But maybe she is awake.

?. She probably doesn't know herself. it is impossible to tell whether or not she sleeps without the risk of waking her. Which is a terrible risk to So. She may be only in a fight trance filled with dream. Her breathing silent, even. He can feel the tiny depression and recovery in the mattress next to him. He is pinned by fear that he might alter it. He is a sensitive man. Keen. A Vietnamese in a tunnel. He can sense the warmth of her buttocks pushed into his retreating groin. He longs to touch her, to reach down between her meeting legs into her her black lace designer turn-on panties. He knows he could not lie still indefinitely in contact with her, if sleep will not come. In her slumber, his physical presence and his intense bodily warmth would become an item, which if withdrawn, could easily disturb her. He smells her and her intoxicating perfume. It makes him light headed and want to envelope her in his arms. Squeeze tight, feel her soft breasts compact. He does not know the scent's name because such things do not concern him, but he knows it immensely, deeply, which she cannot. It never leaves her for long. She leaves him; into her other life about which he knows nothing. He would Never ask. He can smell her cold cream and the faint touch of fragrance from her shampoo. He can smell the faint taste of her sweat and her sex. The very smell of her makes him hunger. More hungry than Days without food. He itemises all the scents at once and all together. Without thinking.
Experiencing.
if any of them were different he would begin to wonder silent questions? when so wonders paint peels.
Quiet questions. He would monitor her mood and check her, maybe for male smells and would test her sex drive. Not that it is his place to say what she is or isn't allowed to do on her own time, but he would reserve the right to be disappointed. As we all do. We not. Of course she'd have the decency to shower or bathe before going to So, if she'd just made it with another man. The tact. The caution. She believes him an unpredictable client. Knowing that he is Very predictable. All this is purely speculative, now he just does not want her to wake. Does not want to wake her. What he wants most in the world is that she remain, asleep.
she would only start to ask things if she woke. mostly with her eyes on the ceiling with tiny almost invisible inflections of the whites of her eyes and the almost imperceptible exasperation of a stifled sigh. or a half maybe.
He likes her this way, unconsciously following his warmth across the bed in her sleep. She may not admit that she cares for him very much during her waking hours.
this is her way.
But in her sleep, his being there is better than not. Not much. I hear you say. But to a man who only has his keenness, clouding, perturbing memories; a room and a bed - it is a special something. And a gun. And several knives. The special something. How he hangs on day after day. How can he hang on day after day? mankind hangs on. in a death spiral.

In her slumber - he is desirable company. This is what is important to him because what he has got now, is the best he can expect. Maybe she does like him but holds off because of the arrangement. So has known arrangements. Lives one. Consequently, he has also divined that being greedy can bruise the precious. My preciousss. He is not a handsome man of face - you see, but he is absolutely tenacious in pursuit and careful and thoughtful and appreciative in possession. This he has learned. His women have been the desperate, the fallen, the insane, the lost, the professional. So tries to swivel onto his back so he can meditate. She stirs. Oh no! Please do not wake up. Please, Please, please do not wake - couldn't stand feeling your eyes; silently blaming, accusing me in the night because I cannot keep my insomnia to myself. I'm so tired as it is. Go back deeper into your sleep. Please my love. My angel in sleep. ssssshhh.... Oh God here we go. She'll wake and I haven't hardly slept at all. I need to rest in peace. I'll go mad if I have to deal with your demands when I'm so exhausted as it is. Don't make me go through another day without even being half rested. She groans and rolls over towards him. Her arm snakes out and comes to rest over his bared shoulders. A Benedictine, frightening, magic touch. Sleep my darling and I will find for you the most wonderful thing I can for you today in my mind. I'll present you with the most beautiful imaginary present ever given - I promise. You will not know this when you wake, but if you would know it now - I will be very grateful. I'll place my sorceress cloak of darkness over you. It will put the Emperor's new clothes to rags. I will not be able to bring it to you, my sparkling gift because I am bound not to leave this prison for now. Years ago, I made this city my own and now that I am among its most feared inhabitants I cannot be seen abroad in it. One arm hunts me. Another employs me. I am hunted. I do not exist and am utilised. I am the reviled. And am the rapier of the hand of government. Why did I ever become involved with you people at all. I suppose every artist must work. ever decreasing circles i suppose. the law of diminishing returns.
Her thick eye lashes remain lightly - delicately closed. She looks so beautiful in the all but dark it makes my heart pain. So with holds his sigh of relief. o.k.. God you are beautiful; in this dim light I look at you and it hurts Soh much. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to kill us both at times like this. Murder us, and meet as equals. Man and wife. House and garden. Love and children. Neighbours and wine. Love and... love and... get me out of here! He has learned to keep quiet and still when emotional and physical necessities have insisted otherwise; So at this moment, as at many other times before, whilst his thoughts fire rapidly in his mind, not a muscle twitches nor a heavy breath betrays the frenetic activity which is passing in his head. Racing savagely, unrelenting in his mind. He relaxes. Just in time; once more at the door of the abyss of the insane. His whole body becomes fluid.
like seaweed.
During scarce periods of sleep he can encourage his body to become weightless. And then rise. Sometimes he flies. The wonder of that feeling, in contrast to the leaden wakefulness of so many sleepless nights is beyond expression. This plasticity is preferable, but it is the ultimate comfort of lacking any heaviness in his body and even in his self, which he ultimately seeks. Eyes closed, he has travelled from Room 101 into the stars. Zoomed into them. Surrounded himself with celestial bodies of light. Has charted from the inside, galaxies of stars - our scopes can only falteringly reach out to in two dimensions, black and white. So lies in the broad bed awaiting release from the thing body he drags around after him every waking moment. One second, five seconds, twenty, fourty, minute, ten, fifteen, hour, a half, two. He feels light and relaxed but neither of the releases which he desperately seeks has come.
Enough. Move. Game! He slides out from under her arm and silently, smoothly off the bed onto the floor. Few living people have seen how slick he is capable of moving. She gives a disgruntled murmur as her arm is separated from his warm body and flops gently onto the bed. So lies face up on the floor, listening keenly. Intently. After a while the equilibrium of her sleep re-establishes itself. Just. It is possible that she has risen from the depths and will not slip back down into deadness. She may be beginning to become more wakeful anyway, after all it is a quarter past six. So decides to knead himself under the bed on his bum and shoulder blades. He cannot turn on the T.v., or the light to read because it will only wake Laragh. Obviously fool. What have we been talking about? He doesn't want to wake his... lo... his paramour. so loves laragh.
so loves laragh.
I don't love her... she... I... we... I just... I'm fond of her that's all.
He cannot go out. If he did and it become known to the House it would break his contract, which on fruition will leave him rich and alive, and unpersued to enjoy it. Maybe. If. Iff. Necessary extensions aside. He dare not run the bath or turn on the shower. Instead he will divert himself in the gloom on his own. As always the fear and restlessness of the insomniac. Maniac. One foot and a half into his side of the bed So comes across the depression caused by Laragh's body where she's pursued across the bed. He manages to slip his upper body under her shoulders but it is a tight squeeze to get his middle past the bulk of the weight of her body which is projected toward the floor through her hip. Her regal hip. Her royal recurvedness. Laragh is unbearably good looking. Almost. Depending who you are. She lies on her side. Just as he gets one knee past the bulge, Laragh squirms angrily and half heartedly thumps the empty sliver of bed next to her. Please God don't let her wake up now. Jesus. She'll go absolutely ape if she finds out I've woken her because I've crawled under the bed. Jesus. Eventually, after the expenditure of the odd bevel and some deeply disgruntled mutterings, deeply disgruntled, Laragh once more settles into a composed rest. I was sure she would erupt that time. Whew! Close one. Better to lie still for a while. Better. So lies stoically with Laragh virtually weightless on top of him and asleep. He resists the temptation to break out laughing. Shout out. ! He wants to enfold Laragh, the blankets, the mattress and all in his arms. He feels very close to her now but - he cannot take the whole bed in his arms. Maybe he should get out from under the bed, wake her and try and persuade her to have sex with him, but no.. He doesn't want to rouse her, in case she hasn't had enough rest. She must be given a chance to rest - his Lovely Lady. She likes sleeping. And in sleep, she is gorgeous in her vulnerability. After a while he has to resist the temptation to tear at the upholstery above his face with his bald finger tips. They are completely bald so that if he stimulates her manually - it doesn't scrape. So lies mute, immobile. Shailowing his breathing he calms the frustrated flutterings in his brain. Then he smiles. It is a touching, ugly sight, all sideways and narrow, with the lips curled back and his eyes squeezed into dots. It is genuine, - dare I say; heartfelt though, if nothing else. It is not a kind order that consigns a man, in moments of shared joy, often to have people greet his facial expression with shock or disgust. what a life!
real life.
He is not a morbid person, people are often led to think so because unless he trusts them, which is rare; he will hold his face as a mask. A blank. A blank, apparently emotionless facade. Behind it, what we call the beast lies. So's beast is beyond. He has learned to be vicious and cynical. Generally he prefers to deal with people, with whom - a certain amount of mutual distrust is understood. And is mutually accepted. That way ceremony can be dropped without reason for offence. offence is awkward. and anyway, it is bad for business.
He is happy now - happy like a child. He has a woman bearing down between his thighs, unconscious though she is. It feels sexy and it is secret. So cannot share her beauty like handsome men can, on equal terms, but when they talk and he is good to her and amuses her, he can almost forget that she is with him in anything other than a professional capacity. But after they've been in the dark for a long long time So remembers to forget her reasons for not finding him attractive. Or almost. Which is the Benediction of his life. At those times he just does. Behaves completely uninhibitedly - tries to make her come and come and come.
Pathologically unfortunately. It is a face of his insecurity that he seeks over and over again proof from her body that he does something for her - allbeit in the dark. Afterwards he never makes reference to it - not even in jest; even when she has beaten him with feet and hands and knees and elbows, torn his flesh and bitten him to make him stop, which he never does, until he is sure she cannot take anymore or bead another drop. And when she crashes out asleep he, smiles his private smile and feels satisfied inside. And is alone. Resumes his long standing staring match with the ceiling.

So is nobody's fool. Sure, sometimes he likes to think that she is a semi pro where he is concerned but she will behave to him the way she does whatever she feels. So has a weakness for women. Woman.

So do most men I hear you say. But So would really have your guts out in much less than half a second if you gave him a reason to - like messing with one of his girls. Don't get it wrong, her feelings are not academic to him but he would not demean her by forcing her to lie if it is all, just - good job. So knows what it is to be a good job and as such, knowing its deprivations and trials, he respects her like she is a champion prize fighter. Knows the House pays her like one. And probably twists her arm. A bit. Like if you called Laragh the street name for what she is good at - in his hearing, you wouldn't realise it but you would just have pencilled yourself in on the endangered species list. Or you'd be over taken by pain on the spot. Overcome. People who are smart know this, and are rightly very wary of infringing. They are only two anyway who could know them together.

Only people who are smart get close to So. The rest are a long way off in the distance amongst the trees. It is good for them to have the trees to protect them from the eye. A look from a laser is a joke compared to a look from the So because at least you know where the red eye lie.

Cars and suits and make up and houses and dogs, are only a protection against certain types of insecurity. A dog has not met So that hasn't liked, or indeed loved him. On purpose. dogs understand meat. they eat it all the time. raw. more than we, they understand what it is to be it.

Few intelligent animals would side against So with its owner. There are few stupid dogs contrary to popular belief. If So had been a wild dog.... A European wolf maybe - all grey and keen.... He would have been a queen she wolf, and perhaps would have saved one more of the great northern packs from man. .0
man. ...Anyway he has Far too much pride to demand that Laragh bolster his self-confidence on demand. DON'T EVER RISK PROVOKING HIM BECAUSE YOU NEED TO FEEL TALLER ON HIS BACK. He will kill you. I said he learned to be vicious. Do not delude yourself that it is a sick lust. That, it is not. It is a technique that by its nature requires a certain quotient of abandon. He would use it as a weapon to intimidate and subdue you. And then he would DECIDE whether he would fuck you or not. It is statistically unlikely that you would meet him, one way or the other and extremely unlikely that you would know it if you did. And if you did, you would do well to disguise the fact. BUT you might recognise the ignition series in someone else and then.... You might be prepared to act.., fight because if you didn't you'd be admitting that you are destined to become just another irrelevant statistic. such worlds you think will never touch you. you are wright. perhaps.

He has a problem. He is extremely visually stimulated - optically in work. His eyes are a pale spectral blue with dark brown flecks, radiating into the iris from the pupil. And are permanently, mind alteringly hypnotic. They are obscenely far spaced which makes for excellent shooting, but they make his face seem even flatter as it had to be even broader to accommodate them. People often have difficulty looking into both of them at once. Should they feel so inclined? If you took a photograph of one and blew it up and put it up on your wall, people would stand in front of it and stare for ages. And they call me an ugly man. Not that I'd entertain close up photography of my face or any other photography for that matter. No matter how close an associate you were. I might eat you! might have to.

So enhanced the mesmerising effect of his eyes during his studies of snakes. He used to stare into their eyes for hours, unblinking, until he would almost go blind. He used also to play catch with aggravated aggressive varieties for fun and reaction speed - it's the kind of game he understands. And he respects their raison d'etre.

He flits by his reflection in mirrors not like 'you're so vain' man; consequently he has learned to use them for other things than repeatedly looking for an affirmation, that he is slightly better looking than he really is. Ever since his mother gave him the present of an electric razor he has shaved by touch, blind. He kept slicing himself with a blade because he would never quite concentrate on his own face in a detailed enough fashion. He always wanted to flee from his reflection. Other people cut his side burns. If you think that it is the ultimate statement of frustrated vanity you would be wrong. It is simply the best way for him to live, seeing the world from the inside out and leaving it to others to judge his aesthetics as they will. At a remarkably early stage for instance, he could see clearly inside a pretty woman because he generally wasn't concerned by what she thought of what she could see of him. He already knew and did not know. Instead of being shy of them - they are shy of Him. His self abasement is virtually completely absent. Practically speaking it is not a construction. He want thing. Resistance of thing. Understand thing. Strategy - win thing (if mission not impossible). He has watched so many women valiantly grapple with how his looks affect them or attempt to remain in ignorance and safety of 'im. He has admired many and known many, many more. A large part of his mind is fascinated by EXACTLY how an attractive creature feels and thinks and functions through her cover. In his first proper job whilst all the other lads were spendin' all their money boozin' and tryin' to get their legs over slags, he was saving to go to the 'Dam' and buy the best one he could find for a time. He would have enough money that she would do whatever he wanted, as a matter of course. So never masturbates. he waits.

He would wait forever and a lifetime for the right woman - not many men would. An uncomfortable Lifetime. Even though they think they would. Times he waited for a woman until she was at the low tide of her lowest ebb and having placed himself within her turning circle, he appears front and centre, touch and look at her unwaveringly there could be no misunderstanding what the look in his eyes said. 'I will never be self conscious around you and I will do anything, and I mean Anything to make you. If you do not know what it is that you want, I will help you find out what it is, and help you experience it.' ...And after ... and after ... and after you might deign to pay off your servant. In time. Your humble servant. I am a patient man. Your humble, Indominitable servant.

The first arguably gratuitous thing he did in his life was because of a woman. He had been going out with this girl - see. She Was a STUNNER, but her life, having failed to fulfil many of her ambitions, her fantasies, left her more than a little bit vacant. Anyway, as usual he took her to dine and dance and to concerts - the whole bit. She seemed indifferent to the whole twirl. It wasn't getting him anywhere and it was costing him a Fortune. At the time, he was working in an engineering factory on a lathe. He was a genius everybody said so behind his back.

Concentration, speed and such accuracy! Quite by accident he came across this really really expensive, really hot watch. Full of jools and everything. People were always hanging around trying to sell all manner of gear, especially to the single men on big wages. He gave it her. Even in his youth he knew. Her little eyes fairly twinkled in delight. 'So'. gotcha! Soon.

He knew it would give pleasure to her to flog it instantly. It got lost down the baths. She wasn't As distant. He got another one. This time he overtly purchased one. He reasoned that if she tried to flog a dodgy watch, she couldn't get half what he paid for it. What a ridiculous way to manage family finances. It would seem. So. Before they went out this particular night he made a big deal about giving her the warranty, which he'd 'stupidly' left back in his flat. Would she stop in on their sort of way past his place? She would. Good. So ostensibly forgot about it on the way home and tried to steer her the direct route to the restaurant but Sharon protested. And - OOps whilst rooting for the warranty amidst the calamitously arranged papers on his desk, a small white piece of paper floated meekly to the floor. So didn't look but he could hear its soundless thud on the ground. "Ah here. Tch. One Guarantee!" He had calculated the risk. As he washed his hands - he watched her in the mirror. The mirror. I telled you. She curiouser and curiouser. Yes. Stop. Look. Look again. Click! Pause. Foolish girl. If you had of straight picked it up and into the pocketses I 'd have had to let you have it but now... I will make you pay for it. if i can. and if the gods will let it be.

The chit read for what most women in the town earned in a fortnight. Not alot of money. But a lot of money. Clothes, go out whenever you want.... a change in style. A change in lifestyle for a while. for a while. So. Dinner. Piercing the tiny fastnesses of her mind Robert read his book. Getting whatever you want, at whatever expense, even if nobody loves me. He was still Robert then. He had begun his road to So however. Manipulation. Devolvement. In orientation, tactics and realism. The fish thought: Damn why didn't I just pick the damn thing up!

"More wine Sir7'

"Oh yes I Do think so!" Don't you Sharon - a drop of Dutch courage for the madam.

He's O.K. apart from the obvious. I kind o' like him, except when he leers... like.... No one would have to know. What they don't know.... They probably think it anyway. Maybe I'll just stay - "Delicious wine Robert thanks; lovely... and Thanks forthe... you really shouldn't have, you know." for a drink. Yea, just for a drink! Salubriously pissed as intended, Sharon allows to be steered to So's place. She braces herself for the ordeal to co.. the quick get away! But the gallant Robert was no such the fool - guides his tipsy date on across town towards her cat box. She is surprised, then confused, then indignant. Robert knew that if he asked her up 'for a coffee'that she might bolt after picking up the note. No. He must be firm. she had to ask herself into church. which is very important with certain beings.

Her pretty head turned a tad too quickly and jerkily. A bite! Yes.

"Robert I can't invite you up to my place we don't want to disturb the old flatmates..." Yes "or I'd invite you in for a cup of tea... ?' yes

"Would you like to err... like" yes'lo come up to my place for the last drink. A night cap with Rob." Yes

"Yes.

I'd love to."

Definitely a bite. I hope I can handle this right, now. Now if you will only do the diplomatic thing and look over the top of my head or past my ear for a half an hour, we will have a stirrup cup and you will have your precious finders fee. I bet you think you have been working hard! You have no IDEA. Once in the flat, instead of asking for a coffee which would have pushed him into the kitchen and out of the way, she accepted a large drink,
apparently resigned to her duty.

DEAL. most people early in their lives suffer from conscience, however primitive. excluding, of course the right of the young - abandon.

She sat down daintily on the edge of the bed. Knees together. Touching. Shoulders back. Back straight. She did not pick carelessly at the embroidery with her fingernails. She did not wistfully admire the surprisingly tasteful etchings and say: 'My aren't they beautiful! Where ever did you get them?' Nor did she hastily gulp her drink and reach out for more. She fixed Robert with a cool, penetrating glance that said - come and get me
if you must. All done. if you will insist. but what you see is what you get!

Any qualms that Robert may have had about what he was doing were mercilessly quashed. They would both have what they wanted (no favours here) but she had to feel that she was the better aswell. Superior. So. I chose what I wanted and I have paid for it. And isn't she love ely? Throwing open the drapes and turning out the light So faced her. For a moment, knowing how she valued herself above him an unpleasant expression passed over his visage and was gone. Sharon couldn't see it - back lit as he was but at that early stage if she had? She put the oily drink slowly, deliberately down on the carpet and looked at him expectantly, like he was about to deliver an intellectual lecture. She wasn't either, going to make this easy. The muddied cloud and smoke bounced dim, warm orange streetlight into the room. Now you cannot see this big nasty face I follow around after - with the fight behind me. How do you feel? How do I look? - not as beautiful as you, but you cannot see me now so you lie. I may have changed. I'm quite as good a lover as you I'm sure. Just lay back and forget about it and let me make love to you like any normal man would be allowed to. Does it make a difference? Sharon stood up, barely ever taking her eyes from where she knew his to be, she stripped from the shoulders to the floor. Not sexily. Not defiantly. Not dejectedly. Just stripped. Indifferently. No, not even that.

She held herself erect, naked as the day she was born, except for the mad coils failing down her back and neck and shoulders, her pubic hair and her mean experience of life. Not even coloured nail polish.

She allowed herself stare at him. So smiled demoniac, deeply, inwardly. She couldn't see. Such pride. No one could see but So could feel it warm him like brandy. She wasn't supposed to see. He would prove something to her - not that she would probably Ever admit it. He would prove that of all men... it takes a leper to judge flesh. He converted things to what they could be, should be, with precision every day. As the heat in his forearms built and his saliva, he tried to empty his head of all the nastiness, so that he could explore this new form without irrelevant bias. His hands remain cool, dry. He likes where ever possible to work with his shirt off. He took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of a chair and with his head dipped, pulled the shirt out from his body and unbuttoned it. Sharon stood as if waiting were a great chore, like everything else. Like she had to suffer waiting for him to get it together. Intimidating him into not being able to. She stood erect like she was waiting for a bus, which she doggedly had faith would come soon. Or later. Stripped to the waist So left his trousers on. He wasn't shy and hiding an erection - he didn't have one. So wanted to investigate her body, without her tightening up at the prospect of an immediate intercourse that she was averse to. No - that is not his way. He had been that patient, he would not spoil his pleasure because he could not make her forget. Forget. Forget darling. Darling. Ba-aby fo'get and fall luscious into my waiting, manly arms. What a joke! Forget. forget for him, man that needs you. You are capable, if you only knew it, of giving great succour.

He would sensitise her and sensitise and sensitise and sensitise her and then maybe. ...And then maybe she would want it; maybe she would want everything and maybe when she had forgotten the day and the daylight and her stupid friends, she will forget that it is me and accept me in the darkness and all she will want is to Feel. Crossing the room to where she waited was a moment. When he got to her she was taller, barefoot, gorgeous in the warm orange glow. It pleased her. He knew this. Anything to make her happy now. I will have my turn later. To knee her in the proud stomach causing her to double over crossed his mind and made Him happy. Make her bow. "Do you know why I have wanted to have you like this for so long?" Silence! "Everyday I make things of perfection in precision. With these hands." He raised his forearms - palms open, elbows at his hips. She would not look down. At an example of the manipulators. She would not help. The sinews at the top of his chest rose. The thick upper arms bulged to receive her as she fell into his strong embrace. But that was a different life. She was waiting for that bus. I could never make you." Do not despise my ugliness for at a different ill roll of the dice you could have been as pretty as me. So closed the rest of the distance, so he was two inches from her - chest to chest. Why won't you put your arms around me. Kiss me. I don't even care if it is like a sister ... some affection. Please ... as a favour for god's sake. A personal. Special favour. No one needs you more than me! Who would take care of you better? Carefully, So freed and swept the hair from her shoulders and from the sides of her neck, gathering it up in a tremendously soft pile on her nape. With the ends of his fingers, applying a faint pressure, he traced the lines from the bony tips of the skull behind her ears all the way to the ends of her shoulders and back as far as where her clavicles began. And then louder than if he'd spoken, the thought sounded in his head: would she yield at all?
And if she did, would she allow him the satisfaction of knowing that it was anything other than involuntarily? Secondary. Would she yield at all? for in her own way she was a proud girl. a proud, proud girl. in fact. is all she had really. in a lot of ways. and she stood on it. and she could stand. and look. when she felt like it sometimes she could melt whole people.
Simply did not know if she would participate, but would try and if that didn't work, would persevere. Incrementally, his keen hands followed the fine straight bones to the top of her rib cage. They held themselves in restraint by an act of surgical will what they ultimately desired was an open embrace. Just one. Once. Some show of understanding or fellowship or sympathy. Sharon let him play chess on his own with her board, not assenting, merely derogating permission. barely, meanly, silently, caustically.
It was what protected her from her own corrupted motivation. for pounds and not to feel cheap. a cheat.
Sex power in the most unnatural form a body can take. At one and the same time So was trying to think the word for what he felt for her. Or for her body. As he laid his fingers flat and opening across the top of her chest he thought of it: 'reverence'.

It made him smile faintly and quizzically at himself. He didn't feel as though it characterised the desire expressed by his mates. He looked different. Maybe, he Was different. The skin under the heels of his hands and near her arm pits, where the tips of his little fingers were, felt unbelievably warm and smooth and firm. A lot of her upper body was hard. She was a slim woman. She had tits though and a bit of a nice ass. Slowly he applied pressure. She didn't fall, sexy with abandon onto the awaiting bed, hair fanning out - but sat, quite suddenly down. So almost fell waist to face on top of her. However he is the furthest thing to being uncoordinated you could imagine. From an exceedingly early age he became astute at minimalising the intrusiveness of his presence. Quiet, subtle, reserved, unboisterous, undemanding - he didn't particularly value the attention of people who didn't find his presence uplifting or illuminating - as everyone, who knows anything about anything, all cherubs should be. So instead of toppling with surprise the two of them chaotically onto the mattress, he counter-balanced himself by swinging his buttocks underneath him and his shoulders back; ever so slow and balanced and relaxed. Woha. What balance. He calculated afterward that foiling her little trick might annoy her. It might not have been the best ploy. His reflexes may be said to have let him down by operating so perfectly. He had too much self possession and too little self effacement still, to deliberately make an idiot out of himself, which is what he should have done if he wanted to genuinely make peace with this woman. Peace if not love. But that still was not the balance he could accept. He might be renting what he wanted, with her accompanying distance and disdain but he refused to play the fool for her - so she could laugh at him as well. Instead he thought how titillating it would have been to have grown up with Sharon as his older sister. As she transformed from an undeveloped girl into a full woman. How little she could of picked up his incestuous interest in her budding sexuality. In an instant, he thought of as many opportunities he could have used to monitor her blossoming body. Suddenly, intensely, disgustingly, Robert had a vivid picture of the kind of man that would have come along and robbed him of his sister and bedded her. It was not the first time he'd thought these things. He instantly dropped the fantasy and returned to the problem at hand.... the pleasure at hand.
Sitting between indifference and abjectivity, Sharon was with her head slightly averted, her long fingers and hands clasped pointing toward the floor in between the delicious flattened curves of her thighs. So went down on his hunkers, reached forward almost timorously and placed his open palms on the tops of her thighs just above her knee caps. She tensed the fraction of a bit at the thought that jumped immediately into her mind. So knew with certainty that she was reluctant and that she wasn't ready. Like he didn't know it already. He knelt carefully to the floor. He wistfully thought of putting the crook of his index under her chin, raising his jaw slant ways and softly kissing her to carelessness on the mouth. that was a different opportunity. again, - a different life.
He knew it would only exacerbate their contrast in desire if he tried and she turned her face away from him. Surely. That type of honesty or deceit he might never win from her, even in the most private, most drunken, most disorientated of moments. prostitutes don't kiss customers. companions have been known to. all be it however sometimes unconvincingly.
Even in So's advanced state of self knowledge it still hurt that she was a pay-me and a side of him, which had grown from adolescence in order to protect himself from reality, wanted to hurt her, even slap her, but it flashed by, leaving him just a little less exasperated and a little more sad. And very strong. Very, very strong. He knew he had to become faceless. Perhaps, in order to vindicate her time with him, she might convince herself that superficiality had, in his case, to be let go. Few of us think; or recognise such thoughts perhaps, but great defences, for whatever reason, have been known at first to slip, and then under apparent token pressure to collapse. Or a clever general perpetrates a great flanking manoeuvre. What is important here is to understand that this man had already become a great fisherman. Knew he it or knew he it not, is irrelevant. A handsome man can afford to fish with grenades. So cannot, but a little shinnin' lure, or a favourable breeze, skill, will and all of time. A little shinin' lure. All of time. And so. so doesn't know it but he has visigoth blood in him. and if in the unlikely event that you'd ever met one and it coincided with your remaining alive, you would know what a useful and powerful thing it could be.
On his knees like a particularly sinning devout little altar boy, So brought his wide, tight face against her bony knees. Hard enough that it hurt his cheek bones and brows. Good. Tight enough that she must have known that it must be hurting. She knew. She knew him. Knew how he wanted her. Needed her. Her body. Not just her body, her very essence. He knew how tight she was being and while he was thinking this, she almost let the tension in her groin go so that her knees would part without effort. Almost! He compared also the debasement of whatever self esteem he had been left by the 'beautiful people' against what she was prepared to sell her's for and... Sharon was not a bad girl. People place such a high price on the looks of the pretty: it can be a very hollow currency for them. The narrow chink that opened was necessary so that she could still feel as though She was a good person and no one else really mat.... Sound familiar? Liberating her perfect hands she tried to squeeze them between his forehead and her legs. It was good. She decided to co-operate for whatever mixture of reasons AND conditions. They would emerge in time, unless of course she suffered from early remorse. The pressure on the confluence of her knees built. God I don't know if I'm ready for that! She braced herself and slowly, imerceptably she began to lie back, at the same time a rigid gap began to appear in front and below Robert's face. Thank God! OH God!! His smooth face slid between her shaven calves. Not quite where Sharon had expected, but infinitely easier to handle, given her very mixed emotions about the whole business. For the moment Darling. Alternately rubbing either set of bones in his face against her shins and calves Sharon's legs couldn't tell whether or not he was good looking - and frankly didn't care. wow. Then he started to use his mouth. Accidentally as it were; at first. As his cheek passed across her skin his narrow, dry lips would vainly try to make an impression against the pressure which his neck was increasingly applying to her lower legs. Then his mouth became wet. Undoubtedly wet. Sharon had never really particularly considered that part of her anatomy; certainly never as being particularly erotic. She thought they were nice legs but never.. She was starting to feel dangerously funny, sensitised more than partially against her will. As intended. that's what bed's all about.
Just when she was starting to feel that it must be a fetish rather than an elaborate foreplay of fealty, he started to gnaw, kind of painfully at her knees and to lick in earnest at her skin like a big cat cleaning meat. She leant forward, concertinead the flush stomach as hard as she could and aimed a blow at side of his head. Having brothers had taught her to strike with the closed rather than the open hand to have any kind of lasting effect. Sensing the dramatic movement in the middle of the bed So anticipated what was coming. He could easily have defended himself or dodged his head out of danger. Instead he turned his face to take the punch as full as he could. It was the best thing that could possibly have happened - he could give her satisfaction whilst not letting her belittle him as a person, a man or as a partner. Acceptable. It was a very stiff fist to the mouth, Especially considering how slight she was. She had hard protuding knuckles but. The blow split both lips and even drew blood from the upper gum. There was a loud, satisfying "SMACK!" sound. So was even starting to smile just before it struck. Dark droplets jumped into the quarter light in a wide arc and promptly disappeared. To most women the undefended impact would have been shocking - and to many men to be true. Sharon's instantaneous reaction was to ask him if he was alright - if he was hurt? In that guilty instant So's strong right hand took a firm grip high up on her left thigh and pulled her back side and all the blankets a good foot and a half down the bed. As she had swung he was reaching for it already. But deliberately he had moved more slowly - not wanting her to imagine that he might fight back. He certainly didn't want things to degrade into a sexual brawl, from which tomorrow, she might easily, never return. However, tactical opportunity was what it was. She allowed herself to feel completely vindicated in what she had done and let her superb upper body, with now partially erect nipples, be jerked backwards to flop heavily, once more onto the hard, waiting mattress. the bed enjoyed it. if you believe bed can enjoy?
Three quarters of Sharon's upper legs now were exposed over the edge of the bed. Soon to come under attack. They were nice legs. Red blood and saliva mixed over and around her lower thigh. War paint.
She could feel his mouth slip across her skin lubricated as it was. She respected his carelessness of her gesture; of the pain and consequent surprise it would have elicited in other people. Other men. Curiously Sharon felt herself impatient for her orgasm. man says to woman did you honey? i tried.
Initially it hadn't come into her calculations but now the slow build up of contact was gradually stimulating her into a depersonalised form of sensuality. Sexuality. The knowledge that she could do whatever she felt like, behave however meanly, however viciously, crudely or selfishly she wanted; without him being rejected; was new to her. Novel to her. A sexually aggressive part of her was becoming more than faintly turned on. With its realisation she let herself go and dug her long finger nails into the base of his throat and with her other hand drew his head back by the hair. She wanted to look into the face of the mouth that was inching up her inside thighs, where she was starting to water to meet him, greet him, against most of her will. When she did she was greeted by two small intense points of light. Pins. Which was impossible with all the incoming light behind him. It gave her a fright. She let him go with a start.

- Maybe she just imagined it. Of course she did.

she couldn't see the smile. the glee.

He did it hugely, outlandishly, insanely. Then, feeling foolish at giving up the initiative so quickly, she struck him again in a swipe below the eye. This time she hit him with the side of her hand. A thoughtful blow. Again he didn't allow himself turn his head to minimise the force of the strike. In fact he opened his face by tilting his head back. Thank you. The feeling inside her nipples and breasts, between her legs and in her stomach were so alienally placed with this guy that she felt like erupting into uncontrollable - tickled laughter. Ironic. She felt like repeatedly slapping him on the back of the head until he looked up again and say - furthering the extent of the gap between her legs 'I Know where you're Heading. I've known where you're heading for a long time. So why don't we dispense with all this unnecessary grovelling. You're a man. Why not climb aboard and we'll have a nice hard ride!' Yet. A short moment later So looked up and stood up. Leaning over the edge of the bed he entwined his arms incredibly carefully around her waist and lifted her, settling her further up the bed. It required great strength. Try it yourself. Feeling the rock hard muscles in the back of his neck and the top back of his shoulders and sensing the power in the lift, So actually Became a man to her and not just a servile sexual person who she didn't particularly want. A girlish part of her was charmed, charmed a little by this foolish gentle reverence toward a tuff grown woman who'd just attacked him three times. When she picked out the dried blood, she hardly saw his Ugly features just the sensuality of his nonchalance to the damage for her sex. Then she did something out of place for how she'd decided to behave - she touched the injured side of his mouth with soft finger tips and started to smile. As she did so, so did Robert. She closed her eyes and he knew that it would be alright to kiss her now. He just looked down at her. It was a rare, rare unadulteratedly happy moment and then he remembered a little discarded piece of paper on the floor in the gloom behind him. Waiting. She was letting him take something he'd already paid for.

Always usury, always commerce. What a pity. Gratuity is something to be bandied about, toyed with on whim. The force of good within people has no more direction than their ability to do harm. Far less in all probability. How paltry, how small, how debasing; he wanted two things amongst a hell of a life - her and his receipt from the Devil afire. A warm tear fell onto her curved flushed cheek. It was not a tear like yours or mine of sorrow but a tear of incredible bitterness and slight.

against all protocol. never the less.

Startled! She looked up - was he bleeding again? She looked up and was sad and sick. Saw the gleam of its trail along the side of his nose just. Then she saw him in all his splendour. An ugly, hungry, helpless man. Pity. she remembered also. his ticket to ride if you like.
She threw her legs around his waist and he lay forward, helplessly on top of her. Rubbing and kissing away his two keenly begrudged tears - she hoped into oblivion, her finger nails accidentally broke the skin of his belly as, a little frantically, she tried to relieve him of his favourite trousers. Eventually, he looked down and moving slowly, aided her getting them and his jocks off. She helped him into her and stimulated intercourse. She had to avoid the ultimate embarrassing situation now. Thankfully she was well equipped and practised for the job. By the end it was an intensely fast fuck; Sharon making sure that at each stroke as their two pelvis's came together, the contact became harder and harder. So thought: how things change! Maybe she won't? At least there was some kissing. So always likes kissing, if that is, you like kissing him. He knows more about false kissing... betrayal. People kissing him because they think they ought to. Or because it is brave to kiss someone so unfair of face. is that what was really meant by that incident with judas ... ? was it an allegory.. was he not in the habit of kissing christ or was it the wrong kind of kiss betraying the fact that he didn't want to kiss him because he was jealous of him? so knows, he has spent every waking moment he can spare disembowelling the books, desperately searching through their entrails for traces of truth. and sorrowfully, the weaknesses of men.

Next morning Sharon woke. Immediately, her eyes snapped open in surprise, feeling the strange bed. But her all feline caution did let her stiffen. No. Her being awoke. She would not wake the sleeping dog she had lain down with and which she had put to sleep the previous evening. By instinct she didn't flicker in the after dawn. Which ever Arabian fantasy she had escaped to in her dreams, the last thing she had expected was to wake in So's strange flat. Even with her eyes closed she could hear an alien set of morning noises. She lay stock still and gathered her thoughts. It hurt between her legs, her groins hurt, her back hurt, how come my hand hurts so much That doesn't make sense? Oh Yeaah! I didn't do that!... I did. God we had sex twice more after that initial.... Oh WOW! yeah. Christ I... ! Am I sore.... Gotta move. Gotta grow. Make like a fetus and head out. Or: as the shepherd said to the sheep: 'Let's get the flock out of here!' Nowish. Of course she didn't know about So's cosmopolitan sleep pattern. In fact he'd lain absolutely still for three hours without her knowledge - hoarding even such passive time with her, desperately afraid, despite himself, that she might leave and never be to revisit. On the rare occasions that So had a woman in his bed he would go through this silent self-imposed torture. And that wasn't nearly often enough as far as he was concerned. I can tell you. It was all the more poignant because the balance of self sufficiency he had established to protect himself and to survive, could never allow him admit how terrified he was of abandonment; and how dearly he yearned for a partner who actually cared about him. Let alone for him.
Ignorant of how So felt and the million and one things racing through the man's brain - she rose, picked up her clothes, hoping him and wishing him to remain asleep, she went for the shower. On the way she, at an incongruous part of the room, dropped a sock. She got on the way back so what she bargained for. The sore testament of which, she would privately bare between her legs for a couple of days. 'So' finally and irrevocably so, lay completely disconsolate in his bed. He had waited for her move for hours... or Ages which ever you prefer. She was what he thought. So was too sick in his stomach to remember to feel superior at knowing exactly what she was, her price and how to play her. But wasn't there a moment when, ...when something lost or never nurtured over the Eons; prevented him from having a perfect parcel within time?: faith, confidence, carelessness... some Jack Shit like that! Having confessed this iniquity, it made him even more fatalistic, he thought: so this is the way things will be.
It was the final straw. The last last of many.
We will know how they feel and we will not care.
We will know how and what they think and we will use it against them.
We will know what they want and we will cheat them into thinking what we have conned them into doing is what they wanted.
The only thing left out of this equation to make an adversary from which one' should immediately flee, even in a large pool is what? No clues. O.K. I'll tell you: the killer instinct. Rage. indifference - whatever it takes for a man only to - I was going to say care - but what I truly meant was live for himself. even if that life is not filled with Hollywood, ultimate pleasure or eating strawberries in the ripe summer sunshine of an English garden.
After some meetings the artifice within the relationship had become completely transparent. Obviously. It became a crude sham. Ridiculous, a bizarrely constructed facade. Absurd. Sharon felt O.K. with the deal, so long as she could partially feel - big, slighting and cheating him by abandoning his baubles for cash. But when she knew that he accepted it, probably even planned the first time, it just wasn't good enough. Pride. What did she do? She took a man. not just any man. an empty headed fool is what she took. Sharon told John all about her relationship with Robert. In time.
Oh he was good looking and had a sexy voice and all but he never bothered to understand what it must be like to be without these things and still to desire to distraction. Or in So's case beyond it. The pose he took for her was one thing but then, of course, he had to be righteous. After a while he couldn't help himself. A good story... I mean public information. you understand. In ones and twos he told people. the men. They were incredulous. That such a.... It is one thing to discreetly visit a pro. One understands. But to actively pollute and bring low a respectable (ideal fuck) girl is of course a totally... heinous. The crimes that have been committed in the name of that word.
How many of their wives would have twisted up their noses at So's reverent treatment and attention?
IRRELEVANT! a moral... decency. The man who had everything cuts the ice about his feet. A zealot. Zealousy can be a dangerous state of preoccupation of mind. That is where it starts u no. Someone says let's stone him. There is a volley. A bevy. But eventually someone says yo ho man you got wrong - fuck you! Couldn't help.... Had to expose... (sort of). Couldn't stop to think how Sharon.... She had confided in him because she was sick of what she had learned about Herself... far more than she resented So for pointing it out, for bringing things to.. The word on the street can be unassailable, especially if it is far ahead of you, fast moving and, most importantly - people want to believe in... u no - words. PUBLIC INFORMATION.
First the side glances and the suspicion that something isn't quite .... The coolness of people's... then the coldness. The fear that something isn't quite .... Then the taciturn... so the definite paranoia. Then the gruffness and the staring and the Certainty that something isn't quite.... Then the voices breaking when you come within... I really want to know what's going on but I refuse to (can't ask)... gossip. Catch the voice. BANG! Oh dear. oh dear. Oh Fuck. NO! no no no no no no no. Head down and finish work. Who (everybody must) knows? Try not to catch anyone's eye. Change quickly. Run slowly home, screaming teasing, pointing in the head. Inside. oh god no. Shame has been cast upon a warrior. But How (who) ... ? If the men in the factory know what's been... then.... She's been trying to. to cut both ends. But if all the men in the shed know?? She's very unlikely to have.... So. so. Finally and irrevocably.... Finally and irrevocably And sadly, sadly so. I'm finished he.. for good now how could I st... knowing that all.... Bastards... die... swear .... Plan. Settle the account. Leave. Nothing to stay For. Stupid... why did you hate ... you didn't hav.... I never... you know I only ... you didn't have to tell. Why? You, smiling, pretty, mean idiot I'll show you what I ... of your life. And You, you, you probably won't want to... in case your face gets .... But he is much bigger than m.... But I, I have the will and the pain... and I have the pain. and I have the pain. and i have the pain. and i.... THEY will know a share of my pain. O.K.. o.k.. So that's the way it is to be. Not what I... cannot be... never is! My accuser and my judge will suffer. They will know. I will not take anymore.
So: for now that is what he is, no longer Robert - but a reaction to unkindness. Misunderstanding. Having a destiny for which he yearns but cannot fulfil. He intercepted Sharon most genially on her way home. He had done a lot of running so he spoke in a warm, low voice, full of inconsequentiality and neutral friendship. Disguise. Camouflage. Disguising the burning sense of defeat, anger, hatred, vengeance, frustration and... and disappointment and hurt and lost love - a falsity of lost love: unrequited love then. Fifty seven unpleasant things he might do to her on the spot begged leave enter his mind. he repulsed them from the doors of his consciousness. Although he knew he would not lash out, he also knew that one of them might sparkle in his eye. The lust for your enemy's blood., He would not show it to her. She was not one of his tribe anymore. It would be another ordinary feast. Only after this service was over, she would be punished for speaking ill of his name amongst the cloisters. It can be dangerous there too, for old monsters who have been bending their backs may come at the sound of their call in the wrong context and be annoyed. Sharon had a slither in her stomach for how she had miserably related (treated him) again just the night before and yet here she Was. Unable to break it off. Because maybe she had started to like him against her will. Or a strange kind of bond had grown up between two creatures, howsoever different, however descendant. There was also money. Perhaps she had really come to like him with his essential forbearance and was running around desperately looking for ways to refute it and the consequences for the future. Her future. Her rosy future, which in the past had never in projection included... a monster. A monster who... who knew her better apparently, than she thought she could be known. Things had progressed in a calamitously wrong way (difficult wayby) for her she thought. Perhaps not. Sometimes. Robert had become her second kind o' sort o'job and she was good at it. At him. Too fuckin' good, without the courage of her convictions. Perhaps she loved - given a chance his candidness and self-effacement which she had not been taught to have. Which she had never learned. Perhaps she hated him for it. And her power over him gave her power. But for sure it made her dislike her own brand of haughty vanity in selfishness and self love. But (sadly) she was powerless to change the past and the rules made there.
Quintessentially could she not accept finding an ostensibly unattractive man attractive, or one who could have fixed a price for her that was not heaven and earth and all. But it was His heaven and earth and all. What she didn't know was that her other fuck had poisoned every ear he could against So, with the story of how he'd made a virtual whore of the spotless Sharon. He could pull another. She could hardly be blamed for not knowing the heartless ice which was forming, hardening, freezing in the centre of the man - Robert as she falsely thought she saw him.

many men can become cold given the right jab. jabs. some women too but you seem less inclined, disposed to pain, meanness and savagery. many women, full knowing however, have closed their doors on the cold faces of men and boys demanded of to be soldiers. when they have returned where they thought home ought to be cashed. you refused to recognise them in your hearts, when there causes and quests have turned to falsity, to dust.
it is written in tsung su that you should never attack an enemy that is returning home.
for if you bar him from fleeing; there he may have no choice but to fight. probably to the death. why engage anyone who, when you do, will have no other purpose than to kill you. no. do not waste good men who can still think, on men to whom it will instantly be a vendetta that you intend hamper their final line of retreat. rather call on them the next day and look in their eyes dareful. there will be those who have learned once more to cling to life much, and you will slay them. there will be those whose gardens have gone to waste or whose temples have been defiled. their faith in continuity will be gone and you will slay them. there will be those boys at heart whose loves will have died or love others. give them berth. slay them with your arrows. do not engage them with sword. draw out their rage. suck them back into the field. you will slay them, for they will tire. this is where officers may turn with them - seeing how the laws which they left behind have not been followed in principle, spirit, exacitude and yes - courage. they may prefer now the rules of engagement and lead the dourest regiments into your hands. once you have crushed the heart of an army and torn the loyalties of its garrisons, then you decide if you should tear down its citadels or to fortify them. as you are master - be beneficent: treat worthy vassals well. send them in your service away.
honourable waifs with respect. feed them if you can.
offer the defeated terms. especially their children.
mercy may be remembered even by the very cruel. give
the rest to your men.
and whilst they are enjoying their right to choose, as the general this is the time when you must be most watchful. whilst your army is revelling, keep in your hand your bitterest warriors. ring your dogs with ice. send those who thrive best on I499cal per day back out the way you came. if you came quietly you may be pursued, quietly. there will be scouts. take them. if you have engaged, do those who have seen your colours have terror of you? if they do not, slay them while the body of your men sleep.
in the morning you may have two armies. and now that you are secure for a time you will pray with those who serve under you. on your hill top, then and only then will you unfurl the black flag. savour the vanquishing of a foe with your officers and men.
accept petitioners. there may be gifts for those who are proven amongst the mighty. at a time like this an overlord, perhaps previously unknown, may be announced and wish to inform you of his plans for you.
ambassadors may come. it will be good. they will see that your people hold off somewhat in awe of you.
it could be a good time for your army to make a move.
there may be a bargain, an allegiance. a date.
another field. check over your shoulder. mount, ride. you will be followed. your colonels will purvey the reports from your scouts. your army will surround you. this is also a time when Old scores may be contemplated. in secret. perhaps this is a moment when you may pick a fight. perhaps even generals have vendettas but have learned they are better served cold. and when an excuse, manufactured or otherwise, draws in more of the strong when they are looking for exercise. or gain.

here, so having proven oneself the wisest, direst of foes you would look for the payoff a beautiful bedfellow. it is erroneous whilst at war. the scarred, unglorious of your men may not like it.
but the service of women, who nurture dead men, and repair them that they may go back into the fray, where they belong; should be remembered. so long it makes them strong.
beauty is an old and wiley one and will not be drawn into battle easily, however, little of their encouragements have been known to go a long way.

She thought of the promissory notes that had been discarded for her amongst his papers when everything else of his tended so precise. She had taken to wearing some things - for him... for both of them. She could have sworn it made So's eyes water sometime but he'd look away at some triviality. He was thread bare. And then as she thought to herself of the power she held over So's emotions, she thought how she would meet him anew and how they would be great friends... and anything else... no deals. little did she know!
little did she know there was an open claw in her path. just about to close. just about to close in retribution for unprofessional errors, more a signature of confusion than a desire to do harm. hurt. but, never the less, the woman trap would close.
Friendship was now further away than she was experienced of knowing. (This is perhaps the greatest vanity of all. While condescending to someone; to enjoy the arrogance of ignoring how they actually feel. Never looking into the little emotional box we have consigned them, to see what is Really going on. All knowing of the reasons why they should love us and all ignorant of our self love and their independent importance in existence.) And maybe she could be grown up enough one day to really love someone. Maybe she had. Already. This is one thing which So never made clear. Perhaps he couldn't bear even in long distance hindsight, that there was someone she had loved. Loved. Loved, the powerful human concrete. Perhaps even one day she would, could love someone, displeasing as he looks, like Robert. Was Robert. She could now relieve him of his sex drive when it bothered him, easily enough. It helped that technically he Is good in bed but she found it very hard to let go and enjoy herself because she wasn't attracted to him in the same way he was her. Wordiness aside they went to an out of the way, out of the way pub. The loudly gabby, cocky pub owner took one look at the couple and almost broke up. B&B. I'm sure.
How funny, how funny, how boring, how witty, how predictable. Now give us our drinks and go fuck yourself. ASShole. Serving So he got a shock he looked into his eyes and received a chill for his audacity. He couldn't help himself. He wanted to see if he could detect, in this fiercely ugly man's face, the key to pulling such a stunner. All he got was a relaxed intensity of deathwish directed at himself. Hate. It wasn't a threat. Far from it. It was merely an admission, that the other would do him if the opportunity arose.
behind the bar you see all kinds. it is not over common however, to serve people who'd like to kill you for having a smart 'thought', when they're stone cold sober.
So had turned away and walked casually off when the barman returned with the change. It wasn't much. What to do with it though? Don't feel like keeping it. Maybe it was a tip. I Doubt THAT... the way he looked.. Leave it on the bar. He passed a half worried look in Sharon's direction. It bounced off her. Sharon could always use the battleship armour plating of her looks. So ambled back to the bar and picked up his change from the counter. "How stupid of me!" and SLAPPED! the heel of his hand Hard against his forehead. Not for an instant did he take his eyes from the bar keep. His eyes glistened, smiling with completely unveiled hostility his look said: Mind your own business or I'll be in behind that bar.. And he did. It was a murderous mood.
a murderous mood is like so.

So had to steady himself - he didn't want to ruffle the pigeon - could not let it know, that what was sitting beside her was, in fact, a hawk. A hungry, pissed off, hooked beak; knowing its talons desire to gnaw the seats. He'd caught her - worse luck, but now it was time for a little patience And restraint before instruction was to begin. Sharon noticed something but she put it down to her being worried about her own situation and what to do! She had seen or heard nothing to regard Robert as being a threat! to anyone - least of all her lauded self. And he hadn't been - he had just been unhappy. Unhappy at fate. His fate. His one definite shot at life. She had no ambition of possible significant change in mood for anyone else other than - me.
Myself, I. this is a significantly dangerous policy.
He was beaming and charming in his shy public way. And yet So looked thirstily at her gullet more than once - sidewards. however he didn't lick, lovingly his kanine teeth. that is something you do to show your raison d'etre to other blood suckers who flock around a kill who is innocent of you. it is something you do when the outcome is academic, full in the belly as you are.
She felt the little chill pass over a not too distant future horizon of hers. A small foot, pressing gently down on her grave. stilettos mincing, heels down, along your raw naked back.
She ignored the sensation. The Instinct. Foolishly. Ignorantly. Idiotically. 'do a runner quick - bitch!', shouts the drunk lout by the aisle.

I include only a tiny part of my peoples lives. The important. The dramatic if you like. Mostly. There are times when you should act, even though for the vast majority of your life it is not necessary. Especially when you are afraid. Fear is uncomfortable for a very good reason. There is only one thing stronger than it. But any fool would relinquish fucking on noticing the ball and chain from that crane

which is heading slowly, but inexorably for the boudoir window. But then few of us listen acutely enough to the backs of our brains. Because we think. He just wants me is all.
?
She thought not really convinced. ?. Run. Hard. Run far away. Break it off NOW! Run, run away. Hide. Little girl. He is a man and you are only a li'tle girl. He doesn't want you like other nice men and boys anymore - he wants to subjugate you to his will, take out his inevitable hurt out on you. The chances of you staying with him were always minuscule. Insignificant. Of you bearing his children and keeping his house, non-existent. He was always doomed to the pain of the absence of you - beautiful woman. Most prized commodity of all - flee. Him. He will only teach you the bad side of us. It will make you suspicious of us. And that is the greatest loss to us. We who never intended that the chickens should see the knife. We the hunters who should have kept all our trade secret - no talk of battle, no exposed tools of the trade.
You've heard it said: 'fear is the mind killer'. And it is. Fear is the enemy. Fear of doing. Fear of not doing. Fear of winning. Of losing. Of the dark. Fear of not shining in the sun. fear of so. and those who have been learned to be like him. Forced or otherwise. Jean to whom I believe I have introduced you volunteered. People do. By the 10s of 1,000,000s. Or are volunteered. Naively believing that, like a game, when it's not actually in play that it doesn't matter. Doesn't count. Is not relevant. - I'm a normal person when I'm not in uniform, without my baton, hand-cuffs, when my fists aren't clenched, when the boxing's over. But you're not. I'm not. It warped Jean - taught him things someone as physically impressive as him need never have known, and in practice could have learned to obviate or tried to. Perhaps one student in his seminar would have adopted Jean's disdain of violence, if he'd let that grow, and not thrown that punch that started that fight where the kid got stabbed and all the ladies got frightened. It is not always true- that you Have to do things to understand them. Come close. Maybe.

During the course of the ensuing conversation in the pub, So, amongst other things, spoke in glowing terms of his work mates, of the camaraderie, the jokes, the foolery, the chat and the crack. Peculiar. Not something he normally talked about? - Said he had enough of it at work and preferred not to be one dimensional and boorish about it afterwards. The IRONY was so thick and hard only an idiot or someone who desperately didn't want to hear could have missed it. He was giving her WAY OUT.
Sharon reminded him that he'd said he thought work and all its paraphernalia boring fodder for conversation but he brushed it away with a wave of his hand, saying that he didn't think it was such a good idea to introduce the aul' male bonding when you're just starting up with a girl.
Sharon smiled inwardly, wrongly (very wrongly) thinking how So couldn't have 'started up' with too many girls and therefore was in no position to comment on what was or wasn't a good idea to talk about. Again, the egocentricity prevented her from judging what was actually going on his mind. So pleased was she with her insight that she over looked the key clause of his sentence which was 'when you 'were' starting up with a girl.' Did she think that So had come to think that their relationship had graduated?
it is hard to say.
In a relationship when one partner feels so little for the other, by contrast; take it or leave it, they can lead and dominate by virtue of being so much less into the other. Less to lose I suppose. Considering her coolness and aloofness; setting aside her being mercenary, perhaps she thought So had come to believe that the length of time since their first encounter meant that things had changed. Graduated. This of course negated his essential pragmatism and almost ultimate lack of self deceit. What it was was a cue. He would give her many more. Many more opportunities to acknowledge what she had done to his reputation, his face, his life. If she would just admit it. Say she was sorry. And then agree to keep seeing him sometimes, he would wear his thickest skin and not run away but stay for her. The terror of popular opinion can be a heavy burden to bear. He would pare away his pride as much as he could stand - for her. You see So was as near as makes no difference in love with Sharon. She was aware of this fact - she thought it was funny. in a nervous, sorry sort of a way.
Ridiculous that he should have paid such a high price for her and imagined that there could be any such feeling on her part. He didn't. He couldn't help himself. He was a lonely man and he didn't want to be without her, no matter what the terms or how HE was degraded. "You know that friend of yours - what's his name John... came up to me and said how lucky you were to have a friend who bought you such nice things."
"Oh. That was nice of him to notice." Jesus. Did he really say that?? So Robert what does This mean? I will see whoever I want! Are you trying to ask me not to see him anymore? I won't do that for you. I absolutely will not do that for you or for anyone no matter.... Privately I am your sleeping partner sometimes. Otherwise we socialise. Date. Now this? What does it mean? What do you want? What do you want me to say? Do you want a capitulation from me? - Never. Do you want a renunciation from me of my right to be single? If I stopped openly seeing John would your next logical gift be an engagement ring? Jesus. That would be an awkward moment. I like you. I have learned. Isn't that enough?
Fuck you Robert you really piss me off when you will insist on sticking these pins into yourself!
"Good looking chap. Don't you think?"
WHat? I spose so. Yes." What is THis? Is this a late emerging masochism? Did he hurt you luv? I'm sorry, I cannot be around the whole time to protect your pride from slight. You wouldn't let me even if I was! In fact when things are wrong with you, and I try and smooth things over you invariably get worse. More infuriating anyway. You're so independent and erect - my little man. Why do you have to be like this? So cutting. You only hurt yourself. You know. It's not quite water off a duck's back for me but you make Yourself wince. Com'on tell Sharon - you can tell Sharon - she'll be sympathetic.
Ah fuck you anyway! i give up. All this bloody posturing! SPIT IT OUT!
`I s'pose so.' What sort of an answer is that? If a ride walked in here right now and you asked me if I thought she was good looking - I wouldn't say 'I s'pose so', now would l! - I'd say 'corr isn't she.' - or something like that. John is lucky. He is a Damn good looking fella. No doubt about it. 'I s'pose so' indeed! And a gentleman - he spoke so highly of you. And not a whit jealous that your good friend Robert can give you such pretty little trinkets." I guess his looks more than make up for him being not so skilled. I admire guys like him you know." So much so that I'm going to fuck him!, that is, after I've finished with you delicious. Just admit it. How you blabbed about our little arrangement. Couldn't be satisfied with the goodies, you had to have sympathy aswell - and from Him! That... that snivelling, back biting, ASSShole twerp! Didn't you realise that men who think they will never have to compromise themselves can be so mean and cruel? "SOH handsome and not a bit vain. If I'd been born with looks like his, I'd like to have behaved like him aswell."
"Robert I'm sure I don't quite know what it is" and I don't want to know either "that is up with you today but I wish you'd stop it." There is no need. For Cris'sakes don't you think I'm going to tell John to shut his big fuckin' trap at the first possible opportunity! God you're so infuriating sometimes. So many little intrigues and word games. Jesus, why did you isolate yourself so much before you met me? So that you cannot do Anything straight! SAY! anything straight. "Did you slip out of work early and start drinking or something." Offensive.

"However invaluable I may be, I cannot do that without asking for the sack. But that wasn't a question you were asking me - it's just one of those things you say to annoy me." Not that that matters now. YOU = the pair of you, have destroyed my life here. And one - just one tiny, almost admission on your part of the fact will save me from having to hurt you. Don't you understand, don't you see how your bluff corners me, forces me. You don't. You won't see. "Someone else could do my job. Maybe not as accurately or as quick but they could do it." (And will do it). "The rest of the work force would go nuts if I got away with that." I wonder will they be glad that they have driven me away from my little home, my few mates for over a pint and my bit of a job? Or will they simply not notice that I am not around anymore? Years of my fuckin' life! MY life. Not your precious life. My paltry, dirty little meaningless fuckin' life. And you had to... and he... and he... smilin'at me... think you've won - FUCKer. You'll see... I AM GONNA STUFF YOU PRICK! And bad luck to your mother. I could have smashed your disgustingly perfect teeth in on the spot but I can wait a few hours. My dentist has to hold a relief map in one hand when he's working on my mouth. After all I waited for a woman like her all my life! The next time she sees YOU - FUCKer, she's gonna wish you looked more like me. So. And bad luck to your mother. So loves Hemingway. The Way. A man's way. Do what he must, no matter.... kind o' stuff. .
"Sometimes I really do think you're nuts Robert. Of course I know you don't just take a half day off work to go boozin' and yet you go on with all this... this... stuff!" This is of course not the kind of nonsense you normally go on with though. ?. If you were a woman I'd say.... What is it? What is at the back of your mind? What IS behind all this? Tell me! Please. Pleease tell me. TELL ME! Trust me. Let me be your friend. I'm no good at being your woman. But I could be a good at being your friend. I don't want to hurt you. i won't hurt you. Relax that invulnerable wall of yours for just one minute and stop speaking in jig saws. You are hurting. I know.

What pains you so? i know you. you think I don't? tell me. please.
Oh you exhaust me!
What did he really say to you? Oh SHIT!..
"Don't call me nuts."
I went and said some stupid things to him. Has he hurt you my short gruesome man. Scrue him. Don't pay any attention. Ignore it. I didn't mean it. He just couldn't take me liking you in Any way. I'm sorry! I have to have someone else. I can't have just with you. You have always understood that. You understand. It isn't true. Whatever he said? Just remember to believe that it Isn't true! Everything will be fine in a day or two. You'll see. You must remember only to remember that I sit here now with you and only with you. He is not with my mind when I am with you. TELL ME!
"I'm sorry. It's just... you know... sometimes you hear things and you think it has affected you one way and then you start acting like they said something completely different!" Pause. "You know?" You know. Why won't you just come out and ADmit that you were bad mouthing me to your 'other' lover behind my back. But that is the whole point isn't it - I'm fuck all removed from being your pay master.
DO IT! Tell me! TELL ME! Break all protocol between us and be STRAight. Please Sharon. I never ever intended You any harm. It is not My fault that I am made this way and that I wanted you. That I wanted.... I just wanted you. I just had to have you in order to live. A beautiful alter ego. Another half to be around for a while. I needed... don't MAKE me show you how much you've... I've been... before... so much... my life... anymore. No more.
"No I don't." BAAD decision. "That is if I knew what the hell you were going on about Robert." Show me your cards and I'll show you mine!
Unfortunately Sharon was trapped by the many veils under which their relationship had gone. she danced the dance of the seven veils like no other, but all she knew was a vision of her own loveliness. not the ache of the men who watched her dance. Even allowed them touch, but she never really gave herself to them which would leave them still hungry, even after. ever after. that hunger that she left, made them learn to despair, even to hate and despise Her.
The path to a bald saving honesty was at least partially blocked by by the etiquette which prevented Certain things, which being said, would surely have smashed their brittle little tacit agreement. Problem was as stated, Sharon didn't care enough about Robert to shame herself by reporting her meanness upon herself. Didn't fully believe or understand her motivation for doing what she did. Finally also, So's last shred of dignity would NOT allow him to directly ask for an apology. NOT. NOT. NOT. NEVER. NOT. Not. never. no.. He cared for her too much then to have her on those terms.
Without knowing it, Sharon helped forge the insomniac freak lying under the bed of his companion in a hotel chosen for him, where he is banked: a narrow sliver being moved around the board for elephants to tread on. Before her, he didn't sleep much, but afterwards, the fact of his sleeplessness distressed him, and as for being freak well.... Without realising it fully the precision machine tool maker was allowing himself be made into a precision machine tool. It was So because he was believing that what he really wanted he would never receive gratuitously. What he received gratuitously was pain, hurt, slight, frustration and most deeply disappointment. So no one had anything to give him. Nothing that he wanted.
OUTCAST. Unclean. Lean. Sharps.
He will take... revenge - whatever. No one holds responsibility for him so.. His adopted name IS what he is. It is fair. It is accurate. It will suffice. It is not an arbitrary name tag but the meaning of a man's life. All those trillions of instants. All those billions of fully rounded thoughts, emotions, dreams, fears, regrets, instants. He feels ill used by the Gods and man and has become perfectly honed to have no respect for either. In fact - Pay Back! This is So's way and he will NEVER go back on it, recant, feel guilty, be merciful because it contains his last shred of strength he walked away from Sharon with. An ugly, slighted piece of STEEL. All the more dangerous because he can paralyse you with a look.

And So when he became Their confederate they gave him the call sign: EEL. A bite that is at once swift and inseparable. Silent, unemotional, ugly, mean, slippery, persistent, patient and, if you swim into its waters or it swims into yours - Night.
“It was nothing. Nothing at all. I guess I was just making up some bull shit to excuse me being weird. I'm s'rry Sha'; have another drink babe."
"Make mine a double!"
english measures are pifflingly small anyway.
Good, you're gonna need it. My sweet. THIS obligatory tab I don't mind picking up. "What are you trying to do get me drunk! Double doubles it is then.'

- I'm glad. We haven't gone on the rip together for ages." Who's fault is that. One last night together. I AM glad. Without your make up you look even more beautiful. What a mess. God what a pity. Fuck you. Liar. "We shall have the Bestest of times tonight. No problem!
Sharon?"
"Yes Robert?'
"How do I look to you?"
?...
Never the kind of thing you usually say?! But .... .. “You look fine Robert.

Just fine.”
"Thanks. It's nice of you to say so." Even though we both know it not to be true. That's what I hate - God if you'd even just said 'horrible', I think I could have forgiven you. Just one shred of honesty. Just one four square moment of decency. Within indecency.
"I sometimes wonder what it must be like - feel like to be as good looking as you or... John for that matter." But he may as well be scarred beyond recognition.. "I mean, like having people who admire you all the time - all over the place. To be able to have whoever you want - at the touch of a button... so to speak. To be a part of so many unknown fantasies?"
?
“It's not like that.” As well you know. I thought you were going to stop with this stuff. What is it Sweets? I don't need all this probing. I should go home before you make a scene but you seem upset or... or something? You are upset. I cannot be sure... what it is but I will know as soon as I speak to that fool John! You're not normally like this.
I'll stay but please stop it.
"What is it like then?" Tell me. Tell me why? Tell me of your arrogance. ..of your callousness. Tell me how you can be so unfeeling. I am a person too. I AM A FUCKIN' PERSON TOO! I AM a fuckin' person too you know.. Bitch. I wear two masks: this hideous thing that I could tear from my bones and gristle and the wet blanket I've worn over my emotions ever since I've known how, and you do not know HOW Much i feel. And i love you. There! Your ultimate victory. The ultimate tribute to woman. But you will never know and i will never tell you. Quite the contrary: you will have pain by my hand and you will taste of my hate because you have made me suffer like I was sure I never would again. I have suffered every single day since I laid eyes on you; that was not your fault but this thing that you have done.. It is beyond bearing. I cannot let this go without it's being self suicide. My suffering is done, now only the pain remains. The pain again. I lived with it for years and so I will again but no more will I be foolish and live in hopes. In dreams. Robert has died finally and from the ashes I will CRUSH....
"For a start" as you insist "you can never always have what you want. People - the world brings you up to think that the beautiful people are always happy - having fun - and with each other. Only problem is is that people are always lying to you. The working model is .002% of women. 'Don't you think you'd be a little more comfortable darling with a little less on.' They adopt a personality or behave in a way that they think will make you like them. Then they'll judge you so much more harshly when you're not around" or in their heads at least. when your exquisite shoulders have turned you mean.
It can be impossible to know where you really stand." Especially with men. "They try to manage you properly, like you were" some "a brittle thing", idiot child "or something. Other people behave much more realistically to each other."
"Don't stop." I've often used to dream of being other than I am - of being attractive even. Of being able to pick up a woman without thinking she has taken pity on me. Or is dead in the water herself. or i'm the last thing between her fall from grace and an overdose. This is as close as I'm ever going to get. Call it a parting gift. "No please.
Do go on."
"Well... like you see someone - or you know someone who you like, and they have this really false picture of you in their heads. And then when you try and explain who you actually, really are, on the inside, and you try and tell them what you - the real You need, there's consternation... Good God she couldn't... how could she?... she wouldn't....
!
Or like you know this nice fella and you become friends. But he's all the time trying to hide the fact that he's into you. He's sensitive. And then for no apparent reason he goes all sour on you. But it's really because he hasn't got the courage to ask you to be his lover - you know. He's so afraid of being rejected that he blows the Whole deal even though that isn't what he wants. And he blames you! Even comes to despise the ground you walk on, when he tried, secretly to worship it before. Or you find out second hand that someone who has made themself your friend has been angling all the time to get you into bed, or has even told people that he already has! Unless you have a steady boyfriend you can have a sex life that you are completely unaware of! Other women can be under the impression that you're a complete slag even though you've kept your own council for ages. And they fend you off with their cold shoulders and dry smiles. And you're really disappointed because you thought it was cool just to be the guy's friend and that he liked You, and didn't just want into your knickers like most of the rest of the blokes around. And it's crazy because it often would be cool if their jealous macho shithead mates didn't subtly (or UNsubtly) try and make them feel like they were less of a man if they didn't try and hop you. And there's those times when nice shy blokes make these horrible sloppy passes at you. And you have to be faintly amused and polite and Firm, when what you really want to do is SCReeeam. It's disgusting. But you are not allowed. Women aren't. We're supposed to be demure and patient and soft and dolly and forbearing. And this guy's got you up against the wall at some party and he's breathing practically bloody neat alcohol down the front of your blouse. And you can SMELL him. And he's, like sweating on you. And it's horrible. It really is obscene. And he's trying to manoeuvre his groin through you and the wall at your back and you're looking over his shoulder this way and that desperately trying to catch the eye of a friend - to come and rescue you. And you have these little hands and these weak arms out in front of you trying to fend the brute off your body. And some women and men look you right in the eye and they know EXACtly what's going on. And they look away. Think it's funny maybe." Spiteful. Good enough for ya! Jealous. "And maybe you do raise your voice or give him a shove and he looks so disdainfully at you. Shocked. Tight. - Bitch. Or ever so genially, a guy steals you away, and it's just beautiful because he has Respect for your feelings and he wants you too and he can't stand to see you manhandled and pressurised and freaked out in that way. He would, could never behave that way to you. He wants to bash the guys face in but he plays the fool because he knows that if he makes a scene you'll be blamed - for being a tease in the first place! And he makes little jokes and he won't hold eye contact with you but keeps looking down maybe dances with you for a while. And sometimes he dances well. And sometimes he has a nice physique. And you think - well.. His ambition for you which he is trying valiantly to hide is so palpable that you could touch it; take a hold of it and shake it. It's so damn sweet and charming and lovable that you'd lie down on the floor and do it with him right there and then because he is a good, decent man and he really likes You -you're not just a flashy sex object conquest thing. But he can't make a pass at you because that would be cheating betraying your confidence in him. He won't believe your little encouragements because 'She couldn't be into me. ?. I'm too... she wants... He's so busy telling himself why not, that he won't listen to how you're saying 'YES'. You don't make a
more direct advance because you've been trained to be taken, to surrender; not to initiate, to lead. And then it's gone. Your frustrated at him too for not being more of a 'MAN'. (Whatever that is when it's at home? I've never known. You’re all boys as far as I'm concerned!

I'm dying to be proved wrong!) And maybe at the end of the night he's had a few more himself and having gone away and thought about it alone, he's finally clicked some signal that you made two Hours earlier; so he makes this pleading, scared little pass. And it's awful because you're not in the mood for him anymore, so you pretend not to recognise it for what it is. You can see how disappointed he is. It took such bravery. Courage. Now HE thinks you're a tease. He'll slink away from you, flushed maybe, like a beaten dog and you can't help feeling sorry for him. That's the worst thing. Feeling sorry for them. Nice guys...'get washed away like the snow and the rain.' He won't like you so much anymore but his desire for you will probably have increased and it will have made him sharp and polite or fawning and sarcastic in the future. It can be absolutely horrible, confusing, unbearable but mostly just plain disappointing. That's why so many attractive women go with such thick skinned, self confident men. The way we're brought up, they're simply easier to deal with. You don't have to spend half your energy or half your time bolstering their ego because they're not quite ever sure that they deserve you or that you're into them. It can be so God awful boring."

FUCKIN'HELL! Jesus. I wasn't expecting THAT. From YOU. CHRIST! How do you feel about me? Unfortunately I can't ask you now without the possibility of scaring you off. Eventually she will sniff the rot. The disease in me. I have plans for you. My gorgeous mean darling. You have grown in my mind that what you did WAS vengeful and not merely accidental or sympathy seeking. I cannot know and I cannot believe that you'd answer truthfully if I asked straight out. Contradictly, the sympathy which you have made me feel for you in your beautiful dilemma has made me all the more determined to teach you the UGLY lesson. I don't know what your direct intention was, but I feel that you intended, in some small way at least, to wound me, because you obviously feel that you deserve so much better. So much better for why? So much better for what? So much better because of your birth right? So much better than what I can offer. Yet you take what I can give anyway and pretend to be 'Goldie Locks' and that it is all such a 'horrible, awful' burden to you.
or can you really hate me?
Like those OTHER men you talked about. Did you not realise, with all your painfully won insight into men 'boys'what HE is?! Jon. Were you blind to what an irresistible temptation it would be for him to stab me in the back. Drive the carve in from behind. How heinous an act was that? How much wracking of his pathetic little mind must he have put himself through to find out why you should share yourself with me and his sexiness. Ha! I'm glad for that. How much wracking of his conscience must he not have gone through before he blew the whistle on me? When it comes down to it are you as blind and naive as everyone else (probably purposely) and you didn't even realise that you were using him as an extension of your 'little hands and weak arms'. Or was it lack of mental resolve and pathetic weak arms? It couldn't have been little hands because yours are majestic and elegant - that right? Unfortunately for you, I refuse to slink away from you like 'a beaten dog'. animal. I will walk away. My head will be high and my back Straight, even though I must lose the two things I care about - my bit of job and you. Work and sex - Ha! Christ add T.v. and you got the mix that keeps the western world going. God I'm a cliche! What a time to come to this little discovery. ...my bit of a job and you. ..Christ you - I love you. loved you. No love. I will walk away. Which is not what you expect. You do not expect my dignity. So maybe that will teach you something. Maybe you will become a little less superior and a little more human. Also, it will make me a little less human which it seems is what 'I' need to be to survive. I must survive. I Will survive.
god help me.
and you I will divorce myself from the rights and freedoms of your world because to what I want I am polluted, so - I will make my own rules and just Take what I want. OR deface it. Do what I want. Do what I MUST. Do what i shall. (Jesus I don't believe that I'm going to do what I am.) Do you want to know why? Because I AM A MAN. Believe it or not. I am or am no longer one of your 'boys' because I have strength independent of the umbilical. Of your umbilical. I am not lucky. I have not been Blessed. But this thing I Know about myself and had you been blind in your eyes you might have known it too. But then again had I been blind I would not have tried to buy you. Rent you. Lease you. Why could I not have been able to ignore looks as i have my own? Almost. Well there you go. Q.e.d.. Could I not have found some dog with a nice body and in the dark.... And I would have been So good to her that she would have learned to love me. And feeling love is what she wants. Why did I have to have the instincts of the connoisseur? I am a connoisseur! Unfortunately. Everything could have been alright if.... So. As the Spanish say: 'Que va!': is life. - Hemmingway again. Life's weird! Is Hell. And as for him - the 'thick skinned, self confident' one.... I'm gonna give him THE fright of his Life. Que va for you too my ENEMY. MY ENEMY. ENEMY.. enem ene
akin to madness. of pain. corralled. already done.
proxy.
"Sharon?"
"Yes.
"The way you talk... wistful like... a bit disappointed or something... do you think you would have been happier growing up... if you'd been a little less attractive... had less attention directed towards you? If you'd been given a little more space to get on with being... becoming you?"
Sharon in her deepest, grossest ignorance of him, turned and fixed him with her glistening eyes and with a wry smile proved her Great unknowledge of him. Glittering orbs. Robert foolishly enough, wanted to hear her compare herself a small way back to how he'd grown and lived. But instead, fairly enough by her lights, she took it to be an opportunity to place the onus onto other people. It was a sad moment for So. The final punctuation.
but the engine can run on sadness a lot longer than it can on despair. this is the truth of the loner.
and love? love is a memory. to be cherished. (if known.)
but not over used.
He was used to it, but the sinking feeling came just the same: 'tis not as deep as a well nor as wide as a church door but 'twill do'. So doesn't remember whether it's the exact quotation but 'twill do. Mercutio - the wounded between Sharon and John's houses. Flailingly, he hoped she would see that a little less could have been a little more. But then, would he have admired her so deadly, hunted her, entrapped her, if she had been a little less? perhaps.
Faithfully though, a little more to offer on his side and a little less sexiness on hers
could they have been Lovers? Was that what, in the round about way he had to go; what he meant - what he wanted to say?
possibly. but that is another life.
She came back in answer to his question, unassailably in the knowledge of her undiscovered noble birth with: "If people were a little more generous," less unkind “more one faced," less two faced "more appreciative of my space and feelings" less ignoble "then there would be no need for me to be less ‘attractive’” strut my stuff and have the attention I wanted, from whoever I wanted it from "would there?"
Great. Just what I needed to hear! yeah just what i needed to hear. Why do I bother to try and tap the spring of humility in this woman? You're doing it because you are trying to build up your courage. Trying to concrete what you have planned, which you still find extreme, but which, no matter what anyone else will think, you believe to be fair. Know to be fair.
When has fair been the yard stick of this life? let her disgust and contempt of weakness be yours.
So. You will do what a man has gotta do. This man. It won't make you happy. But you are used to this. For when have you been? when have you been. In her smooth arms, sometime late at night maybe, when she had forgotten to go home. and lay slowly breathing in her sleep. And was innocent of you. But she knew it was good to have a man by her side. As she slept. And in her rest was free and secure once more. But that doesn't matter now. does it? gone.
And a slow song began in his head, I wish I could describe it to you, it had a beat but was faint and always began when he had something to do; it was; is the march of retribution, if you like. Evil things have been done while this song has played in men's heads. and it has played in many.

What is it they say in the qualities 'scarce commodities command a high price' cuts both ways! Literally. So: "People are very grasping. It can lead them to be unfeeling. I'm sure it is very annoying to be plagued by the unwanted" unsolicited "attentions of men. Especially on a... physical level. It's so unfair; being at such a disadvantage where defending yourself is concerned. I'm sure I couldn't understand... or appreciate what that's like... or how it must make you feel!" Oh yeah.
ham.
Slowly the innuendo dies down. Even So forgot it. never. Or contrived to forget it. Or nothing. The flotillas of drinks helped him to remember his higher purpose. Or to forget both and to drift in a regular type sodden evening. He got her drunk Hahaaa. aa. Long before the night was done, he suggested going back to the flat for a breather. Did she suspect something might be up? A little giftee perhaps. She readily agreed, for she was both tired and drunk. She had no energy to falsify a mood. It was misty, dense with pollutants outside. Unreal. The river spilling a cool most tangible froth.
As they opened the door - a queen with her king - or suitor, their barman who'd served them faithfully and latterly in silence, wished it was he helping on her coat going to some alien cot, dance hall, burger bar. In his middleagedness, his overweightedness, his employedness and his very marriedness to a woman he knew but long since had given up the pretence to himself that he loved; there was no escape, no release, no hope of it. This story could have been about him - his customers lives, pork pies, getting bets in before the runners are let go - on the basis of dubious tips and even more dubious analysis of form, football, slag off humour, sex once a week and.... But he didn't take long long walks, forgetting the time because he was lost in reverie, he didn't become madly embroiled in the classics, the romantics, he didn't slowly fish the canal in peace and admire the felicity of the swans but thought of how they ate. He hadn't framed a way to work with kids even though he had none and loved them once. Jean would have made him laugh, praised his lady wife's cuisine, made gestures, shared smut even made him shine and show his barman's stripes and deliver his observations of pub life man. So hated him now with his back - this barperson - a tree rooted so deep and charge of destinyless - never knowing the dash through the clearing or even, the clearing itself. The barman didn't hail them good bye, even though it came to him - he was the one after all, who'd felt the slight for another man who was in luck. No we will not stay with him. We will not stay with him because and you have heard it many times before:
The candle burns twice as bright,
Burns half as long.
or in so's case: at both ends.
Breath came in plumes although it seemed not that cold. Swathes of breath like horses. Anyway, So steered her through the streets and alleyways, past strangers - bulky ghosts, some people they vaguely may have known coming out to the pubs and going. Up through the doors into the bedroom. Did she expect slightly distasteful - sex? It was not the sex she found distasteful actually but the choice of partner. The sex itself was exciting - there were no bounds. Except some of the excite was separated from the ment. She had learned to enjoy it with Robert. Somehow. To her credit. Whatever she was expecting she wasn't expecting a teeth shuddering punch in the jaw. ddd. No she didn't. The floor jumped up to hit her ‘SMASH' on the other side of her head. It was not part of slapping her around, even of beating her up - he wanted to abjectify her. Face. It hurt - she was not used to this kind of pain. She whimpered like a virgin school girl who has turned on an older boy who's pressing hard for his go of sex. Did she think of rape? Not apparently. She did say "no" though. That's what you're told. It's not what she got. She lay on her side on the floor - bleeding. She gurgled and spat out the thick mix of saliva and blood which was filling her mouth and a tooth. It had been a vicious, unrestrained and undefended blow. No warning. So was strong. Fit. She didn't stare at him with her eyes or plead with them - she hit him with them. He was unabashed, and the side of his face started to curl up most pleasurably in a sneer. he could easily have beaten her to death at that point.
He didn't have to, because just then she was the powerless one. He fairly brutally tied her hands behind her back with the belt from his bath robe that was hanging ont door and gagged her with a dish towel. "Don't want you screaming your little head off and force me to murder you." Do we?
"You mean you're not." she mumbled.
"Depends. Depends on how I feel."
"What are you going to...."
She did squeak on being tied, like a shop mannequin might when it is moved from window to window. Did rape pass through his mind then. Not really. He thought he was in the wright and that such an action or actions could only demean him. His actions were designed to be purely explanatory. Robert as was, was going to cut her face. Perhaps then her power as a floating wreck would be diminished. Stripe. Other men might wonder why she had been slashed. But he couldn't. He loves things of beauty too much. He could not even carry out his revenge, come lesson. Even then he failed himself. his heart was broken as he went through with the alternate.
He loves pretty things like a child loves strange, new bright things and will turn them over in his hands for ages - staring at them in wonder. And really, as always he cursed and blamed his own ugliness. Himself. So. What to do next? He had to do something or she would have an even bigger laugh at him for being weak and not following through with his diabolic plan. whatever it was.
Kneeling down - his hands as clamps he caught the front of her shirt and in that vice, he tore the front right out. And the bra. The tearing of the tight crimped elastic was better than sex. Now. That did scare her somewhat more for some reason. Her breathing became very irregular when he produced the knife. Indeed. The precise beauty of the wicked wafer of K47 steel in his deft hand could only be rivalled by the sleek lines of her breasts on their curved cage. He thought it would be easy again - up to this part. He sat back on her abdomen and cleared his mind. Emptied his mind. Acres of work had trained that hand, that arm, that hand. Endless hours, fields of toil have turned a part of him into a mechanical man and now if he could only access it .. ... To carve. He concentrated and squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment and then he began to slice. Even still, he was glad of the warm steady pulse and rush of the alcohol. There was almost no need for sawing. Gentle pressure is all that was needed at first, but then more. Her body spasmed at its touch. She whimpered convulsively. He cut from the armpit deep into the flesh of her chest to the nipple and through it. The blood spilled in profuse chains of drops down the side of her body onto the carpeted floor. He thought of drinking it... of lapping it up like some kind of carnivore. of killing her.
She wouldn't bleed to death from the wound but it was a gouge. The tension of her skin pulling it wide. Perhaps some lover of hers would see it and think what a bitch she could be to a guy to make him do that. To deface such a beauti.... Despite So, the incision, so precisely made, would look to anyone like a surgical scar.
wasn't enough.
He didn't think he should do it, would do it. But then something new came to the surface. The only word for it is Aggression. Adrenal fed. The word doesn't sound as wanton, as savage as it was. He drew his arm back and slashed her face from the upper part of her cheek to the bone and to the point of the jaw at the chin. Blood lashed onto the floor and jumped onto his face and