purezero
03-05-2003, 01:47 AM
She was a strange one, with strange thoughts going through her mind. The one thing she wanted at the moment was to have someone come into her, feeling the hot liquid fill her. Allowing her to let out a breath, a gasp, exhale fully, then breathe in again. That moment of connection when he would finally collapse onto her, softly crushing her, and letting out the same breath as she.
There was so much that she wanted. Even crazy thoughts. I remember the time when she told me about how she had imagined someone controlling her, forcing her, and that was what she wanted. That if it were anyone, that they threatened her, she would go along with them willingly, taking it, and somehow find pleasure in it. She welcomed it. It frightened me that she would think of such things. I didn't know what to say to her. All I did was close the door behind me after I bid her a brief farewell.
She had not changed much from the day I met her. Well, I wouldn't know. We were babies, our families close friends. But she seemed so innocent. I remember when she held an injured kitten in her hands with tears in her bright blue eyes. And the smile on her face when the kind veterinarian told her that the kitten would be alright and that she was a good little girl to have saved it. Those were the days. I've known her for so long. But now, I don't feel like I know her at all. But I trust her, and I respect her. Hell, I love her. She's my best friend. Nothing would change that.
But then I moved to the other side of the country and we lost touch. It took years and years of searching until the day we found each other in a southern California deli. I was sipping on my mocha as she ordered the pita bread sandwich special. I don't know how, but our eyes met and that was that. She looked different, but it was good to see her again.
She was lonely. I could feel it. I never did understand why she threw herself to those guys. The ones that took from her giving nature. Like that one skinhead with the black leather jacket, steel-toed combat boots and the swastika tattooed into his chest, right above his heart. He did it himself, he told me one day as he took a long drag out from his cigarette. I don't know what she saw in him. But she gave him everything. She died her hair a bright violet and wore layers and layers of black eyeliner. She looked like she was wasting away, but I couldn't tell her that. I told her she looked very Cleopatra. She smiled a sad smile and took his hand.
I told her to leave him the day I found bruises on her legs. The dark black and purple flower blossomed underneath her porcelain skin. I packed some food, then her bags and mine. I grabbed all the money I could find, money that I had saved for years, then grasped her hand and dragged her to my old, beat up red VW Beetle convertible. We drove off as the dew started to form on the sharp green blades of grass. She gazed out of the passenger side window with a glazed look in her eyes as the houses and the brick walls turned into lush, rolling hills turning into cacti and sand.
I took her to a cove I had discovered one summer while she was off with her family in Hawaii. I found a cave that was perfect, so perfect that you could live in it. I wanted to show it to her. It was beautiful. I loved the ocean. The water was clear, blue and green. It was healing to be there. I hoped that it healed her to be there. We washed that damn make-up from her face while we swam in the cool blue water with the sun toasting our skin. When we got out, I was caramel-colored and she was like a blanched almond. Either way, it was good to see some color in her skin.
As the sun began to set, we ate our avocado and sun-ripened tomato sandwiches. We both lay back on a sun-baked boulder, one large enough for the both of us, and sighed contently as the nourishment satisfied our hunger. She took my hand and spelled out the words "thank you" on my palm.
She was more open with me, telling me about the things her uncle used to do to her after her mom and dad tucked her in at night. I couldn't have loved her more than at that moment. Finally, all the roadblocks were broken and we could fully understand each other. I told her about my parents, and how my dad died in a car crash because of a drunk driver. Hit and run. They never did find that bastard. And how my mom committed suicide only two days after the funeral. She couldn't take it that he wasn't there with her anymore, so she went to him.
After that day on the boulder, I saw her smile more like she used to. Her blonde hair was back, bleached a pale yellow by the sun. The sun freckled the bridge of her nose. My black hair had turned a warm milk chocolate brown. Even with these differences, we looked more and more a like each day. Like sisters. We cried together. And then we laughed together.
There was so much that she wanted. Even crazy thoughts. I remember the time when she told me about how she had imagined someone controlling her, forcing her, and that was what she wanted. That if it were anyone, that they threatened her, she would go along with them willingly, taking it, and somehow find pleasure in it. She welcomed it. It frightened me that she would think of such things. I didn't know what to say to her. All I did was close the door behind me after I bid her a brief farewell.
She had not changed much from the day I met her. Well, I wouldn't know. We were babies, our families close friends. But she seemed so innocent. I remember when she held an injured kitten in her hands with tears in her bright blue eyes. And the smile on her face when the kind veterinarian told her that the kitten would be alright and that she was a good little girl to have saved it. Those were the days. I've known her for so long. But now, I don't feel like I know her at all. But I trust her, and I respect her. Hell, I love her. She's my best friend. Nothing would change that.
But then I moved to the other side of the country and we lost touch. It took years and years of searching until the day we found each other in a southern California deli. I was sipping on my mocha as she ordered the pita bread sandwich special. I don't know how, but our eyes met and that was that. She looked different, but it was good to see her again.
She was lonely. I could feel it. I never did understand why she threw herself to those guys. The ones that took from her giving nature. Like that one skinhead with the black leather jacket, steel-toed combat boots and the swastika tattooed into his chest, right above his heart. He did it himself, he told me one day as he took a long drag out from his cigarette. I don't know what she saw in him. But she gave him everything. She died her hair a bright violet and wore layers and layers of black eyeliner. She looked like she was wasting away, but I couldn't tell her that. I told her she looked very Cleopatra. She smiled a sad smile and took his hand.
I told her to leave him the day I found bruises on her legs. The dark black and purple flower blossomed underneath her porcelain skin. I packed some food, then her bags and mine. I grabbed all the money I could find, money that I had saved for years, then grasped her hand and dragged her to my old, beat up red VW Beetle convertible. We drove off as the dew started to form on the sharp green blades of grass. She gazed out of the passenger side window with a glazed look in her eyes as the houses and the brick walls turned into lush, rolling hills turning into cacti and sand.
I took her to a cove I had discovered one summer while she was off with her family in Hawaii. I found a cave that was perfect, so perfect that you could live in it. I wanted to show it to her. It was beautiful. I loved the ocean. The water was clear, blue and green. It was healing to be there. I hoped that it healed her to be there. We washed that damn make-up from her face while we swam in the cool blue water with the sun toasting our skin. When we got out, I was caramel-colored and she was like a blanched almond. Either way, it was good to see some color in her skin.
As the sun began to set, we ate our avocado and sun-ripened tomato sandwiches. We both lay back on a sun-baked boulder, one large enough for the both of us, and sighed contently as the nourishment satisfied our hunger. She took my hand and spelled out the words "thank you" on my palm.
She was more open with me, telling me about the things her uncle used to do to her after her mom and dad tucked her in at night. I couldn't have loved her more than at that moment. Finally, all the roadblocks were broken and we could fully understand each other. I told her about my parents, and how my dad died in a car crash because of a drunk driver. Hit and run. They never did find that bastard. And how my mom committed suicide only two days after the funeral. She couldn't take it that he wasn't there with her anymore, so she went to him.
After that day on the boulder, I saw her smile more like she used to. Her blonde hair was back, bleached a pale yellow by the sun. The sun freckled the bridge of her nose. My black hair had turned a warm milk chocolate brown. Even with these differences, we looked more and more a like each day. Like sisters. We cried together. And then we laughed together.