Nothing to see but lightning flashing right around us.
“Hold on!” he shouted in my ear. Maybe he whispered and it only sounded like a shout to my instantly raw nerves. The words evaporated into a whirlwind. On either side of me his arms felt like muscle-roped iron, the only things holding me to this ground, this reality. This earth.
I grew clammy all over remembering my alien abduction dreams. This felt like the same endless, unanchored moment. I could feel my knuckles threatening to pop through my skin and my fingernails cutting into my palms, but I couldn’t release the rods of acid fire between my hands.
And then a deep interior rush of indescribable pleasure swooped between my legs and up my center to some sweet spot that melded the physical and mental. The sensation swept mind and senses away into a secret sensual place that wasn’t anywhere I recognized, not in my wildest dreams. Yet I was there. Light teased the darkness, flashing like a strobe on bare limbs. Male. Female. Albino snakes entwining in a black pit. It took me a moment to see four legs, four arms making the beast with two backs. Two sexes.
If these were ghosts, they were carnal ones. Sighs, guttural cries, fevered panting, moans, expressing either pleasure or pain, or both, entwined in some deadly dance of desire.
For I also heard grunts, screams, felt the thud of club on bone, the impact of hot metal on muscle and tissue. The albino snakes in my mind, at my fingertips, were now running red with blood. I was watching a savagely cut film, splicing love with death, desire with destruction. If this was death I witnessed, it was the death of a thousand blows and caresses and cuts and kisses.
Too much. More than I could withstand, a theme park ride into a horror movie. I wanted off. Out. Away. Out of the dream, the nightmare. I screamed into the violent darkness . . . and woke up silent, my head thrust back to howl but no sound coming out.
Ahead of me the setting sun was gilding the trees and the lake water. Ducks and geese and one toy sailboat skimmed the glassy surface, creating sandlike ripples. The Easter Island head shone like solid gold in front of its guardian palm fronds. Sunny afternoon had become twilight.
Was I alarmed, like I should have been? No. I lingered in a languid dreamy state, as if drugged. The afterglow of the light saber of sensation that had pierced my core reminded me of a divining rod finding and reaching its central element, the spot where earth met underworld, search met find, my spot, the mythical G-spot maybe.
The violence I’d glimpsed faded under that sense of fruition, of having finally made it to something untouched within myself.
Then I remembered that self, the one who wanted into Hector Nightwine’s establishment so badly. The one who was now wrapped in a stranger’s arms, my head leaning into his shoulder and chin, my body leaning back against something else. . . .
I spun around, away, so that we were facing each other.
The dowser was looking as dazed and embarrassed as I felt, thank God. His rich cocoa-colored skin had an ashy undertone. Tiny beads of sweat swept across his forehead, catching the twilight like a diadem.
He looked . . . dazzling. Like a fairyland lord come to take me away. From the electricity I’d felt between us, I was ready to go anywhere.
Girl, get over it! urged my inner best friend, Irma. She often came to me after nightmares. Sometimes she was an eighties housewife humorist like Erma Bombeck, but today she was a pert Shirley MacLaine French tart from a sixties film, Irma la Douce. Cable TV kept all the oldies but goodies alive.
He’s a park pick-up. Cute, but what’s with the magic water wand bit?Some sort of scam. Some pick-up shtick. Get your shit together.
Irma was trying to shake me out of this bizarre state I was in. I felt like I’d been struck dumb by a lightning bolt of sex and death. And I felt another new overwhelming feeling. Satisfaction. Wow, this was
“Hold on!” he shouted in my ear. Maybe he whispered and it only sounded like a shout to my instantly raw nerves. The words evaporated into a whirlwind. On either side of me his arms felt like muscle-roped iron, the only things holding me to this ground, this reality. This earth.
I grew clammy all over remembering my alien abduction dreams. This felt like the same endless, unanchored moment. I could feel my knuckles threatening to pop through my skin and my fingernails cutting into my palms, but I couldn’t release the rods of acid fire between my hands.
And then a deep interior rush of indescribable pleasure swooped between my legs and up my center to some sweet spot that melded the physical and mental. The sensation swept mind and senses away into a secret sensual place that wasn’t anywhere I recognized, not in my wildest dreams. Yet I was there. Light teased the darkness, flashing like a strobe on bare limbs. Male. Female. Albino snakes entwining in a black pit. It took me a moment to see four legs, four arms making the beast with two backs. Two sexes.
If these were ghosts, they were carnal ones. Sighs, guttural cries, fevered panting, moans, expressing either pleasure or pain, or both, entwined in some deadly dance of desire.
For I also heard grunts, screams, felt the thud of club on bone, the impact of hot metal on muscle and tissue. The albino snakes in my mind, at my fingertips, were now running red with blood. I was watching a savagely cut film, splicing love with death, desire with destruction. If this was death I witnessed, it was the death of a thousand blows and caresses and cuts and kisses.
Too much. More than I could withstand, a theme park ride into a horror movie. I wanted off. Out. Away. Out of the dream, the nightmare. I screamed into the violent darkness . . . and woke up silent, my head thrust back to howl but no sound coming out.
Ahead of me the setting sun was gilding the trees and the lake water. Ducks and geese and one toy sailboat skimmed the glassy surface, creating sandlike ripples. The Easter Island head shone like solid gold in front of its guardian palm fronds. Sunny afternoon had become twilight.
Was I alarmed, like I should have been? No. I lingered in a languid dreamy state, as if drugged. The afterglow of the light saber of sensation that had pierced my core reminded me of a divining rod finding and reaching its central element, the spot where earth met underworld, search met find, my spot, the mythical G-spot maybe.
The violence I’d glimpsed faded under that sense of fruition, of having finally made it to something untouched within myself.
Then I remembered that self, the one who wanted into Hector Nightwine’s establishment so badly. The one who was now wrapped in a stranger’s arms, my head leaning into his shoulder and chin, my body leaning back against something else. . . .
I spun around, away, so that we were facing each other.
The dowser was looking as dazed and embarrassed as I felt, thank God. His rich cocoa-colored skin had an ashy undertone. Tiny beads of sweat swept across his forehead, catching the twilight like a diadem.
He looked . . . dazzling. Like a fairyland lord come to take me away. From the electricity I’d felt between us, I was ready to go anywhere.
Girl, get over it! urged my inner best friend, Irma. She often came to me after nightmares. Sometimes she was an eighties housewife humorist like Erma Bombeck, but today she was a pert Shirley MacLaine French tart from a sixties film, Irma la Douce. Cable TV kept all the oldies but goodies alive.
He’s a park pick-up. Cute, but what’s with the magic water wand bit?Some sort of scam. Some pick-up shtick. Get your shit together.
Irma was trying to shake me out of this bizarre state I was in. I felt like I’d been struck dumb by a lightning bolt of sex and death. And I felt another new overwhelming feeling. Satisfaction. Wow, this was
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