here.”
I tentatively looked around the open door and saw the massive old iron framed bed. It looked like something out of an old prison movie. At first I just saw the woman’s foot, lashed to the one of the poles. Blood had crusted around the chain restraints and her feet were dark, nearly purple with the lack of blood flow. I knew, right then, that I was too close to her. At any moment the Preacher’s Plague that coursed through my veins was going to light up. My skin would begin to blister and burn. My throat would swell, choking off oxygen to my lungs. My organs would heat steadily, boiling my guts from the inside out until that final moment when my abdomen popped open like a ripe sausage on a hot grill. I was prepared for that, so curious was I to see the woman. But none of that happened, not at all. I didn’t realize it, though, as I made it further into the room and saw her naked body.
She was secured at the hands and feet to the bed with long, rusty chains. The fasteners were too tight and had dug into her skin. Her body was rail thin and emaciated. Her skin was covered in bruises and she had multiple scabby wounds. She shifted and I got a better view of her small breasts and, despite the woman’s obvious torment, they produced a thrill in me. It was a thrill that powered over every fear and ounce of common sense that had kept me alive over the years since the Preacher’s Plague had rushed into our world. I crept in too far, though, and she saw me.
“Who are you?” she asked, leaning over the bed and staring into my eyes. Her face was dark and bruised, her blonde hair matted with sweat and grime. I wondered how long she’d been in the bed. I had no idea how to answer her. It was as if my mouth had quit working.
“You’re not him. You’re not that guy. Who are you?”
The woman did an admirable job of pushing back the tears. She stared at me fiercely.
Suddenly I wanted to run from the room, take the stairs leading down into the lobby five at a time, grab my suit and flee. There wasn’t any treasure in the world worth being this close to another human. But I wasn’t dying. My skin wasn’t even burning. There was something about her.
“Can you help me? Can you let me go?”
I backed out of the room slowly, afraid.
“No, please don’t go. I won’t hurt you. You won’t get sick around me. I’m a Toucher.”
It hit me suddenly. I got it. She was a Toucher. She had to be. I hadn’t ever believed in the Touchers before. I thought they were a myth to keep people coming to Club Flesh. But the woman tied to the bed in the other room was simple, undeniable proof. She didn’t carry the Preacher’s Plague. Proximity to her would not kill me. I peeked around the corner and watched the desperation in her eyes.
“Please help me get out of here. I’m begging you. I’ll… I’ll do anything for you. Anything you want.”
She wasn’t attractive, not in the emaciated and beaten condition she was in. Not like the girls in the stacks of porn movies I had back home. But she was real… flesh… that fantasy of having a real flesh and blood girl beneath me… it was almost too much to stand. She wanted me to help her and would let me do anything. I didn’t know what to do.
“I promise I won’t hurt you. And I won’t tell them. I’m not going back there anyway.
There? What was she talking about? Where was there? I couldn’t find my voice to ask her. I couldn’t find my balls to say anything to her.
“Please,” she begged again, the tears beginning to flow. “I will do anything if you get me out of there.”
Suddenly I heard the slow grinding of electric motors and the movement of an elevator in the shaft just outside the still open front door. I panicked, knowing exactly what the sound meant, and stood. The scavenger whose home I’d invaded was coming back. The guy who kept that woman tied to a bed, no doubt brutalizing her, was here.
“Hurry. He’s
I tentatively looked around the open door and saw the massive old iron framed bed. It looked like something out of an old prison movie. At first I just saw the woman’s foot, lashed to the one of the poles. Blood had crusted around the chain restraints and her feet were dark, nearly purple with the lack of blood flow. I knew, right then, that I was too close to her. At any moment the Preacher’s Plague that coursed through my veins was going to light up. My skin would begin to blister and burn. My throat would swell, choking off oxygen to my lungs. My organs would heat steadily, boiling my guts from the inside out until that final moment when my abdomen popped open like a ripe sausage on a hot grill. I was prepared for that, so curious was I to see the woman. But none of that happened, not at all. I didn’t realize it, though, as I made it further into the room and saw her naked body.
She was secured at the hands and feet to the bed with long, rusty chains. The fasteners were too tight and had dug into her skin. Her body was rail thin and emaciated. Her skin was covered in bruises and she had multiple scabby wounds. She shifted and I got a better view of her small breasts and, despite the woman’s obvious torment, they produced a thrill in me. It was a thrill that powered over every fear and ounce of common sense that had kept me alive over the years since the Preacher’s Plague had rushed into our world. I crept in too far, though, and she saw me.
“Who are you?” she asked, leaning over the bed and staring into my eyes. Her face was dark and bruised, her blonde hair matted with sweat and grime. I wondered how long she’d been in the bed. I had no idea how to answer her. It was as if my mouth had quit working.
“You’re not him. You’re not that guy. Who are you?”
The woman did an admirable job of pushing back the tears. She stared at me fiercely.
Suddenly I wanted to run from the room, take the stairs leading down into the lobby five at a time, grab my suit and flee. There wasn’t any treasure in the world worth being this close to another human. But I wasn’t dying. My skin wasn’t even burning. There was something about her.
“Can you help me? Can you let me go?”
I backed out of the room slowly, afraid.
“No, please don’t go. I won’t hurt you. You won’t get sick around me. I’m a Toucher.”
It hit me suddenly. I got it. She was a Toucher. She had to be. I hadn’t ever believed in the Touchers before. I thought they were a myth to keep people coming to Club Flesh. But the woman tied to the bed in the other room was simple, undeniable proof. She didn’t carry the Preacher’s Plague. Proximity to her would not kill me. I peeked around the corner and watched the desperation in her eyes.
“Please help me get out of here. I’m begging you. I’ll… I’ll do anything for you. Anything you want.”
She wasn’t attractive, not in the emaciated and beaten condition she was in. Not like the girls in the stacks of porn movies I had back home. But she was real… flesh… that fantasy of having a real flesh and blood girl beneath me… it was almost too much to stand. She wanted me to help her and would let me do anything. I didn’t know what to do.
“I promise I won’t hurt you. And I won’t tell them. I’m not going back there anyway.
There? What was she talking about? Where was there? I couldn’t find my voice to ask her. I couldn’t find my balls to say anything to her.
“Please,” she begged again, the tears beginning to flow. “I will do anything if you get me out of there.”
Suddenly I heard the slow grinding of electric motors and the movement of an elevator in the shaft just outside the still open front door. I panicked, knowing exactly what the sound meant, and stood. The scavenger whose home I’d invaded was coming back. The guy who kept that woman tied to a bed, no doubt brutalizing her, was here.
“Hurry. He’s
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