I skim down dark passages where red light flows over seething masses of sweating, naked bodies.
As they fold over each other in the amber heat, the darkness renders them featureless – no clue to identity, gender, race or age. They are mere bodies in absolute submission to the pleasures churning out of their loins; no voices but the urgent, heavy breath that warms the air around me.
Onwards I stumble into the darkness, the same hunger rising up in me as moist hands grope at my chest, my navel, my body.
I try to pull free, aware that my breath is now louder than my conscience. The hunger is more than the fear. I stop…
More hands pull at me, drag me down onto my knees. Warm bodies press against mine, make their needs known. Hot breath rushes in my ears, over my neck and down towards my pierced nipples. My own breath catches, holds and issues in a sharp, tight cry of pain and pleasure absolute – but our pleasure bares no face.
Finally I give in. Submission. I surrender my body – my hot and turgid corpse – to the desire of a hundred hungry men.
Here we lie, writhing in the most intimate of intimates, yet we know nothing about each other. Nothing. I do not know the man wrapped around me yet there can be no more intimate knowledge than our knowing of each other – of each other’s bodies – in this moment…
This is my last clear thought – just one of those paradoxical observations – as I cease to be human, and the animal inside screams wildly in my chest.
© Dave Luis 2016. All Rights Reserved.
‘Just One Of Those Paradoxical Observations’ is the final creative writing exercise in tandem blogging with 6 other writers. Pop a comment down below and then read Read Trevor Black’s version here.