In Laymon's Terms

I hadn’t seen Jill since college and boy had she looked good. I mean I wasn’t planning to get laid. In fact, since we parted company on less than good terms, I was surprised that she even contacted me. She said she was just passing through town and wanted to see me. Talk about the old days. Instead, we relived the old days.

“Who the hell was that,” Jill inquired in a pissed-off tone. “Your wife?”

“You better leave,” I firmly retorted.

“Aren’t you gonna finish what you started?”

I was despondent. Lost in thought, I didn’t respond.

Gone was the girl who I had planned to marry. She was spunky, full of life, and we had already been through hell together. I met her last year at the library, falling instantly into love. It sounds corny, but I knew immediately that she was the girl for me. There was some out-of-control chemistry that took place. I knew if I took things slow, really nurtured our relationship with understanding and patience, our future together would become real.

While I had to initially take a backseat to her pastime of life endangerment, it was a small price to pay. I met her at a very strange time in her life. I had to compete with another (for lack of a better term) man who was toying with her sense of adventure and her desire for wealth. And, when the games were over, we both won. We both had each other.

But, our relationship had a price. The experiences we shared last year changed us tremendously and in unsettling ways. While our romance had started slow, our relationship accelerated as we became quite accustomed to the nuances of each other’s desires. We had faced death head-on and connected on an almost surreal level. The longing was never satisfied, intensified by lustful desire and total acceptance.

And that opened doors for great sex. Nothing was taboo. We lived to please the other, which meant we got extremely kinky.

It started about a week after the games had ended. We broke into the town funeral home, Flanner’s Mortuary, so that we could screw on an embalming table and in a coffin. It sounded like a hoot to both of us. Once there, we were out-of-control, totally possessed.

It was her idea to drink each other’s blood. We cut and licked each other’s salty red gushes. We did this in ritual fashion believing it brought us even closer together, cutting and feeding in the thrill of foreplay. As time progressed, we increased our intake of crimson fluid, from licking to sucking, to major consumption. We would return to the funeral home often.

It didn’t stop there. On special occasions, we would cut small pieces of flesh from our butts and thighs and feed each other. We would dance naked and engage in mutual masturbation in front of an audience of corpses. We would use the embalming equipment, including the suction devices, to pleasure ourselves. It was erotic freedom. It was spiritual and fulfilling and wild.

We would also play at strangling each other. You know, as lovers, what better way to express total trust than to hand your life over to your partner. We would do other things too. No request by the other went unanswered: bondage, sex in public places, inserting a variety of obscure items into various orifices. We frequently took various illegal drugs and herbal alternatives to enhance our perceptions and sensitivities. We even initiated ceremonial magic as we researched the occult together, trying to understand the changes occurring in us.

You get the idea. I don’t know why, or how, we were coming up with some of these twisted ideas, but everything we did seemed right, although occasionally life threatening, and only upon reflection, maybe a little bizarre.

This was all a bit strange because neither one of us were perverted or hedonistic, let alone cannibalistic, prior to the events of last year. Like I said, we had been changed. Because we came so close to death, we were compelled to experience and maximize life. We would not deny ourselves on our road to discovery. We were literally, and figuratively, feeding off our combined erotic energies.

It wasn’t just the sex. It was the way we interacted (or didn’t interact) with the world. We lived only for our time together, a celebration of long walks, talks about nothing, and just being friends. Thinking back, the last several months were spent almost exclusively together. We were jealous of anything or anyone that got in our way. No prolonged contact with family or friends, just each other. I wanted (I mean want) to spend my life with this woman. I really fucked up and I am sorry.

“Fine,” she fumed past me. “Next time I’m in town, I stay at the motel and use my pocket rocket.”

I watched her huff past me. She waved her middle finger and uttered a few additional obscenities before driving away.