The New Flesh

Crawling along my skin. Hands like whispers, dancing their way up my body. Their pads lightly brush their way like small spiders on a web. They caress in areas that not even I dare to touch, neither for necessity nor pleasure.

I want to scream. Opened mouth formed into an oblong O. Nothing comes out. Nothing is heard. Not even in my mind's ears.

Then their weight is upon me, pushing inwards. Probing. Jabbing. Penetrating the soft flesh between my thighs.

Labored breathing. Breath of beer or bourbon. The stench of old lovers still on their mouths. Each hurried kiss leads to another and another. None of which I want. The sweat of a thousand bodies covers me. Like poison.

They stiffen. Groan. Growl. Release. The heat fills me and then they are gone. The wisping hands. The vile breath. The weight of their bodies. The heat of the semen. All gone in an instant.

Roll over. Stand. Cum drips down my thighs. In the bathroom and in front of the mirror. The reflection laughs at me. The heat of the shower takes part of them away. The reflection. The reflection—she stays. And she laughs. Always laughs.

On the lamp stand sits the money. They pay well. Rent for a month. Food in my mouth. Clothes on my back. All a means to an end.

A knock on the door. I frown. Deep sigh.

I hurt down there. I always will. Somehow, I always have.

Crawling along my skin. Hands like whispers, dancing their way up my body. It's all the same. A lay. A buck. A suck. A buck. No love. No feelings. I often think it's a nightmare. My nightmare.

He crawls on top. Pushes in deep. It will be over in a minute. But as I bare his weight, I hear it. The reflection. My reflection laughing. Always laughing.

"Always Laughing"
Copyright: © 2010 AJ Brown
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AJ Brown is a southern born writer with constant headaches and a limp acquired from the beatings his muse gives him. Currently, he is sporting a broken nose, inflicted by one of her minions. As of the writing of this bio, she stands over him, whip in hand. He must get back to writing....