Trinity Ch. 04

I got the first round of drinks. I had to kick off with the million-dollar question.

"Look, do you love Paul?"

"Yes." Very flat and steady.

Funnily enough, I was cool with that. It would've somehow been worse if Paul had just been another pubic scalp for her collection.

What about him?" I asked. "How does he feel?"

"I dunno."

Yeah, it was difficult. But if you were expecting a catfight, sorry. As we started knocking it back we somehow decided to forget about the complicated stuff for now and try to get to know each other a bit first. She'd got rid of Paul by telling him she'd gone to visit her parents that evening - hence the solitary bike-ride. Nice bit of conspiracy, I thought. Before long, we were laughing and giggling all over the place. I spilled a lot more beans than I'd wanted to. She went totally fucking hysterical when I told her about the crimson room thing. We shared a grotesque sense of humor about sex. She told me some of her stories. She was a wild one all right, and yep, she'd collected an impressive number of pubic scalps for her young age - from both sexes.

She also burst out laughing when I told her I thought of her as the 'witch-bitch'. But nope, she said, she wasn't seriously into any this witchy stuff - and certainly nothing 'satanic'. All those heavily into it were just sexually repressed, suffering from a post-Christian hangover. They'd all be much better off chucking it and getting down to the real thing. This 'dark angel' stuff was useful because it turned some guys on, that's all - especially the repressed ones - the ones with problems. It was just part of the seduction game. Right on babe, I thought sadly, right on.

Despite everything though, I was really beginning to like her. The witch-bitch was turning me on.

"So you see? All this witchy mumbo-jumbo is just a cover. We'd all be much better off just getting laid." She burst out laughing again. Then boy! did she get going - but low-voiced, pacing her words.

"Look, all our fucking so-called civilization - art, science, literature, music and so on, all that crap, it's all a symbolic web surrounding the great mystery of sex and death. None of it's any use if it doesn't enhance our love for each other - and I mean real, deep, burning, erotic love. Education should begin with sex education - and I don't mean that fucking pathetic birds, bees and condoms stuff either. It should be how to exploit and develop that terrific power each and every one of us have our bodies - how to give and receive orgasms, how to transport each other into joy and ecstasy beyond the confines of ourselves. Nothing matters except the smell and feel of our naked bodies clasping each other, the look in each other's eyes as we come into each other."

She was off on a roll now, real excited, and fixing me with those dark, liquid eyes. I was hypnotized. I sipped away steadily, just listening

"All art, literature, music and so on should be about the mystery of our bodies, on the mystery of our bonds with nature. All nature exists purely to enhance our sexuality. The trees, the clouds, the sky, water, sunsets - all of these are a thousand times more beautiful when we walk naked among them, when our bare feet grasp the cool moist earth, when our bare skin drinks in the wind, the sun, the moon and the caress of leaves, when, sun, moon and starlight are reflected in our eyes. And believe me, they only exist to be reflected in our eyes."

Christ! Where'd she get this crap from? Oh yeah, of course, should've guessed. Her hand was on mine now. She was squeezing it gently, her eyes steady, working on me. She was breathing on me, her voice low and intense. She hitting on me by any chance?

"Our heartbeat is the heartbeat of the Earth, but the pulsing rhythms of our world only exist to echo the pulse of our great collective orgasm. All these wars, violence, crime, killing each other and all that shit - all this fucking stupid struggle to make more money - none of this would happen if we just got our brains fucked out more often. And we should fuck as often, and as skillfully as we can - both sexes, all combinations, two three, four or general orgies. And if we get too old - well then, that's the time we should sit back and enjoy watching the young ones at it. Believe me - it's all we've got. There's nothing else that's real."

Vive la fierté de la chair! I thought again. So why didn't the four of us just fuck each other's brains out last time she'd come round? Never mind. But yep, she was hitting on me now all right. OK, I'll bite.

"So you see, I do the occult, the 'witchy stuff', not because it's got any reality outside of my body. It's sexy, that's all. I use it especially on the repressed ones - the ones with problems, the ones that need my body to blow their fucking minds, to blow them out of themselves, out of their prison. I use it to clean the shit out of them, to empty them - then to fill them with me. I see myself as a High Priestess of Sex."

I wanted to giggle but then I remembered that this fucking 'high-priestess-of-sex' was filling Paul all right. His cock might rammed up to the hilt in her cunt, but it was her dark, fucking poisonous juices flowing inside him that were really doing us in. She wasn't finished yet.

"Believe me, one day there'll be no more fucking cities, no more fucking machines, no countries, no states - just us, just really hot kids like you and me, and the lucky guys we prey on. All 'art' will be the colors and curves of our succulent, powerful, delicious bodies. The 'occult' will become real."

She was running her fingers delicately across the back of my hand. I caught a pungent whiff of female pheromones mixed with incense. I was breathless. Christ! was she turning me on though, despite myself. Crap - but good, sexy crap.

I wanted to be a bit wicked and ask her what was gonna happen to all those poor suckers who weren't 'hot kids' like us, and like, who was gonna pay for this great new fucking Eden anyway, what were we gonna eat and so on, lying out there on the beaches or among the trees, blissfully fucking each other to kingdom come. Like, who was gonna make the vodka and steak tartar and stuff? But then guess who came up to us at that moment?

Yep, my old raptor again, on the prowl, grinning away as always. I should've known. This was his territory.

"Well, well, well. And what are two such classy chicks doing in a dump like this?" Mr. Originality.

"Rob! What hole have you just crawled out from?" I said with the 'sweet' smile. Oops! Nasty. Shouldn't have said it, but he just grinned again.

"Talking about the birds and the bees," said Maria innocently. She didn't seem in the least surprised to see him.

"Sounds good. Mind if I join you?"

This was supposed to have been a girls' night out, but what the hell. My fault for coming here.

So Rob sat down with us and we began boozing away. Aha! I caught this glance between Rob and Maria - just a hint of a smile on each other's lips. Well, well, well, I wondered. Maybe he'd done her after all. And maybe this hadn't been a chance meeting either. Forget it. I couldn't care less anyway, I decided. I'm no spoilsport. This is so fucking perverse, might as well lie back and enjoy it. I felt hysterical, careless, totally out of control. I didn't give a total, fucking damn. See Poe again on this one.

We got fairly canned, then Rob suggested we come round to his place for a joint. He was heavily into dealing at the moment, and I hadn't had any dope for some time now, so why not? Maria seemed really up for it. He'd changed apartments, and only lived round the corner from the bar, close to the gay quarter. We went.

Oh God! You really wanna hear this? REALLY? Well...OK.

Suffused crimson lighting again, we didn't just do dope, we popped the 'love drug', and yep, you just wouldn't actually fucking believe it, but in no time at all the three of us were buck naked and there I was, actually getting it on with the witch-bitch. She was delicious, of course, as I knew she would be. Paul had good taste. She was just pure female cream all right, smelling of incense and pheromones, and sure enough, there were those tattoos Paul had told me about - this entwined pentacle thing just above her buttocks, pointing towards her ass, and this curling snake on the upper part of her left thigh, winding its way up her cunt. Good dark bush, clit hard as a cock. I was a bit rougher with her than I'd been with that first one, Marie. We wanted to eat each other. There was a fair bit of biting - but nothing serious, no breaking the skin. We licked each other all over, top to toe, inside and out, bare feet included - in loving memory of Paul. Christ! If only he could seen us. It didn't bear thinking about. Our bubbles burst like foam.

Rob got in a decent jerk-off over us, then hit us both like an express train. He balled the living fucking daylights out of us both, true. Me, then her, then me, then her, then me, then her and so on - but I think he got more than he bargained for. Once more, I just can't remember all the details, except that what with the XTC and all, our foam exploded all over again. We were all high as kites, determined to drown our collective troubles in a sea of flesh, far, far away from the world's dark strategies. I remember Maria and I riding him together, bucking up and down like broncos, our black and gold hair flying about all over the place (how come I'd never got into show jumping? I was a natural). The whole thing would've looked real funny on film, especially speeded up - like that orgy scene in 'Clockwork Orange'. We were just this tangled mass of bodies on the middle of the bed - a pile of snakes with limbs, heads and bare feet sticking out in all directions. This tangled mass would shift about as we moved into new positions and combinations, then we'd lock into one and bang away like fury: wriggling, seething, coiling - then bucking up and down - wriggling, seething, coiling - then rocking back and forth - wriggling, seething, coiling - then moving in a slow circle - wriggling, seething, coiling - then bouncing about crazily - wriggling, seething, coiling - then three pairs of buttocks would pump away furiously like pistons in different directions and different phases. She and I bathed his entire body - and each other's - in curtains of hair plaited in raven and gold. We were so fucking charged up we never even took a break.

Between us, we blew him to kingdom come all right - we gave his cock and tongue the workout of a lifetime. He'd met his match this time, believe it or not - our mouths and cunts managed to suck every last drop of cum out of that bastard, and when he finally passed out it was hilarious. We collapsed on top of him in heaps of laughter, then continued working on each other, romping, crawling and twisting around on top of him like he was our trophy or something - which he was, of course. I'd already collected his pubic scalp, but was quite happy to split it with her. We were sisters now, right?

We didn't dare sleep there. We dressed and got the hell out. But before we did we each took a dollar bill and wound both of them around Rob's now flaccid cock with a rubber band. We left a written note on his chest - 'not bad, pal, but please don't ring us - we'll ring you', then skimmed up all the dope supplies plus the rest of the 'hug drug' and dashed out of the room, giggling like maniacs. On the street, we gave each other one last, long, nice, vicious tonguing, then went off home like good little girls.

'Orgy' doesn't describe it. More like some kinda fucking sexual H-bomb went off. We'd had a totally, utterly, thoroughly filthy time. I never even knew what hit me.

I got home, real scared in case Paul was there but amen and hallelujah! - he wasn't. I was just too relieved to worry about where he was. I still smelled of her incense, and I'd have a tough job explaining that one, never mind the tender, lingering aromas of that night's olympics. I looked in the mirror. I was still sweating like a pig, my hair was totally wild and my mascara was smeared all over the place, leaving two large black holes for eyes. I looked like a freak from the pits of hell. When I stripped I saw I was covered in bites. I showered at once, and once again, the shower floor was slippery with Rob's cum - and traces of blood. Every orifice seemed to be oozing his stuff, and I could still taste it in my mouth. I took a decent swig of the other, really hard stuff to kill it off. Then I hit the sack.

Hangover? I didn't 'wake up' the next morning - I clutched and crawled my way out of a fucking swamp. Morning after the night before? Conscience? You serious? One thing and one thing only I knew: vodka + dope + Ela + sexy company = total fucking catastrophe. Don't even mention the X-factor. Christ! My whole body ached this time, never mind my cunt. I felt like Hellraiser, like, totally perforated - as if every orifice had been like, you know, speared or something. I was sure now I'd gotten it up the ass from him more than once, never mind where else. I got up, showered again - an ice cold one this time, put calamine on the bites to hide them, and dressed. I dumped last night's clothes in the washer (no, no, not the jacket). What now? I did the only thing I could do. I poured myself a stiff one, wound a silk scarf around my neck, then put the whole thing right out of my mind and started picking up whatever fragments I could find of my formerly virtuous, domestic life. The Crimson Book almost blew apart when I wrote this one up.

Paul came round about 9 or so. He also looked exhausted. He'd obviously been drinking all night, but told me he'd just been riding around town on that bike of his. His guardian angel must've been on real heavy overtime. He asked about the scarf and I told him I'd a sore throat - I certainly looked sick enough. He wanted to take me to the doctor's, but I said NO, NO, NO, I'd manage fine.

You're going to ask the big question. Why didn't the luscious witch-bitch and I ever take on Paul together? It might've made him so happy. But I dunno - I just can't be sure. I don't think it would have solved anything. He was so involved with both of us, so mournful, so serious. And so goddamn pushy all the time. These things just happen. She and I had this thing about 'studs' and it 'just happened' that on that particular night we somehow decided to gang up on this arrogant bastard and do him in. It was just a game - I'm not sure Paul would get it. Then again, both of us were jealous types when we were in love with a guy. Each of us wanted Paul for ourselves. On yeah, we'd discussed it that night after we'd disposed of Rob, but it never materialized, and anyway, any chance of both of us ever getting it on together with Paul started to dissipate when his behaviour got steadily worse. I mean, he was already drinking like a fish. Then he started hitting me. No, not hitting on me - if only! - I mean really hitting me. That was it. I had to get a restraining order set on him for my own safety. I was getting real frightened of him. After that he spent more time than ever somewhere out there.

I never saw Maria again after that night. It really had been a one-off shot. She and Paul went back to banging each other as if nothing had happened. Evidently, she hadn't told him anything either - and just as well perhaps. Fucking treacherous bitch though, I thought. Sisterhood, right!

And Rob? Well, wait and see.

I was still going out for the occasional coffee or drink with Jeff and Dave. Then one day we were in this bar - no, not that one - and Dave had suddenly 'like, gotta go', leaving Jeff and I alone. It was a hot, sultry afternoon. The bar was cool and we really didn't want to leave so soon. By this time it was well known among our circle of friends that Paul and I were 'going through a rough patch'. Like I said, Jeff had always fancied me, and we'd often flirted around playfully. Now as soon as Dave had gone, he began hitting on me big time, telling me how he'd always been so like, desperately, passionately in love with me.

That's always the story. The slightest crack in a marital relationship and all those sympathetic friends just plunge in there like vultures, ready to pick up the pieces.

He asked me to come for a drive with him. He'd this decent, air-conditioned Chrysler, mine was in for a service (I'd my own wheels by this time), so I thought, why not? I'd absolutely no fucking idea where Paul was.

We pulled out of the city and drove up-country. The sky was a weird, greenish color - a sign of trouble, weatherwise. On the way, I ended up spilling a few more beans about my own problems. He was very sympathetic - but then, aren't they all when they're after something? He told me he'd been married, and that they'd split. They were just separated at the moment, waiting for the papers to come through. There were two kids and the marital home to sort out. A nice, delicious, well-spiced, thoroughly adulterous story. She'd started it apparently. Oh yeah, sure, that's what they all say - but who knows?

A violent rainstorm began. The wipers were working away like fuck but we just couldn't see a goddamn thing. There was this huge great church thing up in front of us - one of those Byzantine things. You could still see it through the rain, lit up by some town lights behind it. It was just like the ones Paul and I used to explore in 'ze old country', but this thing was massive. I'd heard about it, and I knew the guy who'd built it too - this old, rich, pompous asshole from 'ze old country' who'd been hitting on me ever since I came over here. This place was his tomb, and he was in there now, thank Jehovah! Bad car smash. May he rest in pieces! No, I'd nothing whatsoever to do with it.

We pulled into a car park beside the church. The rain was lashing down now. Jeff killed the engine then turned towards me. His arm snuck round my neck.

"Ela, you know you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever set eyes on. I've always loved you, from the first moment I saw you." And so on, and so on.

Truth was, I did kinda fancy the guy. He was pretty well-built, and very good-looking in a rather vacant, George Clooney-like sort of way. And I'd been flirting with him anyway, hadn't I? I'd been giving him the come-on. So I guess I'm at least partly to blame for what happened next.

He kissed me and I responded, running my fingers through his hair. He got the full tongue treatment. That was it.

We struggled desperately to get our clothes off, tossing them carelessly into the back seat, shirts, jeans, shoes, the lot. After quite a bit of twisting and contorting we were both naked, already sweating like all hell. This was a hairy one all right - not a gorilla by any means, but the hairiest I'd had so far. This long, pale, fat, white joystick thing reared up from a dense black bush and stood parallel to the gearshift, stiff, quivering and questing, the end of it moist. Good bush, I thought - nice one for my collection. I tongued him again, feeling him groan into my throat as I worked his warm, sticky gearshift: 1-2-3-4-reverse, 1-2-3-4-reverse. I was really turned on now. We were sweating like fucking pigs and my cunt felt like Niagara Falls. The windows were already well steamed up.

He pulled the front passenger seat down, then I lay back as he pulled himself over. He edged himself between my legs and lay down on top of me, hairy chest pressing down on my tits, squashing my nipples flat. No fucking lightweight, this one. He began furiously kissing and licking me, tongue down my ears, then over my neck, eyes, chin and mouth, caressing my tits and squeezing the nipples. It wasn't really kissing though - more like slobbering. This one hadn't read the classics much. You need some lessons in using that ol' kisser of yours, pal. Never mind, I thought, you can't have it all. I felt that old familiar push between the lips of my cunt, then this great hot pole suddenly thrust its way into me, bang right up through the goddamn cervix.