Angel, Demons Pt. 04

So, the girl found true love and it happened not to be with her. So what? Hadn't she hinted again and again that she didn't take love in here seriously? Hadn't she rated even the most casual affairs in her 'real' world superior to anything she might call 'love' at the club?

Even when all her 'real' love connections had failed?

"Stop blubbering," she mumbled. And she picked up her phone, opening its first message.

It was from the girl, of course. "Goodbye," it said. "You want me not to have a real life. I can't deal with that. Please don't call me or write me.

"I will not be back."

She sighed. Was it true? Did she not want the girl to have a life? Was that it? Was the life they had not real?

The second message read:

"There is the club and there is true life. The one doesn't affect the other, ok??? I'm sorry I got so angry.

"Miss you, kisses."

Balancing the small machine on her open palm, the woman stared at its merry little lights.

Two worlds, the girl said, separate - one never affecting the other. Maybe she was right and had been right all the time. Her true world was for true feelings, this fake place for fake feelings.

Was it so clear-cut? It seemed it was, at least for her.

***

A boy, hardly.

It looked boyish with its slight frame, flat chest and short, flaxen hair. Or should she rather say: it looked girlish with its huge blue eyes, puffed nipples and soft, round hips? What to call it with its sweet, innocent face - and its tiny, soft penis resting uselessly on its shrunken sac?

He, or she? It? Did it matter? When you need one, any scapegoat will do.

Its pale blue eyes were usually fixed on the floor, but they grew big and amazingly steady whenever it looked up. It had a way of entering the room like a whisper, naked and oiled, crawling catlike until it knelt and sat on its heels, eyes down, hands resting on slightly spread thighs, palms up.

Its male residue soft and irrelevant.

The creature had been in love with the black-haired woman ever since they first met. The response it got, on the other hand, was casual. The woman might care for the impish creature, but never felt she should commit in any way. She baptized it with a little dog's name and occasionally feasted on its generous talents.

The pet was grateful for every spare second of attention.

It also seemed oblivious to the irritations its very eagerness caused. It was like a soft pillow, yielding to a punch but always bouncing back.

Neglect only seemed to feed its love and adoration.

At times the woman casually hurt its feelings. She put it on a back-burner whenever there were other, real girls to keep around. She only allowed it back into her favor whenever a girl ran off or was dumped, and there was no one else to bear the brunt of her frustrations.

The little thing never complained.

It was always there to comfort its "Miss" - not even being allowed to call her mistress. It gladly offered its tiny body to be abused and its big, loyal heart to be broken.

At times the woman felt guilty, uttering half-hearted excuses, but the toy always stopped her with sweet long kisses and meticulous massages from its strong, skilled hands. Being a professional masseuse - and a very good one - its fingers rubbed the stress and frustration out of the woman's body, even when it knew it was just preparing her for other prey.

A week after the Arab girl's frustrating phone call - the last she heard of her - the woman arrived at her apartment finding the petite blonde with the dog's name on its knees, naked, oiled and freshly shaven.

It might have arrived minutes ago or hours ago - no way to know with the little, patient creature.

It smiled up at its 'miss' and offered ways to pleasure her. The woman didn't even look. She just threw her coat in a corner and sagged into an overstuffed club chair.

Stretching her long, booted legs, she groaned.

"Did you have to be here, slut?" she asked with a sigh. "Have you come to feed on my misery?"

"Sorry, Miss," the creature answered. "I would never do that, but if my presence displeases you, I'll go." Its eyes were down, but it didn't move.

The woman in the chair let out a frustrated scream.

She rose, rushing over to the kneeling body. She kicked it in the side, making it roll over and slide on the floor, propelled by the slickness of its skin. It just lay there, never uttering a sound, and never trying to protect its exposed body.

"Goddammit!" the woman cried out, kicking again. "Do you always have to be so fucking perfect?

"Are you mocking me?"

She stood panting over the crushed she-boy, hands on her hips. Her mouth worked and then she spat a glob of gathered saliva straight into the upturned face.

"Get off your high horse, you, spineless slut!" she went on, lifting her boot and grinding its heel into a soft underbelly. "Don't you dare hope that I'll feel sorry for you!"

The pet's hands grabbed the boot and, bringing its head up to the black leather, it started licking its shaft. Its eyes locked with the woman's - there was no fear in them. Tearing her foot free from the grasp, the woman reached down to grab the creature by its short hair, dragging it over to the side of the hearth.

"Stand, you damned fool," she said. "Stand up and offer me your wrists."

The toy did just as it was told, standing naked under the hooked chain where it dangled from the ceiling. The click of the closing cuffs sent a shiver through its body.

Without being asked, it raised its bound hands over its head.

Its eyes were closed now, but the nostrils opened wide when it caught the scent of its tormentor. Their bodies almost touched as the woman reached up to slip the hook through the metal eyes of the cuffs.

The chain creaked as it tightened, pulling the creature up until it stood stretched to the maximum, only its toes touching the floor. Its muscles were like ropes under its skin. The ribs showed and it shivered. The orange glow of a late sun turned the oiled body into a living torch.

The woman kept cranking the lever in the wall until her victim dangled inches above the marble tiles.

Walking up to it, the her green eyes were level with the wide-open blue ones. Her right hand started caressing the taut body, noting its throbbing heat. Her mouth was very close, her breath mingling with the creature's as she spoke.

"You know I only tolerate you here to suffer for my misery, don't you, little whore?" The creature panted, its mouth open. Cruel nails were pinching a nipple.

"Yes, Miss," it whispered. "I'm here to pleasure you - any way you want me to."

The woman slapped her pet hard, first the face, then the puffy nipples on the rebound. Tears and spittle flew from the impact. There was a small sob - then silence.

"Don't flatter yourself by thinking this is for you, slut," the woman went on, delivering two more slaps. "This is for me."

She stopped the slow gyration of the dangling body, once more pushing her face close.

"Do you understand?" she hissed. "This is for the way my love for a girl was thwarted. A girl who isn't you. A real girl. I'll make you suffer for what she did to me.

"Do you understand?"

The creature just stared back. Then it said:

"Yes, Miss, I understand. Please torture me, so I can heal your pain." Its voice was clear and steady.

The woman stepped back and produced a cane.

During the next minutes, she proceeded to whip the creature's entire body with it, leaving ugly bruises and purple stripes. It was silent throughout the inferno. The only sound to be heard was the whistling of the bamboo as it arched through the air and the sickening thuds as the wood made its impact on the flesh.

There also were grunts and groans, but they didn't come from the victim's mouth - they came from the lips of the punishing fury that the woman had become.

At last the cane flew and landed in a corner.

The woman let go of a scream and crumbled to her knees, hugging the dangling legs of the pet she'd abused. Her shoulders shook with sobbing as she cried into its moist, hot, useless crotch.

"Oh, Miss!" the creature wailed. The pain in its arms and shoulders increased from the added weight. "Please untie me so I can hold you and comfort you in your pain.

"Let me hug you, let me please, please hug you."

But its 'miss' only held on tighter, pouring her frustrated misery into the tortured flesh of her scapegoat.

***

A girl, advised.

The woman decided to grow up.

She succeeded in stowing everything away in some cobwebbed and dusty attic at the back of her mind. Being busy helped; having great friends helped. But she had to stay away from the club. It was like quitting smoking - and that works better if you're not having a packet of cigarettes lying around all the time, doesn't it?

The girl decided differently, though.

It was a few days later that the woman received another text message. "Amazing," it said. "You'd just throw me away like that. You never loved me. Liar."

She'd opened it without thinking, and she wished she hadn't.

The message stood at such a ridiculous angle to her own feelings that she only could laugh out loud. She and a few of her girls were having lunch at that moment, so her laughter caused a lot of surprised faces.

She shook her head and shrugged.

But later that day, while she had her one glass of wine with her usual salad, she reopened the message, and all her pent-up frustrations returned - more intense even because of the afternoon-long stewing.

Her fingers danced over the cell's buttons and before she could check herself a message jumped through the ether to find its target.

Reading back, she doubted the wisdom of sending it.

"Darling," it said. "I can see why you'd want to turn things around. It is easier on the conscience to blame the other. But honey...it was you who threw me away. It was you who told me you never really loved me. I won't be another of your playthings, even if it hurts like hell to end something in which I invested so much.

"And don't call me a liar. I don't deserve that."

The answer was instant and, like the woman's response, it showed the shallowness of a too quickly delivered message - the very stuff future regrets are made of.

"You are the one turning things around," it said. "You threw me away. You can't deny it, although I see you are trying.

"What you did was horrible."

She stared at it, again regretting she'd responded at all.

As she reached for her glass, the phone pinged again. Was it out of hope for a better answer that she picked up? Or was it plain old curiosity? The edge of her thumb's nail touched the opening button and a gulp of vitriol hit her eyes.

"I mean, really," it said without greeting. "This takes my breath away. You said... I don't want to see you, and now it's that *I* left??????? I am not stupid... I am many things but I am not stupid... and I know what happened. You sent me out... and for what????? For nothing, cuz I thought we were close enough that I could talk to you about my private feelings and you would understand.

"Well... I guess I am stupid at that."

The woman knew that another glass of wine would heat her blood even more and seduce her to answer with the sarcasm she had until now kept in check. But she poured the wine and drank it. And sure as hell she got her laptop out and started typing - faster with every sip from the tall, elegant glass.

"Honey," she typed as a start. It still felt right to call her that. "It seems," she went on, "that you need to see what happened the only way you can handle. For me that is just another disappointment, but I can understand why you need to do it.

"Seeing it differently would mean that you have to regard yourself as the callous and selfish creature you are."

She stopped and stared at the last line. Was it true? Was it selfish? It sure was callous.

She shrugged, typing on.

"You're unable to imagine the hurt you dealt me. And on top of everything you even deny me my pain by ridiculing it and calling it overreaction."

She sipped her wine and read back.

Had the girl done that? Well, she had implied it, hadn't she? Shaking off her doubts, she took a gulp of wine and typed on.

"I understand from your last message that in reality I should be flattered. You granted me the intimacy of telling me how you loved someone else better than me.

"Do you really believe that I should have felt honored? If so you must be a very insensitive person indeed, maybe even stupid."

She snorted and refilled her glass.

"Maybe even stupid," she reread; then she went on. "But, darling, as you said, you're not stupid... it is me who has been the fool all along.

"Forgive me for supposing you really loved me all those times you told me you did. In reality I was just a convenient substitute to keep you excited and to assure you that I would be around when and as long as you needed me."

Her head buzzed so loud by then, that she didn't see how much of a déja-vu it all was. She just stared at the screen and typed on.

"I suppose," she wrote, "my love blinded me into a state of wishful thinking. I surely should not have assumed true love can blossom anywhere, and that it can be as real for you as it is for me. (Isn't it ironic that you now accuse me of never having loved you?)"

Drunken tears ran down her cheeks.

She rocked in her chair, just letting them flood her eyes. Then she screamed out loud and angry, rubbing her eyes and bringing her fingertips to the keyboard again.

"Please, darling, for God's sake, put some sense into this nightmare and at least grab your one chance at happiness.

"If you really love this woman so much, don't let her get away, so at least one of us can be happy.

"Believe me, it is this one truly unselfish reason why I beg you to leave me alone."

She didn't reread the e-mail; she just stared at it. Then she emptied yet another glass of wine and hurled her message into whatever void e-mail messages disappear.

When she rose, her knees gave way and she crashed down on the cold, indifferent floor. The laptop pinged, and a small red dot announced that she'd gotten mail.

***

A woman, besieged.

The next morning, she opened the answer to her letter - sitting very straight, her head throbbing from a hangover, her face pale, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

"This is all silliness," the answer began, foregoing any intro. "You sent me out. You didn't have to. That's all. You rejected me and for nothing. You expected me to choose kinky club sex over real life love; you must be crazy.

"Or I guess I was... ever to get mixed up with you."

The woman hummed to herself, if only to provide a score for the hammering rhythms in her head. It turned into a throat-choking whine as she rocked back and forth, holding herself tightly.

After minutes, she picked up her cell phone and speed dialed the girl's number. It went straight to voice mail.

Irritated, she closed her phone and went to have tea. Sipping it and nibbling on pastry, she once again dialed. Hearing the girl's voice announcing her absence made her curse.

"Honey," she said, clearing her throat and restarting. "Honey, if what you wrote to me is what you truly think, so be it. Get happy and be glad I freed you from this crazy, kinky club sex."

When she poured a second cup, her phone rang.

The girl's voice sounded half an octave higher and twice as loud as usual.

"You're amazing!" she cried. "You, it was you who threw me out! And you could have had me." There was a sob before she went on. "No one else... no one I love in real life will ever be at the club. But you just don't like the idea of anyone else, period!

"It's crazy and you sent me away for it - after all that time and all that trouble; when I was through running away and was totally with you.

"Totally, and you sent me out. You are so crazy!"

Her voice drowned in furious tears; then a click and a string of electronic beeps put an end to the one-sided call.

The woman stared at the small device, eyes wide with confusion. Then she hit the re-dial button, only to be sent to voicemail again.

"Sweet darling," she said. "Let's please stop this fruitless conversation until you're done calling me names and start using your more thoughtful qualities again. This really leads to nothing but emotional outbursts that we'll both regret.

"Kiss, honey. I still love you, silly me."

She picked up her coat and went to work, pointedly leaving her cell phone at home.

When she returned in the evening, there was a voicemail for her. The girl still sounded like a pouting child, her voice high with agitation, the words rolling one over the other.

"If you loved me as you say," she said, "you shouldn't have dropped me. I could still be there with you.

"You should take me back; I never left!"

She dialed and got her on the second ring. They were both stunned into silence by the actual contact.

"Hello, sweetheart," the woman then said after a pause. "So, you want me to take you back..."

"Yes," the girl said. "You tell me you love me. How could you dump me if you love me?"

The woman took in a sharp breath.

"So now you decided to add cruelty to the mix," she said. The silence on the other end was deafening.

"You still there, honey?" she inquired.

"You... you are crazy, you know? You make my jaw drop, okay?" The girl's voice was high and furious again. "You throw me out and say it's my fault. Now I beg you to take me back and you say I'm cruel.

"Have you lost your mind?"

The woman didn't answer.

The girl used her silence to repeat how silly this all was. Then the woman replied, her voice low:

"Honey, you know very well that I can't take you back. You don't love me - you told me so - and your love was the only reason for me to want to have you.

"That is why your begging me to take you back because I love you, is cruel."

The soothing tone did nothing to cool the girl down.

"This is so crazy!" she cried out, causing the woman to take the phone away from her ear. "I never said I didn't love you. I didn't say that, okay? You said it, you. And anyway, I would never have left.

"You're acting like I can't be with you at the apartment unless I give up real life. That doesn't make sense and I would never ask it of you.

"You should let me come back! You should... you should!"

She now cried without restraint. It made the woman bite her lip trying not to say things she didn't want to.

"Darling," she said, repeating it twice because she was sure she couldn't be heard over the sobbing. "Darling, as long as you don't understand, there is no reason for us to be back together."

"No," the girl screamed and in the woman's imagination she saw her stomp her foot. 'You are the one who doesn't understand. And you even contradict yourself, okay? You're acting as if it was a terrible thing that I was excited about someone in my life - my real life."

"Merely excited, honey?" the woman asked with a very small and rather acid chuckle. "I quote: 'She is amazing. I have never felt this way before - about anyone, ever.'"

The girl was silent for a moment.

"Those were just words," she then said. "It's true, it was all very exciting. She's beautiful and... and..."

"Just words?" the woman cut in. "So now you tell me that this 'feeling like you never felt in your life' is just words?"

Another silence.

"Well," the girl then said, "she doesn't want me anyway. She told me yesterday, but the real point is that I wasn't leaving you... never."