Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01

"Oh God, I love you so much," she whispered into Angie's ear. "He's wonderful."

"Then it looks like some...wooooof...art lessons are in store," Angie wheezed.

Myles nodded. "She is gifted, Angie. She has great instincts and she can see. She sees like an artist. She knows like an artist. I think she could really be able to do it." Beth released Angie and turned, surprised at the compliment.

Angie beamed, "I knew it," she said, taking a few deep breaths and feeling her ribs gingerly.

"You're welcome to stay here a few days," Myles told Beth. "Once you get working, you may not feel like driving back and forth—like if you want to work late—but it's up to you. In any case, I have plenty of room and you're welcome."

Angie and Beth walked back to the car together. Words were unnecessary for them. "Ok," Angie told her, "I'll get a few clothes and cosmetic stuff together and bring it back for you." Beth smiled shyly.

"I'm glad you like him. And I'm so happy that he's going to help you," Angie told her. Taking Beth's hands she added, "I hope this gets you to where you want to be. I wish that for you with all my heart." She kissed Beth and drove away.

Beth headed back to the studio ready to begin work, but Myles's voice stopped her.

"Not in there," he told her. "Not yet. You're not ready for that."

"Where then?" she asked.

"The barn," he replied. "The real work gets done in the barn."

He led her out the back door and across a field toward an old, dilapidated barn that gloomily dominated a corner of the farm. They entered through a side door, and Beth saw that it had been converted into an art studio of sorts.

Beth sensed the evil, oppressive atmosphere as soon as she entered. It was dark and dirty. The only light came from sunlight streaking in through gaps in the weather-beaten planks. The floorboards were covered with dirt, and kicked-up dust swirled in the broken light as they walked. Some portions of the dirty walls had been whitewashed to provide a surface for painting. There were buckets of cheap water-based paint and big brushes—like housepainters' brushes.

"Ok. Lesson Number One. Courage," Myles said, taking a brush and pot of paint. He dunked the brush in the paint, then flicked his wrist, spattering the paint across the white wall. "You try it."

Beth dunked her brush and tried to emulate Myles's throw. More paint wound up on the floor than on the wall. "Shit," she grumbled. "That's harder than it looks."

"No it's not," Myles said firmly. "Just don't hold back. Throw it." He repeated the move again. Once again Beth tried to copy him, but lacked the necessary force.

Myles dunked his brush, then made a large, savage curving stroke through the middle of his spatters. Beth's attempt was substantially more modest: an elegant curve appeared instead of a bold arc.

Myles put his paint and brush down. "No, goddammit," he growled, "You have to be fearless. You can't stand in front of a canvas trying to get it right. You have to DO it." He grabbed his brush as though he were going to throttle it. "Just like this. Throw the paint."

He unleashed a primal scream as he spattered a full brush of paint onto his creation. He put his brush down and took Beth's face in his hands, holding it firmly.

"To create you must be willing to destroy," he hissed. "You are the God. The Creator."

His face came closer, his eyes burning. "Think of an author. An author creates characters and gives them life—but he must be willing to kill them. To maim them. To wreck them on behalf of the work of art."

Beth became afraid, suddenly realizing her existence could end at any time. Here. In this barn. To this madman, she was no more real than a character in a cheap novel.

If her creator took it into his mind to kill her...like this. Oh god...

"He grabbed her, viciously. Beth struggled, but she knew that it was useless. She was powerless in his iron grip. Then, terrifyingly, she heard the metallic sound of a knife being withdrawn from a scabbard. It flashed in front of her eyes, glinting cold steel in the half-light.

"The hand on her head pulled it back, stretching the vulnerable neck taut as the blade sliced effortlessly though the flesh. Warm blood bubbled up as the thrill of pain seared every nerve. Down, down, the beautiful blade buried itself into her flesh...now finding the trachea, firmer...but still yielding to the cold steel. Slicing. Now...foaming pink spray as Beth tried to suck air into her aching lungs through the severed windpipe. A gurgling, choking sound as she began to suffocate herself with her own fountaining blood, spurting through the severed arteries..."

She jolted herself back to reality. Miles was looking at her ferociously, holding the knife out to her. "DO it," he hissed. "Take it. Create. Destroy. This is your universe in here, Beth. Unleash yourself." Handing her the paintbrush, he abruptly walked away.

Beth stumbled around, unsteady and not quite sure what to do. Then she saw the machine. Parked in a dark corner of the barn, it sat dusty and unused. Ready to do the planting. But it wasn't the comforting sight of her dreams. It was evil. There were wicked looking blades scything down.

Of course, she realized. The earth had to be ripped open in order to plant the seed.

Still numb from the shock of her encounter with Myles, Beth stripped and lay down under the blades. Without knowing why, she began to masturbate, working herself quickly, almost brutally. She conjured up her usual fantasy of Dan, of the planting machine burying its seed inside her.

She felt the stimulation from her hand, but this time the fantasy did not arouse her. She cast her mind around, first to Angie then to Jason, finally to Myles. Nothing.

She slowed her movements, thinking that she should stop. As she did so, her arm bumped one of the blades, making a deep scratch. Pain surged through her.

She instantly became wet and seconds later a powerful orgasm hit her. Her body jerked, lunging upward into the sharp blades. The cold steel scratched her breasts, her belly, her arms, causing further pain.

Her hand between her legs became a blur as she clamped her thighs tightly together. The cuts and scratches tingled and she could feel blood dripping down, leaving hot trails on her skin. Another orgasm surged through her and she jerked upward into the scything blades. Blood now flowed freely from her wounds as she continued to masturbate viciously—as though she were performing some ritual self-sacrifice.

She became aware of a presence and looked up. Miles stood above her, watching her. He was masturbating.

"Is this it, Beth? Is this your dark side?" he asked with a wicked growl.

Beth continued to ooze out blood that mixed with the dirt on the filthy floor of the barn. As she moved, the mess began to cover her body with stinking red mud.

A grunt from Myles caused her to look up again as he ejaculated onto her, adding his sticky semen to the mess on her naked body.

"Ha!" she cried out as a third climax had her again tearing her flesh on the blades. Finally, she growled and screamed as she had her final orgasm, again rending her tender flesh. She fell back spent.

Myles returned holding the brush he had given her. "Are you the scarlet whore?" he screamed at her, flinging red paint onto her.

"Yes. God yes, I am," Beth screamed. "I am the fucking whore of Babylon."

She began masturbating again, relishing the perversity of the act, lying there in the dirt and blood and semen as Miles threw paint at her, painting her scarlet.

"You are a worthless piece of trash, aren't you?" he sneered. Beth screamed as a powerful orgasm surged through her.

"God yes," she groaned. "Don't stop. I'm a fucking whore and I'm going to fucking come again. Jesus Christ, don't stop."

"You are a worthless whore?"

"Yes."

"Your life isn't worth the effort to kill you, is it?"

"Fuck no. I am worthless. Ahhhhh, fuck, I'm coming again!"

"You want to be ripped open by those blades don't you?"

"Oh please God yes," she pleaded, "I want to be cut open as I come. Right. Nowwwww."

"You want to see your guts hanging out, shitting out your life into the dirt?"

"Miles, fucking do me. Kill me now. Please God, rip me open. Cut me apart. I'm begging you to kill me."

Beth fell back, gasping, crying, spent, covered with paint, dirt, blood and semen. She began crying hysterically, wailing out her guilt and fear and sorrow and anger and grief. Soon, she was exhausted and could only lay there, naked, spent, alone.

A hand gently touched her face, and she opened her eyes.

"Wake up," she heard Myles say gently. She moved to get up, but he stopped her.

"Careful," he said. "We need to get you out from under this thing." Gently, tenderly he safely guided her away from the wicked blades. "Do you think you can get up and walk?" he asked.

He helped her rise. She was a little wobbly but eventually got her legs under her.

"Good girl," he said with a smile, "let's get back to the house." He supported her as she returned, still naked to the house. He guided her to the bathroom. A hot shower was running and the tub was filled.

"Start with a good hot shower to clean all that shit off of you, then have a short bath. We need to get those cuts to bleed a little to be sure the dirt is out of them. Just don't stay in there too long—they're not bad cuts but we don't want them to bleed too much," he cautioned.

Beth obeyed, and in a short time, Myles returned with a soft towel some antibiotic salve and some bandages. She dried off and put salve and bandages on her cuts. She saw that he had brought her clothes, so she dressed and came downstairs to the kitchen.

"Well, I think that was a pretty good start," he said to her. He went to the stove and poured two cups of coffee. Beth drank hers greedily.

Myles sat and extracted a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He got one and lit up, then extended the pack to Beth.

"I don't smoke," she said softly. "Should I?" she asked timidly, sitting down across from him as he tossed the cigarettes on the table.

"Everyone has a dark side, Beth. If you want to be an artist, you have to realize that your creative force comes from your dark side, not from your goodness," he told her.

"The Darkness, the absolute total Evil that you hold inside you is the engine. It is in every human, but most are too afraid to look at it. To see it. To embrace it. To make it their friend. But it is your friend. Artists know that and use it." He exhaled a cloud of smoke in her direction.

"Your job, then, is to take that energy and bring it to the light," he continued. "To create beauty—transcendent beauty—inspiring beauty—out of that darkness." He took another drag on his cigarette.

He looked across at her. "When you become better friends with Beth the Whore, ripped open and dying in the bloody dirt, you will be a better artist," he concluded.

They sat in silence, sipping their coffee as Myles smoked. After a while, Beth timidly reached for the pack of cigarettes and removed one, toying with it. Myles picked up his lighter, but she shook her head. She just continued to hold the cigarette as she thought.

Finally, she put the unlit cigarette between her lips, got up and headed for the door. "Beth the Whore needs to play again," she said without emotion. He waited a while and returned to the barn. She was once again lying under the machine, masturbating. Blood ran from fresh cuts on her body. Myles watched as she gathered the blood and used it to lubricate herself. After she had an orgasm, she gathered more blood and ate it. Disgusted, he turned away as Beth continued to seek deeper depths of degradation.

When Angie arrived early the next morning, Myles was finishing up the breakfast dishes.

"Where's Beth?" she asked, putting down her bundle of clothes.

"She in the barn," Myles replied. When Angie began to head to the back, he stopped her. "She's working," he said.

"That's ok," Angie said. "I just want to see her for a second."

"Ok, then," Myles told her. "I'd better go with you."

He prevented her from entering, instead taking her to where she could see in through one of the larger gaps in the boards.

"Ahhhh, fuck," she heard Beth groaning, "Rip out my fucking guts. Kill this worthless whore." Angie recoiled in horror when she saw Beth covered in blood and abusing herself under the steel blades.

"What the fuck is going on? What have you done to her?" she asked, viciously turning on Myles.

"This wasn't my idea," Myles told her, raising his hands as though to defend himself. "Beth decided that she needed to do this." He put his arm around her. "Come back to the house," he told her. "It won't do anyone any good to stand here and watch her like this."

They stood in the kitchen. Angie was shaking as Myles explained, "Everyone has to go through some kind of crisis to have a breakthrough. But I have to say that I've never seen or heard of anything quite like this."

Angie gave him a wry smile. "Well, it's a long story, but she's had a fantasy about planting machines for a long time."

"Well, this will pass in time and then she'll get down to the real work," Myles said philosophically. "In the meantime there's not much to do except to wait for her to work through it." Angie shook her head.

"And this is art lessons?" she asked, stunned.

"No. Not really—well, not at all," he replied, shaking his head. "What I think of as 'art lessons' is more about learning to be vulnerable and really honest with yourself and totally open to feelings."

When Angie gave him a blank look Myles explained, "Angie, that kind of openness and honesty is second nature to you so you don't understand. But for most people it's really hard." He shook his head. "But what she's doing now—there are obviously some demons she needs to exorcise." Angie nodded slowly.

Myles continued, "She needs to get them out of her subconscious and into her consciousness. In her subconscious, they're killing her—holding her back. Once she makes friends with them, they can be fuel for her."

"Damn," was all Angie could reply. She thought of the demons that haunted Beth.

"I'll tell you what. You can stay here too if you like," Myles told her. "I mean if you want to be able to check on her from time to time. I'll take care of her, but it seems like you need to be close to her, too." He paused.

"Angie, I don't know if she'll want to be alone or have you with her—but you're welcome in any case," he continued. "If she needs to be alone, I have another spare room, or I can fix you up on the sofa. It's really comfortable. In any case you'll be able to see that she's ok."

He got his cigarettes and selected one, then thought for a moment and offered one to Angie. "For old time's sake," he said with a smile.

Angie hesitated, then took one. "For old time's sake. And to calm me down after seeing that," she said, gesturing to the barn. "I'll let Beth decide if she wants me here or not."

Myles flicked his lighter and offered a light to Angie. She touched his hand to steady the flame and the contact reminded them both of what had been between them so long ago.

She contemplated the cigarette between her fingers. "Lucky Strike unfiltered. You haven't changed at all, have you?" she said with a small smile.

"I've changed a great deal, Angie, but I still smoke Luckies," he replied. As he lit his cigarette, Angie sent a cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling.

"God. I forgot how good this feels," she sighed.

"It's a seductive feeling, isn't it?" he said. "I always admired your willpower when you quit. I've never been able to. In fact, I don't think I could work without them."

"I never thought about it much," Angie told him. "I just decided that I didn't want to smoke any more and that was that."

"Is that how you decided about being with women?" Myles asked suddenly. Seeing the expression on Angie's face, he added quickly, "That's just a question, Angie. I never really understood how, um—whatever happened between us..." his voice trailed off. "How it happened," he concluded softly.

Angie took a long drag, closing her eyes as she exhaled and relishing the relaxing effect of the nicotine.

"Myles, I've always felt horrible about how much I hurt you. But it's not like one day I woke up and decided to be gay. I sort of knew all along that it wasn't right for me to be with men—but I kept telling myself that I just wasn't very highly sexed or something. Like if I just found the right guy it would all come together for me." She took another hit of her cigarette, hugging him as she exhaled this time.

"Well, I found the right guy. You," she said softly, turning her head so he couldn't see her face. "You were so brilliant and strong and handsome. You swept me off my feet," she told him shyly.

Myles wrapped his arms around her. "Well, I fell pretty hard for you too if you recall," he said softly. They stood there, embracing.

"Yeah. I think maybe you did," Angie said sadly. "But even with you there was always something that wasn't right for me. And that got me thinking about—like, would it ever be right? Once I started thinking about that, it was like I somehow had given myself permission to think that there might be alternatives. And I just started to notice that I got really, um, attracted, to certain women. Things sort of went from there."

Myles put his arm around Angie and they went out on the porch together. They sat and smoked, with her head nestled against his chest. When they finished their cigarettes, they stayed in their embrace, each alone with their memories.

Finally Myles asked, "Want to go back up to the barn?"

"Do you think she's done?" Angie replied after a long pause.

"No. She'll probably be at it for a while longer," he said. "She's got it bad. She'll go till she's exhausted."

They stayed in each other's arms. Myles gently ruffled her hair. Angie noticed the change in the front of his pants.

"Come on," she said suddenly, standing up.

"Come on?" he asked. "Come on, where?"

"To bed, of course," she said simply. "Where else? That's all you've been thinking about for the last twenty minutes."

"Fuck. I forgot how you could do that," Myles said. "Anyway, you can't be serious, Angie. Don't mess around with me like this."

Angie laughed. "Myles, darling, I never had to use supernatural powers to know when you wanted sex," she said, gently patting the bulge in his trousers. "Anyway, I'm 100 per cent serious," she said firmly.

Then she hesitated and added, "I think." She scratched her nose. "I haven't—well, I have—been wanting more sex lately, and I need some now." She gestured toward the barn. "And it looks like I'm not going to be getting any from Beth for the foreseeable future."

"And I'm the next best thing? Is that it?" Myles asked. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"Something like that. It's just... You're here. And it's on my mind. And I'm feeling sentimental. I'm sorry, Myles."

"I always did like your honesty," he said shaking his head and rising, "even when it pisses me off. Well, I haven't had it in forever. And you're here. And apparently you're easier now that you're gay. Don't really know if I remember how, though." He led her into the bedroom.

Angie chuckled as he pulled off her shirt. "If I had given it up 1/100th as easy as this we'd probably be married with 10 kids by now, right?" Angie asked ironically. Myles could only shake his head.

He slid off her pants as she continued, "But fuck, Myles, if you don't remember how to do this we're going to be in trouble. You've got parts I haven't dealt with in 20 years." She slid off her underpants as he undressed. He erection sprang into view.