The Shower

Water flows over me like the hands of a lover, running through my hair, and caressing my breasts warmly to trickle from the tips. They harden ironically against the warmth, but not with cold. i reach for my lathering lover, and work up a creamy froth on the short beard i leave for this very purpose.

The dove bar had possibilities right out of the box, but it's bi-curved shape has long since worn down to fit my nether declivity like nothing else. my feminine erection engages the grove it has worn in it, and sends electric messages of pleasure up my spine. i fall back against the wall, nearly overcome with sensation, and the water recedes so as not to rinse away my moisture.

i can see Him in my mind then, my perfect man, tall, strong, and harsh. His face hidden in the shadow of enigma, a stranger who nonetheless knows my needs as well as i. i cup my fingers together, and stab them roughly into myself, knowing in my mind's eye that it's actually Him entering me. His large hard warm erection bottoming out, stretching me, bashing against my cervix.

Thick warm white fluid rolls down my legs to spatter against the tub. No longer suds, it's His seed being obliterated by the lobster slaying rain. I gasp breathless touching the back side of my clitoris, and a reflexive twitch in my abdomen tells me i've ejaculated. Not truly an orgasm, it's still a pleasurable step on the way to ecstasy. It builds within me, boiling over until it bursts free in self inflicted rapture.

i've been doing this a while, but here's the part i never understood. Right at the moment of climax, my dream man becomes a nightmare. He grabs me, forces me down, and punches into me roughly. He's not making love to me, but hate. Rough painful terrifying rape that i'm forced to replicate with my hands. i rip into myself then, clamp down reflexively on my wrist. Sliding down the wall, I can only groan, and shudder as i molest myself.

It's beautiful, and hideous, the pain/pleasure i crave while wishing i could make it stop. The need always overtakes me, and despite the cleansing baptism, i subside feeling dirty. i'll never be truly clean so long as this festers inside me. i get up, crying, maybe, and turn the knob all the way to the right. i don't deserve this, i think as the water turns as frigid as my hardening heart. Goose flesh pops out on my flushed flesh, and my engorged nipples actually contract somewhat. The shameful evidence of my abusing myself washes slowly down the drain. Any hope of a normal clean fantasy life goes with it.

Stepping out, i grab a towel, and begin to dry off as best i can in the synthetically humid cell. Drops condense on the mirror to roll down the dew, but i don't move to clear it further. It wouldn't tell me anything i didn't already know, anything i wanted to see. I can admit i'm ugly, if i wasn't, i could get laid, and abandon this pathetic self molestation.

I could write a list of the things i wish i had. Puberty now gone, i know my boobs won't get any bigger without expensive augmentation. my naturally blond hair is stringy, and frayed like corn silk. my hips are too wide, and there's nothing to be done about that, but my skinny shoulders make me look weak, and stupid. i've got that damn french nose that's so big the only head it turns is mine in a high wind. i didn't get the chin to match so i look like a stupid school marm. i might as well just get glasses, and perch them on the end of my nose. Tie my thin pitiful hair up in a bun.

Wishes don't accomplish anything, i sigh as i step out to go get some clothes. i dress to minimize my shortcomings as much as possible. A full circle broomstick skirt covers up my broad pelvis, and thick thighs. A water bra adds some weight, and gives the illusion of cleavage. A low necked baggy shirt shows it off. i put on heels so my calves look better, and i don't seem so stumpy. Another sigh, and i head out towards the school to see if i can make any friends.

It never works, they always seem to sense my utter lack of self esteem no matter how much confidence i pump into my walk. i don't even bother any more, it's too exhausting. i'm back to my same old mousy little mince that doesn't do me any better, but feels more like me. Soon, i can hear the buzz of Mill Ave. ahead over more local traffic. The constant conversations amplified by repetition, mufflers spouting an impressive four cylinder hum, the drum circler pounding out a tribal accompaniment to people actually having a good time.

i cut through the alley behind the bar i get too drunk at too often, and slip around the corner to the door. i can't even remember the name of the place, i think it's the address, 1622, or maybe the year it opened. No, that can't be right.

The sound changes, but not much. The Race cars recede, but there's still the din of too many people talking at once. i take a seat, and order an Ouzo to hedge against bad breath. Of course nobody approaches me, i have to pay for my own damn overpriced drinks. The only conversation i have is with the bartender, to order more mind numbing alcohol. i hate my life.

It wasn't my dream lover, i knew that much through the countless drinks. Though i never conjured a face for him, i'm sure i would've given him more hair, less pudge. It wouldn't do for a fantasy to be less attractive even than me.

Fortunately, it was a blur of frantic movement seen through the alcoholic haze. With less luck, my pain receptors weren't dulled enough. Maybe they where, it just hurt that much. It was nothing like my fantasies, no matter how much i hurt myself, abused myself, made myself feel dirty, this was an order of magnitude worse. It was a dry fuck, for one, regardless of how much i had to drink.

He tore into me, made a wound of my most precious flesh. His incessant insistent friction abrading, and tearing me out. i screamed into his hand, flailed uselessly, weakly, drunkedly to just get him out of me. i felt more violated than i could ever do to myself. i dared not wretch, but i could feel the gorge rise in my throat. i hadn't had that much, i always stopped before the toxic stage, but it was his nauseating abuse of my viscera that made my bowels rebel.

Finally, i gave in to it, perhaps hoping it'd disgust him enough to just leave me alone. Blocked from my mouth, it backed up into my nose, and shot out obscenely. He jerked his soiled hand back, but kept making hate to me. i tried to scream, but the side cramping heaves of disgust prevented it. i could barely breathe in, and out between the spasmodic clenching of my guts. i could hear him, though, his disgust at me, and what i'd done. He heaped the abuse on top of my already low self image, commented on everything i hated about myself.

At last, the puking stopped, and the dry bile spewing heaves that followed, and i managed to scream. Below the pervasive thrum of Mill Ave., it couldn't have carried far, but he didn't take that chance. Finally, he withdrew, and left me there. i wallowed a while in my self pity, and the acrid, no doubt flammable former contents of my stomach.

Ironically, i felt nominally better. The adrenaline, and projectile ejection of my poison sobered me up a bit. Emotionally, i felt worse than ever. i could only feel it more lucidly without the inebriation.

i couldn't bring my self to open my eyes, but felt sure that if i could, i'd see Hell above me. From this vantage point, lower than any tortured soul, i could think of nothing existing under me. The solid asphalt of the alley floor was bedrock, there was nothing lower. i eventually decided to get up, because i had nowhere else to go.

i didn't feel any higher as i carried myself home, climbed the Sisyphean infinity of my steps only to lock myself into the claustrophobic hole i call home.

The shower no longer looks like the haven it once was, just a place to clean off the vomit. All the pleasure, and dirty shame is condensed now to the act of getting the real filth off of me. i already know from experience that it wont cleanse the soiling of my tarnished soul.

The water is, at least hot, and i push it to a scalding level. The painful heat burns me away to the cold hard core that i have become. The vomit washes away, but that's just the grime people can see. i'll never be truly clean again.

My body is still wracked with spasms, but without anything in my stomach, it's now sobs that twist me into a singular ache. Again, the water only washes away the symptom, it doesn't make me well inside. i'm too damn waterproof, and i just want to tear open my flesh to let it in. My nails make a new pain on my arms, teeth break through the flesh of my wrists. It helps a lot, overpowering the false pain of my useless heart. i don't need to feel any more, so it's a useless organ.

The hot water goes away. i don't even care, it's more than i need, more than i deserve with my cold heart. It's bracing, tempering, and that's what i need. To quench the fire in my heart, and add some strength to it's iron. i don't want to die anymore, that's too weak a thought. i've annealed too much, and that's what nearly killed me.

I won't let it, that's supposed to make Me stronger, right? I need to do more surviving. This soft life I've been living has made Me weak. If I can't be pretty, then I might as well be tough. Sure as hell beats being weak.

Damn right I won't ever be clean again. I'd like to thank that fucker for opening My eyes. I don't need to be clean, I need to get down, and dirty. Clean is for the weak, the helpless, the little girl I used to be. Coming out of the shower is a rite of passage. That little victim is dead, and only the Bitch comes out. I'm just glad no one knew her but Me.