My Sick Sad Little World 1: Water Cooler Conversations

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Water Cooler Conversations

I smell the stale perfume of body, of sweat, of work dried by air conditioner. I hear the hushed whispers of night. I feel the cold sting of metal against the bare of my skin, the crude knots of old leather against my wrists and ankles. I taste saliva beneath the gag strapped on my forced mouth, blood caking in the betweens of teeth and lips, but most of all I taste fear. 

I can smell, hear, feel. Taste. But I can only see black. Un-sight is the most terrorizing sense of all since I have to imagine.
How long have they left me here? When will they return? Will they even return.
In the comfort of solitude I am tormented by hauntings of memory. Memory. Is that even the right word? How long have they left me? How long have I been here.
Shadows drift in and out. Flashes of brutish man flesh and their cruel laughter. How many were they? I do not remember. They told me to follow or they would beat me some more. They told me to follow but they beat me some more. I arched my back, raised my ass, let them penetrate every conceivable orifice. Even my eyes. I let out strange words, and strange sounds. I fulfilled their fantasies, one by one. Calling one baby, the next one a dog, cooing like a chicken and even raving like a madwoman.
They were all friends. They were many but all of them I know. Jack from accounting who had two kids, both girls. Manny whose mother died on a rainy October day; I held his hand as he told me how much the hospital bills would cost him. My boss, finally, Eric, who I thought was cute. He was different, I thought on my first day. He’s not just a money grabbing office drone. He had a band and a life. His eyes were two different colours, one blue and one grey. He was different. He wouldn’t put a pass on me, stare at me as I walked by. No, never my Eric, he’s different. I was wrong.
They tied me after the party. It was, is, i don’t know, Christmas I remember. And I was drunk but I was pretty, that my Eric told me. And then there was the floor, which had a raspberry drink poured over it. That’s all I can remember.
That is until, His hands were holding my back, and he was taking off his pants, and he was locking the door, while my Eric stood and watched from a corner. His eyes told me stay calm and I did. I let them, he, and he, and he.
I let them masticate on my nipple, just the right one for some reason, I let them, push and pull my body, throw me over like a child’s forgotten rag doll. I let them use me and I let myself be used, surrendering to cold eyes, one grey, one blue.
It was raining the first day I met Eric, he was handsome on his office chair, asking me questions, laughing when he felt my unease. It was my interview, my first job, and he said at the of it all, you’re something special, you’re hired. i loved him instantly. I loved him voraciously. And so when he said have a drink one faraway Christmas day, I said to him simply,
You own me.
You own me, master. You may make me bend over, open wide, thrust in me as hard and deep as you can. Break my flesh, It is yours. Break my soul, it is yours. A fist strikes my cheek and I felt swelling and bruising, the blood oozing from the broken skin in the inside.
Shut up, dumb whore.
And I kept silent as they made me less and less by every stroke, watching my master and owner from the corner.
When they were all done with me. I begged. Even slaves get to beg don’t they? Please Eric, let me have yours. And the room was suddenly plunged into a din of laughter.
You want our gimp? Fine, whatever you want bitch. Dog, take off your clothes.
And just like that he unclothed, disrobed, showing me muscle, and skin. My Adonis, I love you even more.
Dog, sic.
He was violent but I enjoyed it. He took me from the back. It was tight, painful, but I enjoyed it.
Look at her. She’s smiling.
Gimp, fuck her in the eye.
I myself once had beautiful blue eyes. But after the rapture, the invasion of hard flesh into the head, I lost one but they said. Stick her with the sign. And a glass ball was stuck into the now empty socket. A man held a mirror, and I saw myself with two different coloured eyes. One blue the other grey. And licking the blood on the floor was the man I love.
Then all is black. But now I hear steps. And a voice…
Come bitch, we have somebody you have to interview.

BJCl February 2013

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