Courting

A bit of twisted fantasy

The touch was burning cold, leaving trails of freezing fire on her skin. She bit her lip to contain the moan threatening to escape her. She wanted to clench her eyes more firmly shut, but she was afraid even that small movement would give her away. The light brush of fingers brushed down her spine, making her body tense in reaction. Part of her wanted to pull the covers over her head like a child. Another part just wanted to give in to the dark pleasure and be swallowed by it.

It had begun as regular nightmares; she'd been told it was a common side effect of her new medication. She'd been battling clinical depression for so long, visiting shrink after therapist. She'd tried every brand of anti-depressants on the market. At best they had no effect, at worst they made her suicidal. She'd spent many nights staring at the train tracks, wondering what it would feel like to be sheared into pieces by the metal wheels. Finally she'd been put into an experimental group for a new medicine. The depression had receded a little; then the nightmares started. Visions of death, torture and blood. Flesh ripped from bones, maggots on rotting bodies. She'd awoken in cold sweat, shivers wracking her too-skinny frame. But slowly the dreams changed. It was infinitesimal at first. The maggots didn't eat the body, instead they writhed over it, caressing it. She'd been deeply disturbed to find that she didn't find it disgusting. The flesh was no longer ripped from limbs, instead it was the sharp bite of a whip that stripped the skin away. The blood ran in scarlet ribbons, making abstract paintings on a canvas of flesh. More and more her twisted thoughts became vaguely, uncomfortably, erotic. She couldn't bring herself to talk to her psychiatrist about it. It was embarrassing. She was supposed to get better, not become mentally ill and enjoy it to boot.

Every night she'd woken up from the dreams. Occasionally she'd been in the throes of orgasm as she woke up. She begun to fear the nights, the sleep. The days were okay, better than before, but the nights she tried to stay away from. She started to stay awake, tried not to sleep. But exhaustion overtook her eventually. Then her faceless lover was waiting for her, tormenting her body with pleasure.

The first time it happened when she was awake, she was frozen with fear. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut, she barely dared to breathe. After that she spoke to her psychiatrist. He offered to take her of the meds, but neither did she want to fall into that black hole of depression again. She asked for something to help her sleep, and that was that. But the dreams kept up regardless.

She went out to buy groceries, and she could feel him looming over her. It was like the air was charged with electricity. She just knew that if she turned a corner he'd be waiting for her. But she wasn't ready for it. She couldn't stand to see his face, his eyes. She was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, dark circles lining her eyes. Her doctors tried to remove her from the medication, but as soon as she stopped taking the pills that black chasm yawned open and swallowed her.

She was back on the meds, able to pretend to function. But she was exhausted, body and soul. No longer able to stave sleep off, she gave herself over to it. Once more he was there for her, mapping every inch of her body with his fingers. The touch was feather-light, all over her body at once. Her breath caught in her throat, hitching and escaping in a soft moan. For the first time she heard his voice, in a dark chuckle at her response. The laughter tickled the inside of her brain, setting her on fire inside and out.

“Do you want more? I will gladly give you everything I have, just for your pleasure.” His voice was like chocolate, rich and sinful, filled with a dark promise. She was so tired, exhausted from resisting him. “All you need to do is look at me, and I'll give you my world.” She knew she shouldn't, she knew she should resist, but the fight had left her. There was nothing left to fight for. Slowly she turned her head, opened her eyes and met his gaze.

They couldn't explain it. She'd been dead for over a week, the coroner said. The amount of flies and maggots backed his words up. But her body was untouched. The insects hadn't touched her, nor had her body begun to putrefy or decay. No smell was present; if it hadn't been for the gathering of flies it might have taken several weeks longer before she was found. But most disturbing of all was the expression of her face. It was twisted in rapture and ecstasy, like death was the ultimate pleasure.