Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Her Perfect Love

She drew the curtain open, stepped inside the room, and ‘Wow!’ she said. It took her some time before she could spot this particular ‘sis’thel. She’d parked her car at the back, walked to the front, and now stood with her man of choice inside a pleasantly incensed room. She picked her handbag up from where she hung it, took the lipstick from inside it, and pushed its bottom. The stick popped up like a teen phallus, its erection a gleaming magenta, and she ran it over her lips. ‘This,’ she said ‘is pure sweetness’.

She disrobed herself – her bottom, top and then undergarments. ‘How exactly do you want to swive me’ she asked. He, the hooker, was lying on the bed on his side, his head resting over that bulkiest, newly covered pillow. He was looking at the perfect navel that he ever did see. Her bosom, the pair of them, stirred this lustful passion inside him. ‘Around here, lady,’ he said ‘it’s you who does the swiving.’

‘Just one thing’ she told him. ‘Don’t touch my face. Kissing my lips is alright. Especially don’t lick my face.’ ‘Are you—’ he stopped talking. The butterflies in his stomach screamed out loud and as his hands touched her hips, they stopped beating their wings inside her. His tongue twirled on and around her puffed mammilla… In her hand pulsed like a baby dove his phallus… She was his last customer.


‘What’s your name and how old are you’ he asked her passing the beer on to her. ‘My name, lemme see…would be…hmm, Woman’ she said pulling its cap off the ring. ‘As for my age, I’ve lost count; I’m plus or minus…perhaps fifty thousand.’ ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed. ‘Wow! You don’t look it – not in a million years, hah, would one say that.’ ‘That sounds right out of a film I saw sometime ago’ she said sipping the drink.

‘How is it that you come to be a male pro’ she asked him lighting his joint. ‘I came of my own volition’ he told her puffing a lungful. ‘I wanted to, well, give pleasure, was all. Were it not for the legalization, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to become what I’m now’ he said. ‘I know I’m not the most called for guy around here, I know I’m not the handsomest of them all, I should know why a lady like you on your very first visit called for a guy like me’ he further said passing the joint on to her.

‘Fancy that, you should ask’ she reacted, puffing then drinking. ‘You have the qualities that I seek but hardly find. Just so you know, I can judge your expressions; I can judge your gestures. You’re a man who wouldn’t push a woman, you’re a man who wouldn’t judge a woman, you’re a man who would leave a woman alone. To put it plainly, if I hadn’t gone through what I’d gone through, you’re the kind of man I’d want to be married to forever and a night. With my judgmental flaws and all, that is.’


Have you ever visited a ‘bro’thel expecting to find dyke love? ‘I’m not that kind you fancy me also to be, no not there. To put it truthfully, I get turned on by them and to put it bluntly I never wanted to lick them.’ They spoke.

You want to do it again? Since you’ve been my best client, lemme tell you, we can make do with the ten grand you already paid. Toss a five this way, or don’t, if it turned out like you wanted. ‘Not for another week, darling. When you come once, I come thrice, if that doesn’t speak volumes I don’t know what does.’ They further spoke.

‘You sound like you’ve found your true calling. Does that mean you’ve done well and you’re satisfied?’ Why do you ask so many questions? Are you that detective who’s hunting for that pro slayer? ‘What if you’re the detective, I the slayer?’ That makes you the consumer, I the goods, aye…more like. Well, truth be told, I have fun and…I also have this emptiness in me that wants me to let go, I’m too much a coward to throw myself down from the top of this sisthel. I wish I were just…just that detective. She adjudged him to have smiled through his teeth. He looked impeccable – almost holy.

‘I don’t want control over you’ she confessed standing up, and reached for her bag. He reached so fast under the pillow and came out empty-handed just the same. ‘All I want is unmitigated, perfect control over you.’ His face was a picture of dread. ‘When that mouth of yours went down on this nectar of mine,’ she said, ‘this hand of mine went down that pillow of whose is it…and buried that pistol of yours under this bed of theirs. Aren’t you anyway the kind that keeps the first two chambers empty?’ She pressed the lipstick against his temple and with a click, then clack it transformed itself into a pocket semi-automatic. ‘What, love, would be your last words’ she asked him. He crossed his arms over his chest, so that it appeared his body shook one-third less than it really shook. ‘It was my pimp…pimp walk that gave…gave me away, aye!’ he told her. ‘I was lu.s.t but now…am fond, thanks…to you.’

‘You—Man, my perfect lover—have been the most forthcoming of them all’ she appreciated. The sound of gunshot woke the catnapping receptionist downstairs. She lifted the window shutter, jumped the floor, and landed like a kitten. She brought the engine to life, turned the headlights down, and rode into a moonless night. A poster on the lamppost read: Woman at large, Man hunts. A graffiti on the wall said: Man at large, Woman hunts.


He, in turn, was her last victim. She stood in front of her life-size mirror and ripped the skin off her face. Her head was bald and face reminiscent of a victim of acid attack. She knew in her heart she had done the job she undertook undistracted and well – one decade, two dozen deceptive weapons, two dozen skins, a dozen kills, a dozen near misses, three righteous kills, hitherto untouched. There’s nothing more to do. Like a god that slaughtered through its creation to hoist this flag called Kingdom of Selective Destruction, she looked satiated. She was a picture of pride.

The job was done with and with that she was done. She pulled her illusory lipstick apart and flushed it down the toilet. The urge to surrender and be judged did not come to her for she had known this fact a long time ago that there’s none to judge her. Woman was right in that a party that’s guiltier cannot judge a party that’s guilty – not Man and especially when the Trinity—Misogyny, Authority, Narcissism—doesn’t exist, no not anymore.

She enrobed herself, made her make-do bed, picked up the thinnest pillow, tossed it across the floor, and unmasked, unjudged and guiltless she slept into the rest of night on that naked floor called stage. Up the wind blew, chimes chimed, down the curtain fell.




  1. SUB Thanks so much for your words. I'm very glad you loved it.

  2. maddy .. Thanks very much for dropping by, reading, and leaving those nice words.

    Dexter - I haven't watched it, not yet, despite hearing good things about it. Oh! How I dread series that run long and endless! To add to the intro/blurb on Indivine, the closest thing that can be said as an influence is Godard's Breathless which I watched lately. It honestly must be an amalgam of things (than just one or two things), as far as influence goes, that works its way into paper, really, more unconsciously than consciously. I tend to block out everything I've read and watched during the process of writing.

    Thanks again for the appreciation.

  3. i am blown away with the wordplay.great piece of writting.have u been watching 'dexter' lately?sexy post

  4. Ruhi It's clear, for good, that you read a lot into it. Beginnings make you chuckle? That's a nice thing to hear. I wouldn't be able to tell it either why it did. One thing is certain, if only partly, they made fun reads. Thanks so much for the appreciation.

  5. You've packed in a lot into this story.
    Perceptions about gender, conventions going topsy turvy, revenge, "the world's a stage", judgemental attitudes and so much more...
    I have never been able to figure out the reason, but this story, like most of the others you've written made me chuckle in the beginning. The ending is very well written, really grips the reader. This story actually trumps a lot of your earlier stuff. Great work. 


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