by Chris Tolian
(09/24/03)
Blood sugar, baby.
Sex magic,
Sex magic.
--Red Hot Chili Peppers
Candles throw shadows, dancing across the walls. The close room heavy with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of incense. I sit cross legged on the low bed watching her paint; long, solid strokes as she leans over the paper.
She stands. A quick nod at her work and she turns toward me.
"All set." Dark eyes, outlined with smudged eyeliner, flash her excitement. Face framed by long, dark hair. She is a beautiful waif. A pop-goth Egyptian queen. She holds up the sigil. Heavy black lines trace a geometric pattern of intersecting triangles colored in reds and golds.
I sigh. Close my eyes against a wave of pain. "That's it, huh?"
She places the paper in a small ceramic bowl and comes to sit by me. Silk robe loose on her tight, athletic body. Hand on my shoulder, fingers brush my jaw line.
Voice soft, "It'll work." Brief kiss. "But you have to believe. At least believe in me...in my love." She squeezes my shoulder.
I consider for a moment. The pain again, a dull killing fist wrapped around my spine. Creeping toward my brain. "You know I do, my little witch." I grin and catch her face. Dry lips to her soft soft skin.
She looks up at me, eyes taking on a new tint. A burning. A knife is drawn. She speaks fast and low, calling watchers to their towers. Demanding of gods and goddesses their help and power. My name is murmured over and over. The words, "Heal him."
Knife presses the flesh of my forearm. Dull edge sliding cool. Quick flash of the tip draws blood. Tiny red beads rolling along the blade; dew on a nightmare flower petal. My witch holds the knife over the bowl, my blood dripping on the sigil. Staining the paper, deepening the hues. Lines seem to squirm, contract toward my essence in the flickering candle glow. Knife placed alongside. Tiny grains of sugar sprinkled over the moving shadows. She runs her finger over her lips, tiny glitterstars catching on their moisture.
The dark waif gently pushes me back onto the bed. Slender legs straddle my hips, my own robe slipping open. Silk hangs half open on her shoulders, a high, small breast exposed. Glimpse of her body, smooth and glistening
all the way down.
Softly she kisses my face. Words become a chant in a language I, as a man, will never comprehend. Little feather touches. Nails and fingertips on my cheek and lips. Nails drag down my throat, lightly raking my chest. Little vibrating kisses follow.
She moves her body slowly against mine. Her hips rock. Moist warmth stroking me, stoking me. Arousal. Thin fingers guide me inside, devoured by the heat. Silk. Words never falter. Hands and lips ignite tiny fires, awakening nerves and dulled senses. Desire, the candles, the heavy incense leave me lightheaded, unable to form thoughts. Or doubts.
She pulls me up to her, sitting. Legs wrap my hips, locking me to her. The pain tries to scream through, but I am numbed delirious. Her lips on mine. Breath tastes of sweet wine and herbs, all sugar coated. Vanilla, musk, cinnamon and sage fill my nostrils. Breath passes back and forth. Lips vibrate all crazy. She rocks us through intensifying heat. Bodies go slick in the heavy air. My hands slide over her breasts, pushing the robe off her shoulders. I feel my breath stolen, drawn into her and given back. Dizzy from the oxygen deficient give and take.
Her movements grow faster, harder. Kisses are rough collisions of lips and teeth and tongues. Bodies tremble, just this side of oblivion. She pulls her head back, staring into my eyes. No longer rocking, her muscles stroke me inside. Contracting, pulling me through her. Chant comes faster, loud and harsh. Eyes burn flames glowing. No longer mere reflections, it comes from inside her.
With a shudder she calls out, moving suddenly, violently on me. Forcing me to come with her. I lose all sense. My soul slips into her. Wet, wet heat, her cauldron. Eyes flash liquid blue. Intense heat flies from her to me. Lightning arcs across nervepaths, scorches my spine. The paper in its white bowl erupts into flame. Wild crazy disjointed dance of shadows and strobing light. Heat builds further, past pain and into bliss and sits there, wavering between torture and release. A private little super nova.
Hands race along the length of my spine, a wave following the pattern of the blinding new pain. Lips on mine, giving me breath. I convulse over and over and over. Electricity ebbs as her fingers pull it through my body. Cleansing with fire. Every part of my brain screams overload.
Eyes flutter open. Cool white sunlight, fresh breeze strokes my flesh, easing me awake. My witch comes through the door carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Loose dress sweeps just above her bare feet. Silver glints at ankle and wrist. Dark hair pulled away from a face free of makeup. Beautiful.
She sits and feels my back. "How're you doing now?"
I twist and smile. Not a trace of the familiar pain, silent death. I answer with a laugh, pulling her down to me. We roll around and do our own mundane magic. Pure pleasure for the first time in forever and it feels divine.
Coffee sits forgotten on the table by the bowl still coated with tiny grains of melted sugar. Blood sugar, baby. You made me...free.
