It’s the end of the week and finally, the avalanche of papers to mark has arrived. Already my head has ached with the flurries of incorrect grammar and just trying to trace the hidden clues and uncover the long-lost mystery on what this student is trying to say.
After much thought, I’ve decided to post the complete text of my short story, Sex with Fairies here in this blog. I’m planning to do a complete different approach on it anyway but I’d like it to get exposure or published in some form rather than chuck it into a drawer.
So I hope you enjoy it in all its fantasy, fits of insanity not to mention the sex. 😉
SEX WITH FAIRIES
Emma’s first kiss was a drunken fumble on prom night. Years later, she lost her virginity fooling around with her boyfriend on his mother’s bed. She found him later in the same position with another woman, his quivering behind thrust out crudely in the air. He lost some of his pride and dignity that night when she hit him with a frying pan. Not to mention some of his teeth.
She still kept them in her purse.
Emma was a woman who didn’t believe in any fantasy of sorts that came out of storybooks and movies –of faceless princes on horseback, candlelit dinners, carefully planned trysts and of miraculous kisses that bring back the dead.
Clearly, she had no idea what was going to happen to her on Ryan’s deathday.
Ryan was a schizophrenic in _____’s House, a private institution for mental patients abandoned by their rich relatives who cannot bear the public humiliation of carting them off to the asylums. Nobody knew his background, where he had come from or who his wealthy benefactor was. He often claimed he was not long in this world and never did belong in it and that someday he would go back there.
Emma admitted there was something in Ryan that scared her. He was young enough with unruly hair and wild flashing blue eyes. Perhaps it was the unique symmetry of his features that lend him the rare possession of an otherworldly air. The delicately pinched nose, the flawless ivory skin that had never so much felt the friendly burn of the sun, the curious sharp tips of his ears and the startlingly red mouth as dark as crushed bleeding roses. He often had a sated wolf’s expression that was contemplating its next meal. And when Emma wasn’t looking, he would sometime send sly and cunning looks her way.
He was her subject for her Semantics class project. She was close to finishing it now and cannot wait for her graduate studies to be over.
That was why she didn’t mind when Ryan invited her for his deathday.
“I’ve been clean for many months now,” he said after expressing his delight at her appearance in his party. “I think it’s time.”
He had taken careful pains in his appearance. His hair was gelled back and combed, his eyebrows plucked and smoothened and he even splashed on some expensive cologne. He wore an elegant suit for the occasion and polished his black shoes till they gleamed.
“Let me give you something Emma,” he said, leading her to the dance floor. “As a way of thanking you for your companionship these past few months.”
She protested. There was nothing he had she wanted really. She doubted even if his wealthy patron would fulfill a request from a madman.
He leaned over her, the bottom depths of his eyes changing hues from light azure to inky black in such rapidity that she could feel an irresistible pull to lose herself in those pools forever. Flashing his wicked grin as if guessing her thoughts he said, “You don’t believe me?” It was a contemptuous striking statement.
And suddenly he laid bare to her her entire life history with its tormenting writhing secrets. From Brian the doctor to cheating Michael, her false pregnancy, an affair with one of her professors. He at no expense laid everything out, no perfidious stone of detail was unturned until he had salaciously succeeded at plucking each of her raw guts out until there was nothing left but bones.
Her cheeks enflamed, she raised her hand to slap him but he caught her slender wrist and to her horror and shame, dipped his head that he might touch his tongue to the throbbing blue vein on her alabaster wrist.
She snatched her hand back and he threw back his head and out of his mouth came that trademark malicious laugh of his.
“Look at Ursula there,” he said, pointing at a bald toothless old woman shamelessly peeing on the floor. His voice had taken on a heavy sultry velvet tone. “Doesn’t she look wonderful in her long copper hair with golden combs and that scarlet gown?”
Indeed Emma saw exactly that. In her eyes, she saw Ursula as a young maiden with a breathless smile and a complete set of pearly white enamel teeth. Under Ryan’s vile honeyed words, the small quaint house they were in was transformed into a gargantuan proud castle complete with a magnificently golden bathed ballroom teeming with lords and ladies burdened with their jewels, swaying their rustling brocades of heavy satin and silk and ostrich feathers capped into their tower high wigs.
Emma walked around in a heavy blind daze. Her constant academic worries were banished and locked up into some dark forgotten corner in the attic of her mind. She didn’t question her right to be here (for she was as richly attired as the rest) but still she felt herself wrapped in a suffocating cloud of dreams and formless time. She felt she was neither here nor there, existing yet not existing, caught betwixt the confusing trap of the calm middle ground of the raging whirlpool of contradictions.
And where was Ryan? He was kneeling before her on one knee inserting a pair of exquisite jeweled shoes on her feet. Smiling, he took her outstretched hand and overwhelmed with a tumultuous tsunami of conflicting emotions that seemed to hammer out from their new passive prison, she allowed herself to be led, meekly following him like a lamb.
What followed were a thousand and one rounds of dances that she thought would never end. It went on and on. Everyone continued in their self-absorbed swirling and twirling punctuated with flimsy gaiety and shallow heartless laughter. Her feet were pinched and sore and she felt she could die when she experienced pinpricks of sharp daggers shooting themselves through her soles. The bare flesh of her feet was bleeding, the shoes sucking them dry before a single drop could fall onto the cold spotless marble.
Her ears couldn’t take anymore of the tinkle of crystal, the sonorous violins or the dry cackle. Her arms had long ago gone limp but Ryan held them fast, spinning her stubbornly around showing no sign of halting, his energy still as fresh and new from when they first began.
It felt like centuries. It must have been centuries! She has lost count of the time. Outside remained perpetual darkness, the moon casting her blanket of ghostly blue white luminescence over them.
Gradually she was aware of a change overcoming her partner. A slight slowing shift of the steps. A tightening of his grip on her waist. And then all of a sudden he bent down to nibble the tender flesh between her neck and collarbone.
The other would see! But the dancers didn’t pay any attention too busy with their vain affairs of who exhibited the best waltz. Run away! But she couldn’t. She felt as powerless as Lot’s wife when the doomed woman felt the inevitable salt seeping into her body.
Ryan had no decorum as his hands ran down hungrily on her back, his eyes flashing haughty, primal and mad with unbridled starving possession daring anybody to snatch his prey.
He lifted her arm to begin a slow sensuous journey of his tongue to her shoulder. The reverent strokes of his tongue seeped through her elbow white glove all the while rolling the fabric out, inch by inch till it dangled like a helpless baby on his fingertips. He pulled her then roughly to depart from the room. The wraithlike couples not pausing for a minute in their dance carved for them a way as they plough through, up the steps, down the hallways where she saw the giant flickering candelabras with its thousand blinding nuggets overseeing the maddening crowd. He threw down her glove and for a minute, it flapped and floated in the air, lonely and determined to finish its dance not quite ready to descend yet, its fingers fluttering its goodbyes to her as he thrust her into a chamber where she sank deep down into the surface of the softest canopy.
Ryan’s mouth fastened onto hers and an explosion of tastes and memories racked her soul, reaching down their fearsome claws to reach down and shake her so that for a moment she just laid there suspended. It was the sweet song of the thrush during spring. The sharp tang of lemon acid. White anger filming her eyes as she hit her old lover’s head nearly killing him. The saccharine taste of sponge cake sliding down her throat. Her delight at being accepted into the university of her choice. The bright rays of the sun obscuring the moving shadow beneath the apple tree until Ryan stood before her and it was their first meeting.
It was only when he entered her that the spell broke and she realized they were naked, their bodies gleaming with sweat, her arms trapped beneath his. Her body had traitorously moved on without her –a separate vigorous entity intent on fulfilling its own carnal purpose. The heady mingled scent of their juices and animal desire overpowered her senses that she had no choice but to abandon herself to the sea of the moment that rushed up to embrace her with its crashing surf and sweet salty whispers of fleeting promises.
The next morning Emma opened her eyes, groaning in the grips of an aching migraine and a deadbeat body. She tentatively wiggled her toes and they responded in sore and painful stabs through her flesh. She looked around to find herself in Ryan’s bare bedroom. Scattered all around his sheets were pebbles that gleamed like pearls and diamonds.
His icy cold flesh alerted her and she stifled a scream clawing its way up her throat, swallowing it down with as much strength as she could. She shook him but he remained motionless and unchanged.
She had woken up next to a corpse.
Grasping her head and with languid tortoise movements, she got dressed. She spied the gaudy shoes with its fake encrusted diamonds below her bed, one of its poorly fastened brooch peeling away to reveal the cheap glue. Her other less glamorous pair was nowhere to be found.
But she wasn’t leaving without paying him back as well. She laid a small pouch of teeth beside him and slowly explored his lips that never lost its deep scarlet hue with her own.
She opened the door and left.
His lips tasted of fresh apples.
© Kate Yu 2008. Not to be reproduced without permission of the author.
Liked the story? Consider sharing.