MissImmortalPain
Posts: 2440
Joined: 4/1/2011
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The bar is smoky and dark with jazz and the smell of liquor hanging in the air. It reminds him of a bad paperback novel, or a black and white noir movie he vaguely remembers from his childhood. This can’t be right, it just can’t. People can’t smoke in bars anymore, and jazz really only happens in the south. But here it is. Tear drop lights hanging among the ivy that peeks in and out of the wrought iron above the door. The sign says, simply, Shadows. His mind drifts as he stares at it. How did he get here again? He can’t seem to remember. He was driving, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He thought he needed to stop. He thought he needed a drink. Why would he want a drink? He never drinks when he drives. Where was he going again? Whose voice did he hear? Was it Billie Holiday? Someone is singing. He knows because he can hear her.
The door swings open freely at the slightest touch of his hand and he is struck by the full force of what he had only barely heard outside. She has to be a siren. He can see her voice reach out to him through the smoke. It is dark and heavy but has silver edges. Those edges cut into his soul. He knows he has to be closer to that voice. So he moves toward it. Swing dresses and wingtips swirl past him. Where was he again? Was he on his way to L.A.? He remembered the Rocky Mountains as he crossed them. He knows he has been driving for days. But the voice takes him away from remembering. All he needs is to get closer to it. “Hey, Mister, watch your feet” What was that? A young lady in a short skirt with bobbing blonde curls touches his arm. “Hey mister” she squeaks in a nasal voice. “Do you need something, Mister?” He looks down at her. Big brown eyes, a strap around her neck, a tray in her hands tell him what she is. A cigarette girl, now that can’t be right? No, there are no more cigarette girls anywhere. “Mister, you need something” She asks again. “Cigarettes, maybe, gum?”
“I need a drink” A high pitched whistle makes him turn his head, and the girl is gone. “Over here Jack, let me set you up” The whistle has turned him toward a large man. He is stocky and in need of a shave. “What can I get you?” He asks. His voice is deep and sounds old. “I don’t know. I need something” He turns his head toward the voice again. Booming laughter from the large man strikes his ears. “That’s Lilly, Jack. Everyone needs Lilly, but you need a drink” That’s a rocks glass his brain says as it is pushed into his hand. What’s in the glass, he thinks for a moment, before he turns. The voice has stopped and it seems wrong. Almost as if the world will stop moving because the voice is no longer there.
Watching her move is like water. The long black dress, the long red hair that spilled off her shoulders, the way her hips swing to their own music. She is water in motion. And then, again, there is the voice. “Did you find us a young one, Rocky?” There is a deep chuckle from behind the bar. “He needs something, Lilly” When her lips part this time he can see it again. The silver edges of her voice. “Of course he needs something. He needs a drink” Her hand is as cold as ice as it touches the back of his. She leads the glass to his lips and presses it softly against them. It burns. The liquid in the glass burns and makes his eyes water, blurring his vision, making it hard to see. “What’s your name stranger?” Again there is booming laughter behind him. “His names, Jack, Lilly” Her hand slides along the side of his face. She is very close. “Is your name, Jack?” What is his name? He can’t remember. “My name is” He pauses to think. “It’s Jeremiah. My name is Jeremiah”
She leads him and he follows without thinking. The other people around them seem to fall away. They become pale and fall in piles of dust to the floor. He coughs and she presses her lips to his. Her lips are warm and her tongue is sweet. Her air fills his lungs, making him feel light. They have moved into a different room. It might be a different building. He doesn’t know. There is lace over the windows and velvet on a large bed. Something catches the corner of his eye and he turns from her for the first time.
There is a chair set away from the bed. There are straps attached to it. On the table beside the chair there are small metal clamps. Behind the chair, on the wall, there are lengths of leather hanging. Whips, crops, and rope that light up his mind in a rainbow of memories. Every porn movie he has ever seen. Every moment alone, as a young man, in the shower, hiding his dirty actions from his mother. His first girlfriend. What was her name, he can’t remember now. He can’t seem to remember anything because there is music again and she is humming. The record is old and scratchy he can hear its age. But her voice is young and strong and beautiful. “Would you like to play with me, Jeremiah?” His brain is flooded with thoughts. “Yes, Mistress” There is horrible pain in his face. Though he didn’t see her move he knows she has slapped him. “Do not call me that. I am a lady not a whore”
It is as simple as “Yes, my lady” and he drops to his knees. The pain she inflicts should make him run from her, but he stays. Drawn by the cold touch of her skin and the warmth of her breath. And always, still, the voice. It pulls at something inside him. Feeding something he has kept buried deep his whole life. As the lash falls on his back he can feel the blood. Over and over it comes down. Over and over he cries out while he listens to her voice. The pain is like breathing. Like sharing something that has never been touched in him before. “Can I touch you?” His voice shakes. “Please” The whip falls again. Her hand moves around his throat. “What do you want to touch? Tell me” As she bends over him, her heels digging into his hand as he tries so hard to breath. She is so close to him that it makes him want to weep. He can feel his own breath come back at him from her skin. Her breasts are large and full. Her eyes dance. And again he hears her begin to sing.
He can see the music fall from her lips. It wraps it’s self around him. There is more pain as his lung become tight. He feel s the pricks of needles through his skin. She pulls at his nipples as she pierces them. He can feel himself building to a point that he cannot stop from happening. “Say you love me” Her voice seems wrong somehow. “I love you, my lady” His body begins to tremble. “Say you belong to me” It is cold and the music is gone. “I belong to you, my lady” He knows in a moment it will happen. Less than a moment if she stays this close to him. Her hand slides under him. Down his chest to the firm place there that he knows he cannot control. “There are two things you should know” She whispers in his ear. “Yes, my lady” His body is shaking hard, he cannot stop himself. “You will always belong to me. Say the word forever” He can feel himself cumming. Legs weak, heart pounding, mouth dry. “Forever” Her lips press against his ear and she tells him. “The other thing you should know is no one touches me” The silver in her voice cuts through him again. His blood and guts spill on the floor as he falls.
It is hours before the police find the wreckage of his car on the highway. They assume he fell asleep and drove into the ditch, striking the telephone pole. They are never able to find the woman that left the red lip prints on the side of his face. They do not question, though some wonder, about the sliver clamps hanging from the rearview mirror. Each of them stops to notice that the radio is still on, even though nothing else in the car seems to be working. And each of them feels drawn to comment that the voice of the lady coming from the radio is nothing short of amazing.
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It is always by way of pain that we arrive at pleasure.
We must all go through a right of passage,and it must be physical, it must be painful,and it must leave a mark.
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Because she sang - 
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