A large king-sized
bed with black sheets is placed dead center in the room. The walls are vivid
blue. There’s no other furniture, only a very large painting on the back wall.
I know I’m in Mark’s room, though I don’t remember it looking like this. This is his room isn't it? I've seen this painting before. Now I remember I made it, but I
never got the chance to finish it. Only it’s done now precisely the way I would
have wanted it but better. Mark must have finished it for me, but I didn’t know
he could paint. But he’s so smart, I’m sure he learned how. He must have. But
how did he know how I wanted it to go? I never told him. The painting is
monochromatic in blue, but different shades of it so that it doesn’t blend into
the wall. Inside Mark and I are kissing, painted as if it were a sparkling
mosaic. Though the forms are composed of thousands of squares, and it’s still
rather abstract, I can tell that it is us. It’s more stunning than I ever
thought it could be. It’s as if the painting has its own atmosphere. As if it
were breathing, sentient even. I look closely at it and the paint doesn’t
seem like it’s even dried yet. In fact, the whole thing seems wet, and then I
realize that the paint is slowly moving. It’s still mixing. The work is still
in progress.
It
must have been painting itself since I left it. It wasn’t Mark at all.
“It’s
beautiful isn’t it?”
“Mark?”
I
turn around and he’s standing right before me. His light skin shines against all the blue. His dark eyes look at me with longing. My knees give out on me a
little. I reach out to embrace him and to keep myself steady. He holds me
firmly in his arms.
“I
love you, you know that,” he tells me.
“I
love you,” I say breathlessly.
He
takes my mouth and kisses me deep. His tongue is overwhelming in the most
exquisite way. I had been dying too long for him to kiss me again.
I
feel a strange change where his palm is resting on my back. For some reason it
feels warmer now. I feel a slight bit lighter too, all over my body. I look
down. I could have sworn I had clothes on.
“I
didn’t mean too,” he apologizes. “You can take off my clothes too.”
I
reach for the bottom of his shirt to pull it off. I can already feel his
erection pressing into me. He interrupts me, “Not that way. Just concentrate
how you want me, and that’s all you have to do. It will happen.”
I
close my eyes. I’m bewildered and fascinated at the same time. I know I’m
getting distracted. I imagine how good it would feel to sleep with him again. I want him naked. I want him naked. I want him naked, I tell
myself.
I
can feel his bare skin now. The scratchiness of his hair. The smoothness of his
dick is running all across me. I open my eyes. I had done it.
“How
is this happening?”
“There’s
something about this room,” he answers. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“No.
I guess I don’t.”
“I
had wished it. I spent a lot of time wishing it. Wanting it. Needing it. It
wasn’t easy to get you here.”
I
kiss his chest with tender passion. “Why couldn’t you just call me?”
“Because
I don’t exist outside of this room.”
“Are
you real?”
“I’m
not sure. I might have died.”
“I
thought you broke up with me.”
“I
never did that.”
“But
I remember- You drove me home- And then we-.”
“I
don’t know what you’re talking about. I remember everything that happened up
until our anniversary and then I got brought to this room.”
“But
if this room brings us who and what we want, how do I know I didn’t bring you
here? I could have sworn I was here first.”
I
looked over at the painting. It had changed. The mosaic figures were lying on top
of each other in a bed now. But before I had time to look at it more, I felt
myself being pulled with my face down onto the bed.
“You
could have just asked,” I let him know playfully.
“I
couldn’t help it. It just came to mind.”
I’m
dripping wet. I want him now. The moment I think this I can feel him entering
me from behind. I am instantly in an agony of pleasure. I can feel him thrust
deep into me. It’s almost unbearable but I don’t want it to stop either. I’m
just about to peak when he pulls out of me.
All
of a sudden he leaps over the length of my entire body and his penis is in my
face wet with my juices. His legs are running alongside me on the bed as I am
positioned between them.
“You
wanted me to suck it I’m guessing?” I say limply.
“It
just came to mind. I miss the way your mouth feels too.”
I
really wanted it back where it was. I was enjoying myself. I can feel a tension
pulsing between us. My thoughts must be battling his. I look up at the
painting. It looks like a blue chaos of different angular shapes. It must be
confused. Shit, I lost focus. His dick is in my mouth now and I don’t like
tasting myself.
I can hardly
breathe. I need to pull away now. I can’t take this anymore. It’s too big. I
don’t remember it being this big. My jaw can’t acquire this. Shit, it’s making
me gag. He needs to stop. Can’t he hear me?
I don’t feel like
this is Mark anymore. He tastes different. WHAT THE FUCK! I didn’t wish for
this! I concentrate all my mental effort in escaping. Finally I’m able to break
free.
“What you
traveled all this way and you won’t even suck my cock?” the non-Mark yells at
me.
His face looks
pointier and he looks like he’s aged thirty years. His hair is long and greasy.
Those aren’t even his eyes. His nipples are small and red. His chest is flat
with a beer-belly. He looks like a rat with teeth yellow and long. He’s sitting
there rubbing his enormous shaft expectantly.
I can’t think
clearly anymore. I’m too overcome by fear. I want to go home, but it’s not
working. I don’t know how to get out of this room. I look at the painting and there
are multiple mosaic figures now and they look like monsters. They have no
noses, only giant mouths that are screaming. They’re trying to escape too. I
don’t know what else to do so I scream with them. I scream louder and louder,
till finally the painting shatters.
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