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Beto sat at the bar nursing his drink, a Moscow Mule. Appropriate, he supposed. Irritation roiled in him. That, in itself, bothered him immensely. This was his first night out in days, the last few having been spent trying to regain his balance or composure. For his entire life, he had been a tight rope walker, balance pole shifting right, then left. One never got used to the tight rope, with its endless drop into oblivion always threatening. There were no nets here. But he had gotten used to it.

He had to, after all.

But now, it felt as if the rope had gotten thinner, the balance pole shorter. And there was a breeze. No. A gale. All of which was to say it had turned into a real struggle. A surprise, after 39 years of equilibrium.

Leviathans of the deep slowly but inexorably undulated upward from the depths, large miasmic bubbles of air already starting to break the surface. He could feel it. That walk was getting harder.

His eyes scanned the mirror at the bar, searching for someone. He wasn't sure what. He couldn't get Ana's face out of his mind. That day in the tattoo shop was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Not simply because he had been a virgin up until that point. Something had happened to him, something glorious and dangerous. He had been unlocked. He had seen the face of God.

Even now, despite the smells of smoke and alcohol, he could smell her, a heady cloud fogging his brain, could taste her on his tongue, sweeter still despite the vodka. Images of that day replayed in his mind, its violence and lust, dripping sweat stinging eyes, salty sweet nectar, bites to draw cries of pain, ecstasy and warmth and softness, hands and fingers gripping, squeezing tightly, muscles corded, gasps and wet humid breath commingled, tongues and teeth and lips, until he was simply unable to contain the entirety any longer. He had exploded. And for a moment time itself stopped.

He was in the void, outside himself and the universe. And God stood there, a presence he could only sense, there and not there, revealed in all its glory. And Beto wept in awe, smelling colors he could not imagine, tasting sounds beyond comprehension, an orgy of synesthesia that enveloped and embraced him filling him with meaning and understanding and purpose...

...that left him empty and lost, a dried out husk devoid of life when it stopped.

He hungered for it again. The craving gnawed at his mind, pushing and pulling him to this and that side of his rope.

Ana had disappeared. He had never even gotten her number. Sergei had not been forthcoming despite his best efforts. So far. He was getting desperate.

There were other girls, though. It had taken only a few tries before he found himself once again with a woman. But the experience was insipid, washed out. Dull. By the end he found himself fighting just to keep his interest going. Not that she had noticed. He had been in a frenzy by the end, chasing the sensation, the memory of Ana and God keeping him awake. Barely.

That happened two more times. He found himself lost, now, unsure of what had changed. Emotions and desires he had never before felt hounded him mercilessly.

It was a gaping mouth, an infinite pit of need. For 39 years, God had hidden from him. Beto couldn't let him hide again.

Messages In This Thread
Bloody....Mary? - by Beto - 05-10-2019, 04:26 PM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Meera Alam - 05-11-2019, 03:08 AM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Beto - 05-16-2019, 04:47 AM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Meera Alam - 06-19-2019, 05:42 AM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Beto - 06-20-2019, 09:32 PM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Meera Alam - 06-21-2019, 01:54 AM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Beto - 07-25-2019, 03:12 AM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Meera Alam - 07-31-2019, 01:21 AM
RE: Bloody....Mary? - by Beto - 08-28-2019, 09:47 PM

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